How Does Counting Backwards End?

Evelyn Hayes has spent three years as a “invisible wife” to billionaire Arthur Garrison, living in a marriage that exists only on paper. When she is diagnosed with a terminal illness and told she only has months left, she offers him one final deal: one hundred days of his time in exchange for signing their divorce papers. Arthur agrees, eager to finally be free, completely unaware that he is counting down the days to her death. But as they spend time together, Arthur begins to see Evelyn differently, and the freedom he once wanted no longer feels important. With Evelyn quietly slipping away and time running out, Arthur is forced to face a choice he never expected to make. When the hundred days end, will he still want his freedom—or will it already be too late to save her?

The cocktail hour had just ended when I picked up a video call in the bridal suite. It was Ethan, three years from now. By then, time‑travel tech had matured enough to let him contact me three years into the past. After enough specific details, I finally believed it. The man on the screen really was Ethan, three years older. I rubbed my aching ankle and pouted at him through the screen. "Ethan, smiling at all these guests is exhausting. But the second I remember I actually married you today, I'm happy all over again." "We're still happy three years from now, right?" He was leaning back against a headboard, and he didn't answer. His face was flat and unreadable. Then I heard it: a woman's voice from his end, low and breathy, asking to be kissed. I froze for a second, then covered my mouth and laughed. "Is that future me? In broad daylight? Get a room." Ethan turned the camera into the bed. My maid of honor was lying there, naked, sprawled across his chest. Her body was covered in hickeys. He looked straight at me as I started to break, and his voice didn't shift at all. "As soon as the reception ended, I told you I had a client meeting. I went to her room instead." "Jo, now you know what's coming. The guests haven't gone home yet. If you want a divorce tonight, you can have one. Up to you."

I could see the countdown above a person’s head when they had already decided to leave their partner. The day my father’s countdown hit zero, he slapped a lawyer’s letter on the breakfast table and walked out on my mother and me. The day my best friend’s countdown hit zero, she finally threw her parasite of a boyfriend out of her apartment and changed the locks before sunset. That was why I’d always been terrified of seeing a countdown above my fiancé, Lucian Bellandi. Luckily, for seven years by his side, the space above his head had stayed clean. Lucian was the youngest Don the Bellandi family had ever seen. He owned the docks, the casinos, and half the South Side’s dirty money, yet he saved every soft part of himself for me. Until last month, when he picked me up after a family auction. I looked up and saw blood-red numbers stabbing into my eyes. [702 days, 14 hours, 22 minutes.] Less than two years. My heart tightened like a cold hand had closed around it. I started searching for an answer like a woman losing her mind. Had I done something wrong? Then, during a blizzard by the lake, we ran into Mia Crane at the back entrance of the Bellandi Hotel. Lucian had just brought her into his charity foundation as a new assistant. Snow clung to her hair and lashes. She was shivering from head to toe, but her smile was bright and painfully innocent. Lucian pulled a black silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and handed it to her. His face was calm. There was nothing openly improper in the gesture. But in that exact second, the countdown above his head jumped. [327 days, 4 hours, 47 minutes.] More than three hundred days, gone. And I knew I had found the reason.

When I was six years old, I became an actual dummy after playing a silly game with my older sister, Hannah Hubbard. My mental age is stuck at six years old. Because of that, my grandma receives a huge shock, causing her condition to deteriorate. Since then, Hannah has completely transformed into a brand new person. Thanks to her scholarship and her efforts to collect and sell trash, Grandma and I are able to survive under her care. Hannah is such a prideful person, and yet when her classmates call her stupid nicknames, she doesn't get mad at them at all. But if anyone is to call me an idiot, Hannah will seek justice for me no matter what. That night, Hannah gathers me in her arms while crying soundlessly. "My Oliver isn't an idiot at all. You just haven't grown up yet. Oliver, promise me that you will never leave me, okay?" I just nod blankly. For the next three years, I cling to her like glue. That is, until Blake Mueller appears in our lives. When I'm done playing with the mud, I forget to wash my hands, so I accidentally soil Blake's white shirt with my soiled hands. That's when Hannah suddenly breaks down emotionally and kicks me out of the house. "Oliver Hubbard, you've dragged me down my whole life! Are you going to cause trouble for Blake as well? Can you please be more understanding and stop causing more trouble for me?" Finally, an idea sparks inside my dim-witted brain for once. It turns out that my existence brings nothing but misery to Hannah. So, I hide inside the casket Grandma has custom-ordered for herself. There, I close my eyes and begin counting down quietly. Three, two, one. Let the game begin.

After discovering Lydia's existence, I didn't argue with Alex. I simply handed him a divorce agreement. He sat there with his head lowered. After a long moment of hesitation, he tore it in half. "Please give me ten days. In ten days, I'll send Lydia somewhere far away. She'll never appear in our lives again." Without waiting for my answer, he got up and left the house. During those ten days, he took Lydia whitewater rafting, climbed snowy mountains with her, went bungee jumping and skydiving, and shared every thrilling adventure imaginable. He also watched the sunrise with her by the ocean, prayed together in a church, and did all the romantic things that lovers do. On the night of the ninth day, after I had packed all my luggage, I accidentally received a video call from myself ten years in the past. She looked full of life and asked excitedly, "Are you really me from ten years in the future? Then Alex and I must be married by now, right? Do we have kids?" Heartbroken, I walked onto the balcony and pointed my phone's camera toward Alex and Lydia, who were tightly embracing each other below, unable to let go. "This is your answer." She stared at the screen with wide eyes, unable to believe what she was seeing. "That's impossible..." My voice was weary, as though every last bit of strength had been drained from me. "Charlotte... Please. Don't marry him."

When I found out about Kenneth Hale, I didn’t argue with Claire O’Neill. I simply handed her the divorce papers. Her eyes turned red as she sat there. After struggling with the decision for a moment, she tore them up. "Give me ten days. I’ll send Kenneth far away, and he’ll never appear in our lives again." So over the next ten days, Claire went whitewater rafting with him, climbed snow-covered mountains, bungee jumped, and went skydiving. They did every thrilling thing they could think of. They watched the sunrise together by the ocean and went to Silver Pines Retreat to meditate, filling those days with every romantic experience imaginable. Then, on the ninth night, after I had packed all my belongings, I accidentally answered a video call from myself ten years in the past. "You really are me ten years from now! Then Claire and I must already be married with kids, right?" Pain flickered in my eyes. I walked straight onto the balcony and pointed the camera down at Claire and Kenneth, who were holding each other tightly, unable to let go. "This is what happens." Finley Morton looked as if he’d been struck by lightning. "That’s impossible…" My voice was exhausted, as though every last bit of strength had been drained from me. "Finley, please. Don’t marry her."