Chapter 1
Xavier Jensen's depressive beloved one, my younger sister, attempted suicide for the ninth time.
So he left me alone at our wedding.
Also for the ninth time.
Xavier said, "She's not like you. She suffers from severe mental illness. She needs me, her psychiatrist."
Thus, the system judged my romance mission as failed.
I was punished accordingly.
When Xavier finally realized I didn't want to live anymore, he tried to use all his professional expertise to cure me, to keep me in this world.
But I'd given up on him long ago.
*****
My name was Regina Shaw. Today marked the ninth time I'd been left at my wedding by the same man.
In the mirror, I saw a bride in a wedding dress—just looked like a joke.
The makeup artist was touching up my makeup. Her fingers trembled slightly as she carefully avoided the tear stains long since dried on my face.
"Miss Shaw, you're the most beautiful bride I've ever seen." Her compliment was cautious, but her eyes kept darting toward the door.
I knew what she was expecting.
Everyone was.
My phone buzzed—a video message popped up.
I didn't even need to click the video to know what it was about.
My "dear sister", Imogen Shaw, sobbed in distress with fresh red cuts lining her wrist, "Regina, I'm sorry, but I just can't go on like this."
There she went again with her act.
I forwarded it to Xavier, who owned a psychiatric clinic, and started the countdown.
Ten, nine, eight...
A man called out, "Regina."
The door burst open. Xavier looked dazzling in his perfectly tailored suit.
His face was twisted with that same anxious look—the one he reserved only for Imogen.
Seven, six, five...
"Imogen is having another episode. I have to check on her," Xavier continued, urgency in his voice.
His tie was crooked, and he was panting like he'd just sprinted a marathon.
Four, three, two...
"Go." My voice was eerily calm.
Xavier froze, as if he'd expected me to stop him this time.
He hesitated for a second and reached for me. "We can reschedule the wedding."
"No.
"This is the ninth time, Xavier." I leaned back.
The guests' whispers slipped through the door crack.
"The groom is leaving?"
"The bride's sister is suffering, after all."
"A doctor's duty comes first."
[Warning: final mission attempt failed.]
The system's voice was icy and mechanical in my mind.
Xavier left, just as I knew he would.
I'd watched his back as he walked away so many times. It was like a rehearsed stage play.
"She's not like you.
"She has severe depression. She needs me, her psychiatrist," he stated over his shoulder.
The dressing room door closed behind me. Slowly, I removed my veil. The system's alert chimed again.
[Xavier's affection level: 0%. Host's affection level: 99%. Mission failed. Punishment initiated: Host will develop a condition worse than major depression. All will to live will be erased.]
I laughed until tears spilled.
The makeup artist backed away as if I were a lunatic to her.
Maybe I was.
After all, I got left at the wedding nine times by the same man.
I steadied my voice. "Cancel the wedding."
The staff stared at me, frozen. Then I dragged my wedding dress toward the rooftop.
The wind howled. I stood at the edge and gazed down from thirty floors—a fall from here would be fatal.
Strangely, I felt no fear at all.
[Suicide is the fastest way to return to your original world.
[However, it is advised to manage the side effects from the punishment first.] I heard a warning from the system.
I stepped back from the edge—not because I was afraid to die, but because my death would be exactly what some people wanted.
Like my psychiatrist fiancé who always put his patients first.
Like my sister who wielded her depression like a weapon.
Like my parents who always said, "Imogen is sick. You have to understand."
The train of my wedding dress dragged through the stairwell, stained with dust. It was like my love for Xavier—unwanted anymore.
At home, I got a text from Xavier. [Imogen is stable. We'll talk about the wedding later.]
I didn't reply. Instead, I dropped my phone into a bathtub full of water.
I watched it sink, then I finally understood why Imogen would always use the suicide stunt.
When one was broken enough, laughter was the only thing left.
*****
The curtains hadn't been opened in two weeks.
I curled up in the corner of my bed and counted the cracks on the wall.
One, two, three... By seventeen, I lost track. No matter. I'd start over.
[Warning: Host's depression level is critical. Immediate intervention recommended.]
The system's voice echoed in my mind.
I blinked.
My eyelids weighed a ton.
The system continued, [Or you can choose to return to your original world.
[Current suicide success rate: 92%.]
On the nightstand lay a bottle of sleeping pills, a box cutter, and a rope.
It had taken me three days just to gather these—every time I tried to stand, dizzy spells would force me back into bed.
The doorbell rang.
I was counting the thirty-seventh crack before I realized someone was ringing my doorbell.
"Regina, I know you're home," a woman shouted.
That was my mother, her voice as shrill as nails scraping a chalkboard.
I dragged myself to the door.
Mother stood at the door and clutched a thermal lunchbox, her makeup flawless. The moment she saw me, she wrinkled her nose as if she'd caught a whiff of something foul.
She couldn't believe what she saw. "Is this how you are living?"
She pushed her way in. Her high heels clicked sharply against the floor. "Even Imogen keeps her room tidy when she's sick—unlike you."
I leaned against the wall and waited for her to finish.
I'd heard these same lines for twenty-eight years. I could recite them in my sleep.
She slammed the lunchbox onto the table. "Imogen's been hospitalized again.
"All because you canceled the wedding. Xavier says her condition is worse, so she needs—"
"How much?" I cut straight to the point.
My voice came out hoarse, barely recognizable.
Mother's expression froze for a moment before she squared her shoulders. "The medical expenses are covered by Xavier. But the doctor recommended Swila for her recovery."
I walked over to my desk and took out my checkbook. My fingers wouldn't cooperate—it took three attempts to sign my name.
"Enough?"
I handed her the check.
Her eyes gleamed at the amount. Then she nudged the lunchbox toward me. "It'll do. Oh, right. Soup for you. Imogen insisted I bring it. See how much she cares about you? Unlike you."
I opened the lid.
The greasy stench of the chicken soup hit me. I whirled around and bolted for the bathroom before retching.
Mother yelled through the door, "Stop faking it.
"Imogen has my soup just fine, and she's the one with severe depression. Since when are you so delicate?"
I knelt by the toilet and pressed my forehead against the icy wall.
The system sent an alert. [Host's vitals unstable. Activate emergency protocol?]
I denied inwardly.
Back in the living room, Mother was rummaging through my medicine cabinet.
She held up the medicine bottle accusingly. "You haven't taken any of these antidepressants?
"Imogen never misses a dose. No wonder Xavier says she's more cooperative with the treatment than you."
"Xavier talks to you about me?" I asked in my low voice.
Mother stilled momentarily, then smirked. "He's practically family now. Imogen needs him, and he... Well, since the wedding is off, I'll just come out with it."
She leaned in. Her perfume made me dizzy. "Xavier and Imogen are perfect for each other. He's a psychiatrist. Men like him prefer fragile women, not someone as cold as you."
I nodded. "Good for them."
Mother was struck dumb. She probably expected tears or screaming from me.
But I just sat there and looked at my fingers.
My fingernails were lined with tiny cracks, marks from my subconscious gnawing at them when I was asleep.
"That's it?" Mother pressed.
"I wish them happiness." My voice was calm.
Another caution came from the system. [Warning: Host's unusual response has alerted the target.]
Too late. I didn't care anymore.