The deal was simple. Cruel, but simple: My wife, Alisa, was a Traveler—a soul thrown into this world—and the only way for her to permanently stay was to successfully complete her mission: conquer the second Male Lead. But somewhere along the way of her mission, she fell in love with me, the actual Male Lead. She was caught between her survival, tied to the world's directive, and the genuine affection she’d developed for me. A difficult choice, I thought at the time. Then I flew overseas to finalize a massive acquisition, only to be ambushed and snatched by an international criminal cartel. For three agonizing hours, I endured tortures that felt less like an interrogation and more like a depraved inventory—every piece of equipment they owned was tested against my body. In a momentary lapse of their attention, drowning in a pain that rendered me delirious, I managed to dial her number, a desperate plea for rescue. The line connected, but it wasn't Alisa’s voice that answered. It was static, followed by her unconsciously picking up the call, allowing me to listen to her conversation with her secretary. "Ms. Sebastian, are you sure about this? Ordering the cartel to... put Mr. Hawthorne through that? It’s extreme." Alisa’s voice was frighteningly devoid of emotion. "He won't die. He can't." Once the secretary left, I heard her whisper to herself. "Noel is the Male Lead. He has the shield of the main character. He can’t die." "This ordeal is the key—it breaks his narrative power, shifts him into Tristan's role, the Male Lead 2. Once he becomes Tristan, the mission ends, and I get to stay and have him. It’s the only way to have both." The words were a bucket of ice water, washing away the pain and replacing it with a bone-deep chill of understanding. The marriage, the love, the devotion—it was all a tactical play. When the thugs eventually dragged me, a broken, shivering mess, back to the torture rack, I offered no resistance. ... The long, surgical needle pressed deep beneath my nail beds, but I barely reacted. I was numb. Not just from the pain, but from the utter emotional obliteration. "Damn, this guy's tough as nails," one of the thugs grumbled. "I've lost count of how many implements we’ve used. Not a single sound out of him." The cartel leader frowned. "The employer said he must be brought to the brink of death. Repeat the last sequence!" After another relentless sequence of agony, the concrete floor was slick with my blood. Even the men administering the punishment looked uneasy. The leader, visibly unnerved, took a call. It was Alisa. "Ms. Sebastian, we've put this man through hell twice now. If we continue, he won't make it," he cautioned. Alisa instantly cut him off. "You have to keep going for three full hours! The torture cannot stop! And every man must take a turn on his... on his person. Ten cuts total, ten segments—not one segment less!" The leader glanced at my bloodied, unrecognizable form, a flicker of something that looked like pity in his eyes. "But, Ms. Sebastian..." "No buts. You took the money. Do the job. I promise you, he won’t die! How many cuts so far?" A raw, involuntary scream tore from my throat as a new wave of fire ripped through my body. "Ah!" Hearing my cry, she stopped the cartel leader from answering. "Enough," she said, her voice catching with what I now knew was a performance of distress. "I can't bear to hear his screams anymore. I'm... heartbroken." Alisa inhaled deeply, her voice trembling slightly. "Do as we planned. Inject the virus into him last, then you can scatter." Then, as if she couldn't stand another second of hearing the echoes of my torment, she hung up abruptly. I knew exactly what "virus" she was referring to. I had traveled here a month ago for the deal. Before it was finalized, a lethal, rapidly spreading virus had caused the country to lock down. Alisa had shown up shortly after the outbreak began. I had been foolishly moved, believing she risked her life to be by my side. Now, I realized she had arrived early only to orchestrate this entire nightmare. The leader sighed, waving his hand for the men to continue. The next hour was a blur of suffering I can't recall clearly, a period where my body ceased to feel like my own. When they finally lifted me off the rack, there wasn't an inch of undamaged skin left, and I couldn't even stand. The leader stepped forward, gripping my hair, and administered an injection into my neck. I was past feeling the prick of the needle, but I knew what he was doing. When the room finally fell silent, I opened my eyes. With the last ounce of strength, I focused on my left hand and forced the wedding band from my ring finger. I stared at the plain, platinum band. So many memories flashed through my mind. Our marriage was initially a strategic merger between the Hawthorne and Sebastian families. I was open to it, but Alisa fought it fiercely—after all, she was supposed to be conquering Tristan Bellweather. I had met with her, intending to break the engagement amicably. To my surprise, the moment she saw me, she reversed course. She insisted on marrying me. "I’m not impulsive, Noel," she had said, her eyes wide and sincere. "I fell in love with you at first sight!" I had reservations about "love at first sight," but she was so resolute, so beautiful, that I eventually agreed. It didn't seem to matter who I was merged with. In the ensuing months, Alisa had proven her devotion in countless small ways, gradually melting the ice around my heart. She had placed this ring on my hand on our wedding day. She had told me it was a simple band because she’d made it herself, even sourcing the raw materials from a remote mine. Her sincerity had touched me deeply, and I had worn it ever since. Now, looking at it, I felt nothing but an absurd, choking mockery. This was Alisa Sebastian's love. Ignoring the excruciating pain, I swung my arm. The ring, once a symbol of my devotion, arced through the dim light, struck the wall with a sharp, pathetic clink, and settled silently in the dust. I lay there, feeling the terrifying, subtle changes beginning inside me. The virus had begun its work. It was fast-acting, lethal, and started with crippling weakness and dizziness. It wasn't instantly fatal, but that was if the body was intact and healthy. After three hours of unrelenting torment, my immune system was nonexistent. Injecting this now was a death sentence. The initial symptoms hit me like a sledgehammer. Within thirty minutes, I felt trapped between freezing cold and searing heat, my body racked by spasms. Without the counter-agent—the specific anti-viral vaccine—I had less than forty-eight hours to live. I had assumed the cartel wanted a ransom, given I was the CEO of the Hawthorne Group, worth billions. Instead, this entire horror show was orchestrated by my wife to turn me into Tristan Bellweather's plot device. Tristan had been a constant shadow in our lives since the start of our marriage. I hated the man for his thinly veiled challenges, and the worst part was Alisa’s consistent defense of him. "Noel, you know I only interact with Tristan because of the World Will's instructions. It's the only way for me to stay here, for us to have a future. Please, just be patient with me." "He’s only a friend, I swear. I love you, truly. Trust me, when this is over, I will make it up to you." She had confessed everything about the Traveler premise on our wedding night. It was a fantastical, almost unbelievable story, but I loved her, so I chose to believe. For her, I had tolerated every provocation from Tristan. Alisa would always return with gifts and apologies, her eyes brimming with what I believed was genuine distress, begging for more patience. And I always forgave her. For our future. But this. This went too far. She had orchestrated my death. In that instant, the heart-wounding betrayal surpassed the physical agony. As my consciousness began to drift, I heard the rapid, panicked sounds of footsteps, followed by Alisa’s voice—a perfect blend of forced panic and manufactured distress. "Noel, stay with me! I'm getting you to the hospital now. You're going to be fine!" She immediately directed her men to gently lift me onto a waiting gurney. Even with their careful movements, the raw pain was an oceanic wave, overwhelming everything. Seeing the grimace on my face, Alisa’s eyes welled up. She reached for my hand, then hesitated, unable to find an untouched spot to grasp. Suddenly, her gaze snagged on my bare finger. The lack of the ring made her body stiffen almost imperceptibly. She clearly wanted to ask about it, but seeing my condition, she swallowed the question. In this state, who would care about a piece of jewelry? She pushed down a flash of annoyance and leaned closer. "Just a little longer, Noel. We're almost at the hospital!" Before, her concerned tone would have made me feel safe and cherished. Now, it made me sick. The pain in my body was a constant, searing reminder of the person responsible for it. Every ounce of love I had felt for Alisa curdled into a corrosive hatred. I clenched my fists, reopening the wounds on my hands, the sharp, distracting pain the only thing keeping the rising bile of hatred from consuming me completely. Alisa sat beside the gurney in the ambulance, her face etched with anxiety and pity. Looking at her tear-filled, concerned features, I found her utterly repulsive. If I didn't know the entire sequence was her own macabre play, I might have believed she was heartbroken. My gaze hardened. My voice was cold, razor-sharp. "You had my GPS tracker. Why are you only showing up now?" The warehouse where I was held was only two blocks from the hotel. I had a subcutaneous tracker linked directly to her phone. She would have known my exact location the moment she checked. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Of course. She wasn't nearby waiting for the timer to run out—she was waiting until the coast was clear. Hearing the caustic sound, Alisa flinched, assuming my bitterness was only about her delay. She looked contrite, tears spilling over. "I am so sorry, darling. It's my fault. My phone broke while I was searching for you." She reached for my face. "But I promise, you'll have the best care. I’ll make sure you recover completely." "And those savages who hurt you? They won't get away with this!" I couldn't stomach her hypocritical show any longer. I closed my eyes, seeking darkness to shut out her face. The ambulance sped to the nearest hospital. When the surgical team saw the state I was in—a body covered in blood—they gasped. They had never seen such extensive trauma. Inside the operating room, the doctors were visibly shaken. All my fingernails had been pulled out. My body was a roadmap of knife wounds, stab marks, burns, and needle punctures. It was a level of systematic cruelty that defied comprehension. Most people would have succumbed to despair after the first hour, yet somehow, I had survived. Just barely. Some of the nurses, overcome with emotion, wept silently, whispering curses against the inhuman kidnappers. Alisa waited outside. When the surgeon emerged, she rushed forward. The doctor removed his mask, sighing heavily. "It's dire, Ms. Sebastian. The worst case I've ever seen. Thankfully, he maintained consciousness and possessed an unbelievable will to live. That's why he’s alive now." Relief washed over Alisa's face. Then, the doctor's expression turned grim as he described the extent of the physical damage. "The brutality of the perpetrators... Mr. Hawthorne... he is no longer whole. The injuries to his groin area were inflicted with such deliberate cruelty—ten distinct, severed segments. The damage is irreversible and beyond any current surgical repair..." Alisa’s face drained of color. She stumbled backward, hitting the wall. "Stop!" she cried out, cutting off the doctor’s sentence. She slid down the wall until she was on the floor, tears streaming down her face as she murmured, "Don't say it... please don't say it..." The doctor, believing her distress was due to her husband's horrific suffering, decided to withhold the last piece of crucial information: the viral infection and the need for immediate vaccination. He figured he would simply have the nurse administer it shortly. When the anesthetic wore off, I woke up to Alisa's concerned face hovering over me. A powerful wave of pure disgust and loathing surged through me, so intense it made my stomach churn. Unaware of my internal collapse, Alisa brightened, pressing the call button and immediately asking if I was in pain. Her fake concern felt like a physical violation. When the doctor arrived and finished his check-up, he turned to Alisa. "He’s stable, but we need to address the viral infection immediately. I’ll have the nurse come in with the vaccine." At the mention of the virus, a flicker of panic crossed Alisa’s eyes, quickly followed by a strange, frantic motion as she ushered the doctor out. She returned to my bedside, whispering, "Don't worry, once you get the shot, the virus will be harmless..." Just then, the door swung open, and a voice I equally despised chimed in. "Alisa, how is Noel holding up?" Tristan Bellweather walked in, an expression of studied worry on his face. But I saw the thinly veiled triumph dancing in his eyes. Alisa shook her head, unable to speak, then looked at the hypodermic needle in his hand, assuming it was the antiviral. Knowing Tristan had a medical background, she didn't question it and quickly gave up her spot. "Why are you delivering it? Never mind. Give Noel the shot now, then I'll arrange a flight for you back home." Tristan frowned. "What about you?" Alisa gave me a look of staunch devotion. "I'm staying here until Noel is completely recovered." I couldn't stand her nauseating performance and turned my head away. Tristan sighed dramatically. "Alisa, I know how devoted you are, but you forgot about the mess waiting for us back home." She met his gaze and remembered. Her sudden departure to execute this plan meant the Hawthorne Group’s board was already questioning her authority. She rubbed her temples wearily. "Fine. I'll go back with you." I laughed internally. Of course. Everything—the board, the company, the mission—was more important than me, her husband, who was fighting for his life. Alisa gave Tristan a few quick instructions, then left to contact the airport. The moment she was gone, Tristan slid onto the edge of my bed, intentionally pressing down on my wounded leg. I frowned, pulling my hand away. I refused to look at him. Tristan scoffed, his voice dripping with schadenfreude. "I never thought the great Noel Hawthorne would fall this far." "How does it feel? To be crushed into the dirt?" I turned my head and met his gaze, my voice strained. "Even like this, she still hasn't divorced me." Tristan’s triumphant smile evaporated. He glanced at the syringe he had placed on the side table, then the grin returned, crueler than before. He picked up the needle. "Do you know what this is? This is a high-dose sedative. Enough to keep you asleep for at least twenty-four hours." "Alisa told me to bring it. She needs that time to swoop in, steal the multi-billion-dollar medical contract you've been working on, and hand it straight to me." My eyes widened in shock. "What are you talking about!" Our companies were fierce, equally matched rivals in the medical equipment sector. This contract would solidify the Hawthorne Group as the industry titan, completely eclipsing Tristan’s Bellweather Medical. I had spent two weeks working non-stop, even drinking myself to the point of a near ulcer with the client, to secure this. Alisa knew how critical this deal was to my legacy. How dare she hand it to him! Tristan reveled in my stunned expression. He knew he was running out of time, so he grabbed my wrist, pushed the needle into my vein, and emptied the syringe into my system. As the fog of the sedative overtook me, I heard Tristan’s voice, thick with exhilaration. "Noel Hawthorne, everything you have—it's mine now!" Tristan's intent was quickly thwarted. My body was too ravaged, the pain too overwhelming. I only slept for an hour before the agony tore me back to consciousness. I opened my eyes to see a fully masked doctor standing by my bed. The doctor looked confused. "I specifically asked the nurse to administer the antiviral shot. Why are you still presenting with such aggressive viral symptoms?" I gave a bitter, gasping laugh. "Because the vaccine was swapped." The doctor’s eyes widened in horror. "What! Who would do such a thing? Swapping a vaccine at a time like this—it's murder!" I gripped his sleeve, my voice thin and desperate. "Doctor, it’s only been seventeen hours since the injection. There’s still time. You have to give me the vaccine." I would not die. Not until I made them both pay. The doctor’s face fell. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hawthorne. The hospital is completely out." I yelled, despair rising in my chest. "How can you be out!" He sighed. "We’re not in the main infection zone. All remaining stock was rerouted to the areas with higher confirmed cases. The vial that was swapped... that was the last one." I instantly thought of my rivals. "Tristan! Alisa! They haven't boarded yet. Call my secretary, Harrison. He needs to intercept them!" The doctor understood the urgency. He nodded and rushed out to contact Harrison Cole. Infected and isolated, I could only wait, paralyzed by the fever and the pain. Ninety minutes later, Harrison returned, his face pale and etched with defeat. He stood outside the glass partition, shaking his head. "I tried, Mr. Hawthorne. I demanded the vaccine. Tristan insisted he had already given it to you." "And Alisa!" I pleaded. "She was right there! She should have forced him!" Harrison looked away, a pained expression crossing his face. "Mrs. Hawthorne... she believed Tristan. She told me to tell you to stop playing games and that she would come back to you once her affairs were sorted out." Rage blinded me. I swept everything from my bedside table, sending instruments and water flying. "Who needs her company! I hope she dies! I just need the vaccine!" The moment the words left my lips, a searing pain erupted in my chest, and I violently spat out a mouthful of dark, clotted blood.
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