Chapter 2

The hospital was a blur of white walls and the smell of antiseptic. David rushed to meet me the moment I walked through the automatic doors. He grabbed my arm, his grip tight.

"Finally," he breathed, dragging me toward the elevators. "They've already prepped a room for you. The paperwork is ready."

He didn't ask how I was. He didn't look at my face. He just needed my signature.

My mother and father were waiting in a private consultation room. My mother's eyes were red from crying, but they hardened the moment she saw me.

"It took you long enough," she said, her voice sharp. "Emily is in so much pain, and you're strolling in here."

"I came as fast as I could," I said quietly.

"Don't talk back to your mother," my father grumbled from his chair. He looked older, more tired than I'd ever seen him. But there was no softness for me in his eyes. Only impatience.

A nurse came in with a clipboard. "Mrs. Miller, we need you to sign these consent forms. We've done the preliminary tests, and as we expected, you're a perfect match. We can schedule the surgery for tomorrow morning."

David took the clipboard and pushed it in front of me along with a pen. "Sign it, Olivia."

I looked at their faces. My husband, my mother, my father. Three people who were supposed to love me unconditionally. They looked at me like I was a tool, a means to an end. The end was saving Emily.

"You know, David," my mother said, forcing a smile. "Once Emily is better, we'll give you the down payment for that house you wanted. The one with the big yard."

It was a bribe. A reward for him managing his difficult wife.

"And Olivia," my father added, his tone softening for the first time. "You do this, and we'll forgive you for all the trouble you've caused. We can be a real family again."

The trouble I'd caused. The time I tried to start my own design firm instead of working for my father's company. The time I confronted Emily about stealing my portfolio and passing it off as her own. The time I cried because David spent our anniversary comforting Emily over a broken nail.

I was always the problem.

I remembered when the system first appeared. I was eighteen, and I'd just had a terrible fight with Emily. She'd told our parents I'd pushed her down the stairs. It was a lie, but they believed her. I ran out of the house, distraught, and stepped into the street without looking. A car screeched to a halt, inches from me.

That's when I heard the voice for the first time.

[Host life signs critical. Initiating family affection bond system.]

[Complete tasks to earn love points. Reach 100 points from each target to achieve a happy life.]

I thought I was going crazy. But then it gave me my first task: [Apologize to Emily and make her smile.] I did it. I went back and begged for her forgiveness. She smiled, a smug, triumphant little smirk.

[+1 Love Point from Emily Reynolds. Current: 1/100.]

For ten years, I'd been its slave, chasing those points. Baking cakes, giving up awards, taking blame, mediating fights. But every time I earned a point, Emily would do something to make me lose two. The scores barely budged. My parents' scores never rose above five. David's had never even reached one.

Now I knew. The system wasn't a path to happiness. It was a curse, a reflection of my own desperate, pathetic need for their approval. And now, it was killing me.

"Olivia? Are you listening?" David's voice was sharp, pulling me back to the present. "Sign the papers."

I looked at the forms. The long list of risks. Infection, blood clots, complications, death.

My family saw none of it. They only saw Emily's salvation.

I was tired of fighting. Tired of trying to explain, to make them see me. What was one more sacrifice? It was my last one, after all.

I picked up the pen. My hand was steady.

I signed my name on every line, my signature a final act of surrender.

David snatched the papers back, a huge grin spreading across his face. "Thank you, Olivia. I knew you'd do the right thing."

He leaned in and gave me a quick, dry kiss on the cheek. It felt like nothing.

"She's a good girl, deep down," my mother said to my father, as if I wasn't there. "She just needs to be reminded of her duty sometimes."

They all started talking at once, about Emily's recovery, about the new house, about how everything was going to be wonderful now.

I just sat there, listening to the system's countdown.

21 hours and 14 minutes.