Chapter 4

The phone call came two days later. It was Eleanor. Her voice was cold and clipped, a stark contrast to her public persona.

"We need to talk. My house. Tomorrow night. Seven o' clock. Don' t be late." She hung up before I could reply.

I knew what this was. A summons. A punishment. In my past life, I would have been sick with anxiety, rehearsing apologies in my head. This time, I felt a grim sense of anticipation. The System' s new mission flashed in my mind: Incite her to slap you.

Her house wasn' t a home, it was a showroom. Every piece of furniture was a designer statement, every painting a calculated investment. It was a cold, beautiful, and lonely place. Just like her.

She was waiting for me in the dining room. A full dinner was set for three, but only two places had been used. Liam' s plate was beside hers, empty. He had already been here. She had probably spent the evening soothing his ego, painting me as a troubled, jealous boy.

She didn' t invite me to sit. She stood by the fireplace, the same one where, in another lifetime, she would one day burn my heart to ash.

"Do you have any idea the damage you caused?" she began, her voice tight with suppressed rage. "Liam is one of the most important artists I represent. You humiliated him. You humiliated me."

"It was an accident," I said flatly.

"Don' t lie to me, Ethan," she snapped. "I saw the look in your eyes. That pathetic, possessive look you' ve had since you were a child. I thought you would have grown out of it by now."

The words were designed to hurt, to cut me down. I remembered a time when they would have. I remembered the boy who trailed after her, desperate for a scrap of affection, mistaking her tolerance for love. That memory was a ghost, a faint ache in my chest.

"I don' t know what you' re talking about," I said, my voice deliberately sullen.

"You' ve always resented any man I' ve shown interest in," she continued, pacing back and forth. "But Liam is different. He is important. He is my future. You will not ruin this for me."

Her future. That' s all he was to her. A stepping stone to greater fame and fortune.

"Maybe I don' t want you to have a future with him," I muttered, looking at the floor. I was feeding her the lines I knew she wanted to hear, building the character she had already cast me as.

That stopped her pacing. She turned to face me, her eyes blazing. "What did you say?"

"I said," I looked up, meeting her furious gaze, "maybe he' s not good enough for you."

"Not good enough for me?" She let out a short, incredulous laugh. "You, a penniless orphan living off the charity of your parents, are telling me who is and isn't good enough for me? You have nothing, Ethan. Your designs are amateurish. Your ambition is a joke. You are nothing without me."

Every word was a hammer blow. In my past life, she had said these exact same things to me in the end, after she had stolen all my best work and cast me aside. Hearing them again now, so much earlier in the timeline, was like watching a recording of my own execution.

It was time to complete the mission.

"He' ll leave you," I said, my voice rising. "Just like everyone else does. Because you' re impossible to love."

The air crackled with tension. Her face went pale, then flushed a dark, ugly red. The mask was gone. This was the real Eleanor.

"You ungrateful little brat," she hissed.

And then she moved. Her hand came up and struck me across the face. The sound of the slap was sharp and loud in the silent room. My head snapped to the side, and my cheek stung, a hot, blooming pain.

It was a physical shock, but the emotional impact was a hollow echo. I had been waiting for this. I had provoked it.

[Mission Complete. Reward: +10 Health Points. Current Health: 115/100.]

I slowly turned my head back to look at her. I didn' t cry. I didn' t flinch. I just stared at her, letting her see the red mark forming on my cheek.

For a moment, she looked shocked by her own actions. A flicker of something-maybe regret, maybe fear of what she had done-crossed her face. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by a cold, hard glare.

"Get out of my house," she said, her voice a low tremor. "And don' t you ever speak to me like that again."

I didn' t say anything. I just turned and walked out, leaving her alone in her perfect, empty house. The sting on my cheek was a physical reminder of my victory. I had won this round. I had made her show her true colors. And I had survived it. Walking out into the cool night air, I felt a strange sense of freedom. The pain was real, but this time, I was the one in control.