Chapter 1
After ten grueling years trapped in this millennium, the system finally told me I could go home.
With only three days left, I let go of everything I ever felt for Claire Symons.
When she wanted to transfer the company shares to her first love, Derek Lewis, I just gave my stamp of approval.
When she tried to take my prized patents for Derek, I personally handed over the core code.
The night of my extraction, I erased every trace of myself and went to the black market to sell off my last remaining assets.
Claire stared at the empty room, then rushed at me, desperate and frantic.
"Ethan, you've already bought your own grave plot. What the hell are you trying to do?" she yelled.
*****
It was 3:17 in the morning.
The desk lamp in the study emitted a low hum, and the lines of code on my laptop screen flickered before being covered by a translucent blue message.
[System Notification: Mission has been running for 3,652 days. Target's affection: 15/100. Not enough to pass. Host may choose to exit.]
[Countdown: 72:00:00]
The countdown began. 72 hours. Three days.
I stared at that line for a long time.
Ten years ago, when the system dumped me into this body, it said, "Win Claire's heart. Once her affection hits 100, you can go home."
I asked how long it would take. It said the average time was six months to two years.
It had been ten years and the affection was 15.
I turned off the screen and spun my chair toward the window. The city lights twinkled in the distance, Symons Manor perched halfway up the hillside. From here, Kingsbury looked like a broken mosaic of neon and glass.
My knees creaked as I got up. Ten years spent hunched over lab benches in this world had wrecked my thirty-two-year-old body; my back and neck were a mess.
At the end of the hallway was the master bedroom.
The door was left slightly ajar. I pushed it open, and the soft, steady sound of her breathing lingered in the air, along with a hint of minty laundry soap.
Claire was lying on her side, her long hair spread across the pillow. Moonlight slipped through the gap in the curtains, casting a gentle glow on her profile.
Her high-arched brows, the shadow of her lashes beneath her cheekbones, and her lips pressed into a thin line.
Even in sleep, she looked distant and unapproachable.
It'd been ten years.
I'd watched that face for a decade across the breakfast table, passing her in the office halls, even through a half-open door while she whispered to Derek on the phone.
Sometimes, I just wanted to reach out and run my fingers through her hair.
But my hand froze halfway there.
Forget it. It didn't matter anymore.
I eased out of the room, gently pulling the door shut behind me. The lock gave a soft click. Inside, Claire's breathing didn't even skip a beat.
On my way back to the study, the system's blue text popped up again.
[Real-time affection tracking: 15. No change.]
I gave a smile.
She didn't even notice the sound of the door closing.
So I was out.
At eight on the dot, Claire came downstairs.
She wore a crisp white shirt and black slacks, her hair tied back in a low ponytail. Her steps were always perfectly measured, one per second, heels tapping on the marble floor like a metronome.
I set the fried eggs and toast at her usual place.
Ten years of routine. She always left the yolks, liked her toast slightly burnt, and took her coffee black, no sugar.
She sat down, didn't spare me a glance, and started scrolling through the news on her phone.
She cut off a piece of egg white, popped it into her mouth, chewed twice, and set her fork down.
"Ethan," she said.
"Yeah?" I replied.
"Just sign and stamp this," Claire said.
She pulled out a stack of papers from her briefcase and slid them over.
I wiped my hands, grabbed the papers, and took a look.
[Share Transfer Agreement. Transferor: Ethan Holt. Transferee: Derek Lewis. Subject: 12% of Symons Group shares.]
Edward Symons gave me these shares ten years ago. They were part of my wedding gifts, his last gesture of pride. After he passed, Claire took over the company, and that 12% was my only foothold in Symons Group.
Every time she brought up getting those shares back, I'd always find some excuse to drag things out.
It wasn't about the money. The system always said, "Sticking around the target helps raise her affection score."
I stared at the blue countdown ticking away on the screen.
[69:42:17]
I picked up the pen, signed my name, opened the drawer, grabbed the stamp, dipped it in the ink pad, and pressed it down.
The red ink spread across the paper, smudging as it dried.
"Done," I said.
Claire's hand froze by her coffee cup.
She looked up at me.
For the first time in three months, she actually met my eyes.
"Aren't you going to ask why?" she asked.
"I won't ask anymore," I said.
"Didn't you always say this was from my grandfather, and you couldn't let down what he wanted for you?" Claire asked.