Chapter 1
On New Year's Eve, Brielle dumped red wine all over my freshly styled hair. I snatched a tissue and tried to blot out the mess.
Suddenly, a blood-red countdown flashed across my retina.
[Frustration level: 99%! Only 3 minutes left before the heroine drops dead from rage!]
[Revenge quest activated: Make her chug the whole case of red wine. Reward: 50 extra years of life!]
Brielle twirled her wine glass, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Oh, come on, Jasmine. Your hair was ugly anyway. Just wash it out."
I tossed the tissue aside, grabbed a whole unopened case of red wine from the floor, and slammed it onto the table.
With one hand, I pried her jaw open and shoved the bottle right into her throat.
"You like washing? I'll make sure you get a good rinse, inside and out..." I said.
*****
Crimson wine streamed from the corner of Brielle's mouth. It was soaking the white cashmere sweater she'd gone out of her way to wear tonight.
Her eyes bulged, bloodshot from suffocation and terror, and her hands pounded frantically at my arm.
She let out muffled, pitiful cries, like a chicken being strangled.
I didn't let up for a second.
The cold, mechanical system voice appeared in my vision again, but this time, it brought a strange sense of comfort.
[Thrill +10, lifespan +1 year, frustration level down to 90%!]
[Thrill +20, lifespan +2 years, frustration level down to 80%!]
The countdown stopped flashing, and that fatal three-minute warning disappeared.
I was still alive.
So this was what it really felt like to be alive.
It was not about putting up with it or backing down. It was about taking all that pent-up anger and shoving it right back at the ones who gave it to me.
"Ah—! You bitch! What are you doing to my daughter!"
My mother-in-law, Leona, screamed so loud it felt like my eardrums would burst. She lunged at me, wild and feral, like an enraged mother beast.
I twisted aside, dodging her clawing hands as she went for my face, and at the same time, I let go of Brielle.
Brielle slumped in her chair, coughing her lungs out, her face a disaster zone—tears, snot, and wine all smeared together.
Her pricey makeup was ruined, making her look like a bargain-bin paint palette.
Leona, pissed she hadn't landed a hit, grabbed an empty plate from the table and went for my head with it.
I didn't budge.
I just snatched the empty wine bottle in my hand and smashed it against the wall with vengeance.
Bang!
The crash was thunderous.
The dark brown bottle shattered, glass flying everywhere—some shards even nicked Leona's cheek, leaving a few bloody scratches.
Her hand froze in midair, plate still raised. Her face went from furious to stunned, then straight to terrified.
"Anyone else wanna step up? The next bottle's going straight for your head!"
My voice wasn't loud, but it carried a vicious edge I hadn't even realized I had.
I swept my gaze around the room. My father-in-law, Gordon, shrank back, pretending to be engrossed in the TV.
The other relatives who'd come to watch the drama unfold quickly looked away, avoiding my eyes.
The whole living room was dead silent, except for Brielle's desperate, racking coughs.
I, Jasmine, married for three years, had been the doormat, the yes-woman, the free maid for three years, and for the first time ever, I had everyone in the room under my thumb.
"Jasmine! What the hell are you doing!"
My husband, Zachary, finally burst out of the kitchen.
He was still wearing the cartoon apron I'd bought him, clutching a spatula, his face smeared with grease and shock.
He didn't even spare a glance at the disheveled Brielle, didn't bother asking what had happened. His first words were aimed straight at me.
"What the hell is wrong with you on New Year's Eve! Are you trying to ruin this family?" he shouted.
"Ruin this family?" I scoffed, staring at him.
Suddenly, I couldn't help but laugh at how absurd it all was.
Did this so-called family ever have a spot for me?
I busted my ass all day, cooking up a massive New Year's feast, while they lounged in the living room, munching snacks and watching the New Year's show. No one bothered to help.
When dinner was finally ready, Leona just tossed out, "Women don't sit at the table," so I was left standing in the kitchen, choking on the smell of oil.
I spent 1,000 dollars on my hair, and Brielle just dumped red wine all over it like it was some kind of joke. She didn't even bother to say sorry.
And my husband, the man I share a bed with, all he cares about is "the New Year's vibe."
A fresh wave of frustration bubbled up from deep inside, and the numbers that had just dropped started creeping up again.
[Frustration level rising to 85%! New source of resentment detected!]
[New quest: Beat up your husband, too. Reward: 350,000 dollars!]
350,000 dollars?
My breath caught in my throat.
I grabbed the second bottle from the wine case on the table, this time keeping it sealed.