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Readora Oasis

Started 15h ago

"""Affection Level: 0%."" That number followed me for six years. Even when he got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. Everyone thought I was lucky. What they didn't see were the hidden comments floating past my vision. He was acting. I was the placeholder. Then the system spoke. ""Final phase unlocked. Ten days remaining."" Ten days to die for a man who never loved me? No thanks. So I stopped playing nice. I ate what I wanted. Went where I wanted. Remembered who I was before I became convenient. When he cornered me, wearing that familiar wounded smile, I didn't flinch. ""I'm done being your side quest,"" I said. The original mission was to make him fall in love. My new mission is simpler. Make him regret ever treating me like a disposable character. The countdown isn't my ending. It's my opening cue. Let's see who gets erased first." "On the third day of trying to “win over” Julian Cross, he confessed to me. Which made no sense at all—because the affection score floating above his head was still a solid zero. After we officially got together, he treated me like I was the center of his world. Lavish dates. Constant attention. A kind of devotion that felt almost theatrical. On the sixth anniversary of our relationship, he proposed—publicly, dramatically, with a ring that caught the light just right. I was nodding through tears when a flood of comments suddenly flashed across my vision. [He’s really putting on a show—six whole years of pretending, all to protect the real heroine.] [This stand-in is way too into her role. I’m dying.] The blood in my veins froze. No wonder that number had never changed. Not once in six years. At the same time, a cold mechanical voice detonated inside my head. “Final phase initiated. Countdown to completion: ten days.” “Failure will result in total termination.” I smiled, slipped my hand out of the ring, and wiped the tears from my face. “Sorry,” I said calmly. “I’m done playing this game.” *** The live feed kept scrolling. [Whoa. Did you see her eyes just now?] [She should’ve woken up sooner. His heart’s always been with the heroine.] [Calling it now—she’s about to snap.] Snap? No. I was just remembering things. Small things. Things I’d ignored for years. He never let me meet anyone alone—said he was worried I’d trust the wrong people. Whenever I mentioned work, he’d cut me off gently. “You don’t need to work. I’ll take care of everything.” I’d thought it was love. It wasn’t—it was a cage. I’d thought it was love. It wasn’t. It was a cage. I returned to the estate in a daze and began throwing clothes into a suitcase, my movements stiff and mechanical. As I passed the study, the comments exploded. [Look at the computer!] [Oh no—he didn’t log out.] [Code red. Protect the heroine at all costs.] A notification chimed inside the room. I pushed the door open. The screen was still lit, a chat window open between Julian and Victor Hale—the man the story revolved around. The screen was still lit. A chat window—between Julian Cross and Victor Hale. The most recent message was from Julian. [She suddenly turned down the proposal. Keep Elena safe for the next few days. Don’t let Arden get anywhere near her.] Victor replied almost instantly: . [Understood. You’ve carried this for six years. I know it hasn’t been easy.] I laughed at the absurdity of it all—how, because of me, two men who were meant to be rivals had ended up on the same side. I laughed. How absurd. Because of me, two men who were supposed to be rivals had become allies. I scrolled up. Each line cut into me slowly, like a dull blade. Victor: [In the original story, Arden ruins Elena’s face. She even has someone violate her.] Victor: [Living with someone that vile must’ve been hel1. You didn’t deserve that.] Julian answered: [ As long as Elena is safe, none of it matters.] Victor: [ She seems more attached to you lately. If she ever finds out the truth, she might completely lose it.] Julian: [ She won’t.] Julian: [Then— And if she does—and dares to touch Elena—I’ll break her limbs and lock her in a psychiatric facility for life!] There was an exclamation point at the end. I stared at the screen, my fingertips ice-cold. The comments erupted. [“All worth it.” Wow. He really loves her—guess who.] [Is it just me, or is this terrifying? Six years of calculated manipulation?] [Relax. She’s the villain. This is justice—and true love wins.] [Look at her face… is she about to snap?] [gir1, don’t be dramatic. Just run.] Run? I looked down at my slender wrist. Yeah. I needed to run. Dragging my suitcase outside, I stepped into the night. The street was quiet, unfamiliar. The feed panicked for me. [She’s really leaving?] [Hurry up! Don’t ruin the romance!] [Wait—someone’s coming. Is that Julian’s car?] Headlights tore through the dark as a black sedan screeched to a stop beside me. Julian jumped out, shirt rumpled, breath uneven, his face carefully arranged into panic and heartbreak. “Arden, I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I rushed things. I thought you’d be happy.” He reached for me, eyes red. “Don’t go. Let’s talk, okay?” Once, I would’ve melted. Now, all I could hear was his message—break her limbs and lock her away. I stepped back, avoiding his hand. “It’s not your fault,” I heard myself say, my voice oddly light. “I’m just tired.” “Tired…?” His lashes trembled, as if he couldn’t process the word. “You don’t love me anymore?” Under the streetlight, his expression was flawless—award-worthy. A single comment drifted past. [Honestly… he wasn’t entirely fake these past six years. This hurts.] That was what finally woke me up. I met his gaze. “Julian.” “In these six years—even for one second—were you ever truly happy?” His pupils shrank, just barely. He didn’t answer. But the feed exploded. [She knows?!] [Holy—this is big!] [Julian, say something! Make it up!] The wind was cold as I gripped my suitcase and stepped into the darkness. The wind was cold. I gripped my suitcase and turned into the darkness. No footsteps followed. Only the countdown ticking tickled clearly in my head: . 9 days, 23 hours, 59 minutes. The game wasn’t over. But Ithe player was done following the rules. I flagged down a cab and leaned my forehead against the window, my hands trembling slightly. Not from fear. From excitement. So this was what it felt like—shedding six years of pretense. Like finally being able to breathe, deep and full, without someone’s hand on my throat. The countdown flickered coldly before my eyes. 9 days, 23 hours, 10 minutes. Less than ten days left. All for someone who was never going to love me. How ridiculous. “Where to?” the driver asked, catching my reflection in the rearview mirror. I gave him the address of a riverside café I used to love. Julian Cross had always said it was “too noisy, too chaotic.” Eventually, he simply stopped letting me go. The live feed drifted across my vision. [Where is she going? Why isn’t she running?] [Julian’s last look was terrifying…] [Am I the only one who thinks she looks stunning in that red dress?] Outside the window, neon lights streaked past in a blur. For six years, it had been like living under a glass dome—every view filtered through Julian’s preferences, his comfort, his rules. Now the glass was shattered, and air rushed in—street sm0ke, damp river wind, and the laughter of strangers all at once. Now the glass was shattered. Air rushed in, carrying street smoke, damp river wind, and the laughter of strangers. It felt so real it nearly made me cry. The café was still there. When I pushed the door open, a small bell chimed overhead. The owner—a gray-bearded man—froze when he saw me. “Arden?” “Mr. Collins. It’s been a long time.” He wiped his hands and stepped out from behind the counter, smiling in disbelief. “It’s really you. What’s it been—five, six years? You always sat by the window. One latte, and you’d work all afternoon…” That was when I remembered. Before Julian, I used to come here to write my thesis. Back then, I was a film stud.ent, dreaming of awards, scribbling notes all over empty script pages. And then? Then Julian had said, “Acting is too exhausting. I’ll take care of you.” He’d said, “The industry eats people alive. It’s not for you.” He’d said, “Arden, you don’t need anyone else. You have me.” And I believed him. I gave up auditions, turned down contracts, locked my dreams in a drawer—and handed him the key. “The usual?” Mr. Collins asked. “Yes.” I hesitated, then added, “And a slice of tiramisu.” I used to avoid it. Julian said I gained weight easily, that it wouldn’t look good on camera. But with only ten days left, who cared? The window seat was empty. I sat down, the river breeze brushing my face as the lights across the water shattered into trembling gold. The first bite melted on my tongue—sweet cream, bitter coffee liqueur. I closed my eyes. It was delicious. So this was what being alive felt like. The feed went quiet for a moment, then slowly resumed. [She’s eating so seriously…] [Why does this suddenly hurt to watch?] [If I only had ten days left, I’d eat like that too.] [Do you really think Julian will let her go this easily? I don’t.] Neither did I. So when my phone vibrated and his name flashed across the screen, I wasn’t surprised at all. I answered, saying nothing. “Arden, where are you?” His voice carried a trace of exhaustion. “I’m worried.” “Eating.” “Come home,” he said softly. “We both need to calm down. I promise I won’t bother you tonight—you can take the guest room. We’ll talk properly tomorrow, okay?” The tone was achingly familiar. For six years, every time I tried to resist, he’d used it—gentle, patient, inch by inch guiding me back into the cage. And then everything would return to normal. “Julian,” I said, staring at the river, “do you remember my graduation project?” He paused. “Why bring that up now?” “I played a woman who was imprisoned. In the end, she burned the house down—with herself still inside.” I scooped up another bite of cake. “You said it was too extreme. That no one in real life would be that foolish.” “I finally understand now.” “It wasn’t foolishness,” I said quietly. “It was all she had left.” His breathing grew heavier on the other end of the line. “What are you trying to say?” “I’m saying,” I finished the last bite of cake, “that for the next ten days, I’m going to live my own life.” “Don’t look for me. Don’t interfere. And don’t threaten my family.” “And ten days from now—if I’m still alive…” I smiled. “We can play continue your game again.” I checked into the most expensive presi//dential suite in the city, paying with the secondary card Julian Cross had given me. The live feed floated lazily across my vision. [presi//dential suite??? She really knows how to live.] [Using the male leadJulian’s m0ney to stay at a luxury hotel—legendary move.] [She’s got ten days left. Why not splurge?] I tossed my suitcase into the entryway and sank into a bathtub filled with rose petals, the water warm against my skin. The countdown pulsed in my mind. 8 days, 14 hours, 32 minutes. Eight and a half days left. My phone was unnervingly quiet—Julian didn’t call again, which wasn’t like him at all. My phone was unnervingly quiet. Julian didn’t call again. That wasn’t like him. Late at night, I lay on a bed wide enough to fit three people, staring up at the ceiling. The comments were sparse now. [She actually fell asleep? Nerves of steel.] [What’s Julian doing? Looks like he’s checking her phone location.] [Honestly, being watched like this is suffocating.] I was just drifting off when a violent crash shattered the silence. I jolted upright. The feed exploded. [What was that sound?!] [Someone’s breaking in!!!] [Is that Julian???] [Oh my god I’m scared.] Before I could react, the door was kicked open. Julian Cross stood in the doorway, his eyes bloodshot, fury radiating off him in waves. “Arden Vale.” His voice was hoarse as he stepped inside, one slow step at a time. Instinctively, I clutched the collar of my robe. He stopped in front of me, his shadow swallowing me whole. “Where’s Elena?” I froze. “What?” “Don’t play dumb.” He seized my wrist, his grip so tight it sent pain straight to the bone. “Where did you take her? Talk.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about—” I struggled, but his fingers only tightened. The comments went wild. [What’s happening? The heroine was kidnapped?!] [By the villain? No way—she’s been at the hotel the whole time.] [The timeline doesn’t add up. When would she even do it?] [Julian’s lost his mind.] “Julian, let go!” I su//cked in a sharp breath. “I haven’t even seen Elena! I’ve been here all this time—” “Arden Vale,” he said coldly, “I was wrong about you.” His grip tightened, eyes burning with contempt. “You put on a perfect show—crying, falling apart. And then you turn around and kidnap her?” “Arden Vale, I underestimated you.” “You act devastated, then turn around and kidnap her?” His voice dripped with contempt. “You really are that vicious.” “I didn’t.” I gritted my teeth. He shoved me hard onto the bed and leaned over me, bracing his hands on either side of my head. “I’m giving you one last chance,” he said. “Where is Elena? What did you do to her?” His breath was hot against my face, carrying a violence I’d never felt from him before. In six years, I had never seen this version of Julian Cross. The feed split. [He’s terrifying…] [But if she really kidnapped the heroine, doesn’t she deserve it?] [Look closely—she couldn’t have done it.] [Could this be a mistake?] “I told you,” I said through clenched teeth. “I don’t know.” “Julian,” I forced the words out, “in these six years—have I ever lied to you?” “Julian, look at me. In these six years, have I ever lied to you?” His pupils contracted. For a split second, doubt flickered. “Elena’s phone signal disappeared,” he said coldly, lifting his gaze to mine, sharp as a poisoned blade. “At the café you went to.” Ice flooded my veins. A It was a trap. Someone had set me up. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t—” My voice began to shake. “Enough.” He straightened abruptly and pulled out a folding knife. Julian grabbed my wrist again, pressing the blade against my skin. “Arden Vale.” His voice dropped into something terrifyingly calm. “I know you hate Elena. I know you think she took me from you—though I was never really yours to begin with. But you do not touch her.” “I’ll ask you one last time,” he snarled. “Where is she?” The blade bit into my wrist, warmth bursting free as pain shot through me, sharp and blinding, tearing through my limbs. The blade bit into my wrist. Bright red blood spilled instantly. Pain ripped through me like electricity, shooting through my limbs. My vision darkened. I nearly blacked out. The feed went berserk. [He’s completely insane!] [I’m starting to feel bad for her… she really doesn’t look like she knows.] [Say something! Lie if you have to!] I opened my mouth, but only a broken breath escaped. “I… didn’t…”

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