Chapter 2

The Program' s next message was blunt.

"Resonance Score at 10%. Physical deterioration accelerating. Systemic failure imminent within 72 hours without intervention or target reconciliation."

Intervention. Or their love back.

Neither seemed likely.

Death, then. I felt a strange indifference.

Maybe it was better this way.

The constant ache in my body was becoming unbearable.

My head throbbed, my joints burned, and a chilling cold seeped into my bones, a cold that no blanket could warm.

I was so tired.

My personal phone rang. It was Eleanor.

For a wild, foolish moment, hope flickered. Maybe she was calling to see how I was. Maybe she felt some guilt.

I answered.

"...so happy for you, Julian, darling! You' re looking so much better already!" Eleanor' s voice, bright and cheerful.

Then Olivia' s laugh. "He' s a fighter! We' ll have that celebratory dinner as soon as you' re out of here, Julian."

Julian, his voice mock-weak but laced with triumph. "Thank you, Mom. Thank you, Olivia. You' re the only ones who truly care."

They were on speakerphone, probably in Julian' s hospital room, celebrating his "progress."

They hadn't even realized they' d called me. Or maybe they didn't care.

I quietly hung up.

The flicker of hope died, leaving behind a bitter emptiness.

10%. Systemic failure. It sounded almost peaceful.

I looked at the calendar on my phone. Today. It was my birthday.

No one had remembered.

Not Richard, not Eleanor, not Olivia.

Of course not. They were too busy fawning over Julian, the golden boy, the returning hero.

I used to love birthdays. Eleanor would bake my favorite cake. Olivia would plan elaborate surprises.

Now, just silence and the accelerating decay of my own body.

A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I gripped the bed railing to steady myself.

The room seemed to tilt.

The Program was right. I was dying.

A nurse came in to check my vitals from Richard' s assault earlier.

She frowned at the readings. "Mr. Miller, are you feeling alright? Your pressure is very low."

"Just tired," I mumbled.

She asked about the bruises on my arm, the ones Richard left.

"I fell," I lied. No point in telling her the truth. Who would believe me?

She gave me a painkiller and left, her expression still worried.

Later, I saw Julian on the hospital' s internal TV channel, giving an interview from his room.

A local news station was doing a "human interest" story on the brave young man fighting a rare disease.

He looked pale and angelic, a single tear rolling down his cheek as he spoke of his "ordeal."

He even mentioned his "loving adoptive brother" who was "generously donating" a part of himself.

He didn't mention my name.

Then, he looked directly at the camera, a tiny smirk playing on his lips before he composed his face back into saintly suffering.

It was a taunt, just for me.

He knew I' d be watching. He knew I was trapped.

The next day, Olivia came to my room.

Not alone. Julian was with her, leaning heavily on her arm, looking like a gentle breeze could knock him over.

"Ethan," Olivia said, her voice sharp, "Julian is being discharged today. We' re taking him back to the Harrison mansion. You' ll come too, of course. You can help look after him until the surgery."

My shared residence with Olivia, now invaded.

He was already there, in my space, with my fiancée.

And I was to be his caretaker. His servant.

The irony was a constant, stabbing pain.

My Resonance Score must be single digits by now.

I didn' t even have the strength to argue.

"Ethan, are you even listening?" Olivia snapped, seeing my silence.

"You' re being incredibly selfish. Julian needs care. The least you can do is help."

Julian coughed weakly. "Olivia, don't be harsh on him. Maybe he's not feeling well."

He then swayed, clutching his chest, his eyes rolling back slightly.

"Julian!" Olivia cried, rushing to support him. "Oh my god, are you okay?"

He leaned into her, whispering something I couldn't hear.

She turned back to me, her face furious.

"Look what you've done! Your negativity is stressing him out!"

She actually believed that.

"Apologize to Julian, Ethan. Now."

Her thoughtlessness was astounding. She genuinely believed I was the villain, and Julian the fragile victim.

I almost laughed. "Apologize? For what? For breathing in his sainted presence?"

My voice was hoarse, weak. I was weary, so weary of this charade.

This wasn't the Olivia I knew. Or maybe it was, and I' d just been too blind to see.

I turned away, heading towards the small bathroom in my hospital room. I needed a moment.

Julian watched me go, and for a split second, his mask slipped.

I saw a flicker of raw jealousy, of possessiveness in his eyes as he looked around my room, then at Olivia.

Then, the mask was back. He feigned remorse.

"Ethan, wait," he called out, his voice soft and pleading. He shuffled a few steps after me.

"I... I know this is hard for you. But I truly am grateful."

He paused, then his eyes landed on my worn leather duffel bag in the corner, the one I' d had since college.

"That' s a nice bag," he said, a strange glint in his eye. "And your collection of vintage band t-shirts... Olivia told me about them. I' ve always admired your taste."

He wasn't just taking my family, my fiancée, my health. He wanted my things too.

He wanted to erase me completely.

Then, his gaze fell on the framed photo on my bedside table.

It was me and Buddy, my golden retriever.

Buddy, my loyal companion, my only source of unconditional love in that house.

Julian' s eyes lit up with a covetous gleam.

"And Buddy," he said, his voice dripping with false sweetness. "Such a wonderful dog. He must be lonely without you."

He turned to Olivia, his expression pleading.

"Olivia, darling, do you think... once I' m better... maybe Buddy could spend some time with me? I get so lonely, and dogs are such a comfort."

My blood ran cold. Not Buddy. He wouldn' t touch Buddy.