Countdown To Nothingness

In my final year of high school, my parents died, leaving me nothing but a crumbling brick house. And yet, I somehow got myself a younger brother. He was a second-year student at our school, at the top of his grade. But no one respected him. Even when he was bullied, the teachers turned a blind eye. Why? Because even if others didn't beat him, his drunken father did it every day, while his cowardly mother never dared to fight back. I dragged him home with all my strength, patched up his wounds, and kept him with me for several days. Later, when his mother was beaten to death, I called the police and had his father arrested. "Hey," I told him, "from now on, live with me. I don't have any family left. Call me sister, and I'll put you through school." He dreamed of getting into a prestigious university. So I dropped out, set up a street stall, sold my own blood, and even took illegal jobs just to support him. When he graduated, he said he wanted to start a business. I gave him every cent of my savings. And then one day, I watched him stand beneath the dazzling lights, a radiant girl at his side, holding a trophy for a youth entrepreneurship award. I looked down at the cancer diagnosis in my hands. A bitter smile tugged at my lips. In the end, I had raised him into someone I could no longer reach. It was time for me to leave the stage.

On the day my wife, Abigail Jefferson, and Dominic Gorman, the university student she has been sponsoring, post their pre-wedding photos on their social media feed, I don't lash out at them crazily as I usually do. Instead, I leave a like and a comment on their posts. "You two make a great couple. Everyone, let's give our blessings to the newlyweds." Everyone in elite society thinks of me as the most cowardly husband ever, who lets the side piece make a doormat out of him. One week later, Abigail comes home and explains, "This is just an act. Dominic's grandma is ill, and she wishes to see him get married before she passes away." I just nod calmly in return. "I didn't take it seriously. Of course, I believe you." In my previous life, I showed up at Abigail and Dominic's wedding to cause chaos for them. Naturally, their wedding couldn't go on because of me. Abigail began targeting my parents' company in order to punish me. My parents ended up going bankrupt and were forced to jump off a building. She had me admitted into a mental asylum, where I was tortured to insanity. Now that I'm given a second chance in life, I no longer yearn for Abigail's love. I just want her money this time. Every time she cheats on me, I'll transfer some of her assets to my name. Abigail now has three more chances before she ends up losing everything.

My husband, Jacob Morris, wrongly believed that I had pushed the woman he loved down the stairs. So, he locked me in the basement to make me reflect on my actions. He hired people to punish me, trying to break my spirit. I suffered inhumane torture. My tendons were cut, and my face was disfigured. Four years later, he finally remembered me and let me out. But by then, I was too broken to love him anymore.

I had been married to James Tennant for seven years. In that time, he had already kept twenty-nine mistresses, like pretty little canaries in gilded cages. Now, I saw the thirtieth one in our bedroom, young and draped in nothing but a bath towel, lounging across our bed. I turned to him and asked coldly, “Can’t get enough out there, huh? Did you really have to bring her home?” The girl deliberately tugged her towel lower, her pale skin showing as she sneered, “Mr. Tennant says you’re like a dead corpse in bed! He wanted me to teach you how to please a man.” That night, I was forced to watch their little performance right in front of me. The next morning, James was furious at my indifference, resenting me for not reacting. However, he seemed to forget that our marriage was nothing but a contract, and in just one week, that contract would expire.

On the day I get released from prison, Joshua Caldwell's adoptive sister, Madeline Caldwell, hosts a live stream to welcome me home. She makes sure to shove the phone right in my face. "This is my older sister, Victoria. Even though she has gotten violated by 13 people, she still has the courage to continue living in this world." The comment section explodes instantly. Joshua frowns slightly, but Madeline merely sticks her tongue out at him with a cute smile on her face. Instead of going hysterical like I did three years ago, I just smile at everyone. "A woman's body is never her weakness. The offenders are the ones who deserve to die, not me." After returning home, I don't stop Joshua from letting Madeline visit our parents' graves on their death anniversary on my behalf. I don't mind Joshua giving my room away to Madeline and telling me to stay in the storeroom. Even when Madeline pushes me into the water once again, Joshua chooses to save her despite her knowing how to swim. After I get rescued by a passerby, I just go home on my own silently. Mixed feelings swirl in Joshua's eyes as he looks at me. "That three-year sentence has changed you for good, Vicky." I just smile softly in response. All I've done is finally see reality for what it is and not harbor any hopes for him at all. Moreover, the system, which I've lost contact with, has finally returned three days ago. It told me that it could take me home in seven days. But why is it that Joshua loses his mind after I've left this world for real?

My childhood friend called, saying he was trapped in a fire. He wanted to hear my voice one last time, and I rushed to the scene as fast as I could. But in that small, blazing spot, there was only a cat. Stumbling, I got the cat out, but my arms got burned. A crowd gathered, pointing at me and laughing hysterically. "She actually went for it?" "What a simp, risking her life like that!" Safe and sound, Colin Porter stepped out of the crowd with a grin. He picked up the cat from my arms and handed it to his crush. "See? I told you the cat would be fine. When have I ever lied to you?" Turning back to me, he said, "The cat got spooked and ran into the fire. We didn't know what to do, so we called you. Thank you for your help." The people around us snickered, like they were watching a trained dog. Later, on my wedding day, my husband carried me to the car. Colin, dragging his burned, bloody legs, crawled on the ground. He begged, "I'm hurt, Selena! Come help me!"

On my way to a meeting at work, I call my daughter, who is at home. Instead, I hear a voice identical to mine over the phone. She claims that she is me three years in the future. "Dezarae, go home to Liv right now. Your daughter is in danger." I am stunned. I argue in disbelief and question who is behind this prank. When I step on the accelerator, she stops me sternly. "Do not drive ahead any further. There will be a traffic accident at the intersection where Peace Street is." In the next second, at the intersection that is less than 30 feet away from me, two cars collide. Cold sweat starts to trickle down my back when the woman with a voice identical to mine says, "Liv will fall off a building and die in three hours. This is your only chance to save her."

Married three years. Stood up three years. Today was the last time I bothered showing up. Surprise—he bailed again. Still clinging to hope like a total idiot, I called. One last shot. "A-Aurora, I'm busy. Just wait," he muttered. And then her voice cut in. All breathy and smug: "That old woman can't satisfy you, huh? Paolo, be gentle." Click. Right on cue, Marco Medici—loyal, patient, saint-like Marco—sent his 99th proposal. This time, I didn't leave him hanging. [Want to come over for bollito misto?]

Sepharine cared for Draven, the crippled son of an Alpha, for three long years. After painstakingly helping him regain his strength, he scorned her—for she was merely a lowly maid, unworthy of an Alpha's heir. Heartbroken, Sepharine left the pack. Only after losing her did Draven realize the depth of his feelings for her.

I begged Dylan Leveson three hundred and four times to take my dying dad on one last trip out to sea. Guess what? He bailed. I stood on the shore, watching the warmth fade from my dad's body, breath by breath—alone—while Dylan played Romeo in the highlands. Millie Stone—his forever flame—posted a cozy little selfie: [Far from the world, as long as I have you.] I accidentally hit like. Dylan popped up instantly. [How many times have I told you to leave Millie alone? Can't control yourself? We're getting a divorce!] Oh, the classic divorce threat. I'd lost count. [Cool. Divorce it is.]