Chapter 1

My husband Jonathan Foster personally pushed the blue antidote into my vein, still speaking to me in that soft, practiced voice of his.

He had no idea the formula was missing a critical component. Without that neutralizer, it was deadly poison.

Ten minutes earlier, he'd sprinted out of the room to save his childhood sweetheart Emily Summers from a suicide attempt. He was in such a rush that he never noticed he'd made a mistake on the prescription.

The Interface asked if I wanted to warn him.

I watched the cold liquid slide into my bloodstream and smiled. "No need. Once this shot is done, I can finally go home."

*****

Jonathan was the country's top clinical toxicologist.

He had a childhood friend, Emily, who was an expert in biological toxins.

For over a decade, they'd been locked in their own strange game: she brewed the poisons, and he cracked the cures.

Two days ago, Emily spiked my water with a rare, lethal neurotoxin. I went into shock and nearly died in my own place.

When I woke up, Jonathan was sitting by my hospital bed, jotting down the antidote formula.

He sighed as he wrote. "Anna, don't blame Emmy. She's been spoiled by our mentor. She's always been childish and immature. She didn't mean to hurt you.

"She knows I can save you. She's only trying to get under my skin, wanting to see if I can crack this new toxin."

Just as he finished speaking, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Emily's assistant rushed in, her face pale. "Professor Foster, Emily locked herself in the lab and says she's going to inject herself with a high dose of tetrodotoxin."

Jonathan shot up, his face draining of color. He shoved the prescription at the nurse and ran.

He was in too much of a hurry to notice he'd left out a critical neutralizer in that complicated molecular formula.

The Interface's voice finally piped up in my mind after forever. [Host, if the male lead kills you, you'll be released from this world. The antidote is missing a neutralizer and is now lethal. You have the choice to proceed with the injection or not.]

I watched the nurse head off with the prescription and managed a weak smile, my lips chapped and raw. "I'll do it."

The nurse quickly returned with the prepared medication.

Jonathan came back at the same time, still carrying the chill of the autumn night. When he saw the syringe in her hand, he took it without a second thought.

"What a coincidence, huh?" he said and walked over. "Waited for me to inject it?"

He then sat on the edge of the bed, flicked the syringe to clear the air bubbles, and aimed the needle at the IV port on my hand.

I stared at him in a daze. After all these years of waiting and all this time enduring, I was finally going home.

"What's wrong?" He raised an eyebrow. "We need to get this in fast, or the toxin will settle and cause nerve damage."

I gave him a silent smile and offered my hand.

He pushed the cold liquid into my vein.

A sharp burn shot through my arm, and I coughed hard. Blood welled up in my throat.

Jonathan pulled the needle out quickly and patted my back. He couldn't hide the amusement in his voice. "What a baby. It's only a shot. Still hurt? Since when are you so quiet? Not going to beg me to stay a little longer?"

I leaned back against the pillow, caught my breath, and managed a weak smile. "No need. I won't ever need you anymore."

He froze. His expression darkened. "Are you still upset about Emmy?"

He sighed and reached out to hug me. "I went to check on her. She was messing around with an empty syringe, trying to scare you. She was upset and needed outlets. She's not a bad person.

"Since you're okay and about to get better, let it go, alright?"

I quietly pulled away from him, my voice flat. "What if something really happened to me? What if I died?"

He went still and then shook his head with a helpless chuckle. "Come on. As long as I'm here, you won't die."

Right. My husband was the best toxicologist ever. No poison was a match for him.

For the past five years, Emily treated me like her personal guinea pig.

She made me go blind for a bit, made me lose my voice, or covered me in rashes and had me puking my guts out.

Every single time, Jonathan had fixed me up without even breaking a sweat.

So why would he think this time would be any different?

He looked at me with those warm, smiling eyes, full of affection and indulgence. Like the life-or-death crisis I'd been through was nothing more than a petty squabble between two women fighting for his attention.

How did it end up like this?

At first, he did care about me.

Back then, we'd just gotten married. Emily slipped a fungal extract into our wedding toast, something that would trigger a severe allergic reaction.

That night, my whole body broke out in blisters, and I itched so badly I scratched my skin raw.

Jonathan was furious. He stayed up all night mixing an anti-allergy drug to save me, then stormed into the lab with bloodshot eyes, ready to smash all of Emily's test tubes. He even threatened to cut all ties with her.

But just three days later, he gave in. He was defeated by Emily's tears and her suicide attempt.

When he arrived, Emily had already kicked over the stool, and there was a glaring purple bruise on her neck.

Jonathan, shaken and guilt-ridden, helped her down.

When he got back from the hospital, he rubbed his forehead, looking exhausted, trying to comfort me. "Anna, she has depression. She's suffering and needs an outlet. She didn't really want to kill you. Let it go."

That was the day I learned he and Emily had once promised to marry each other.

He'd told her that if he hadn't found someone by the time he turned thirty, he'd marry her.

But at twenty-eight, he met me and fell for me instantly, and we got married in a flash.

Emily went completely off the rails. Jonathan steeled himself and sent her overseas, determined to marry me.

"It's my fault," Jonathan said, holding my hand, his voice earnest. "Anna, you're my wife. Can't you cut her some slack and let her be? For my sake?"

From that day on, I kept backing down, over and over.

Until today, when she went as far as poisoning me with a lethal neurotoxin.

The Interface chimed in, its voice low and ghostly. [Host, Jonathan still cares about you a lot. If you can't bring yourself to leave, tell him the formula's wrong.

[He'll be wracked with guilt and spend the rest of his life making it up to you. He'll love you forever.]

I closed my eyes and sneered to myself. What good was his guilt to me? It didn't mean anything.

The Interface asked, [But host, you already gave up on the mission to return to the modern world.]

I stayed silent.

Jonathan had treated me so well once that I convinced myself the mission of letting him kill me was impossible.

Back in the modern world, I was an orphan with nothing to lose. Maybe it was better to stay and build a life with him.

But I forgot, people changed. And even favoritism eroded under the weight of tears.

"No. I'm going home," I said.

The poison took a month to run its course. Thirty days. I could wait that long.