I am a Tasker. The System promised me that if I could win the heart of my target, I could bring my beloved back from the dead. And so, I poured every ounce of my soul into melting the cold heart of the villain, Damian Koepp. I didn’t care that he killed me ninety-nine times. On my one-hundredth attempt, Damian, in a bid to amuse his cherished Sarah, threw me to a sadist. "You can't die anyway," he'd said with a smirk. "Make Sarah laugh, and I might just do you the honor of marrying you." What he didn't know was that the System had a hidden rule. After one hundred attempts, successful or not, my love would be resurrected. And I would vanish from his world, without a trace. … 1 [Host has died 99 times. Hidden reward protocol initiated. Upon 100th death at the hands of the target, reward will be automatically dispatched: Resurrection of Jean White.] When I opened my eyes, I was lying on a cold floor, the large pools of my own blood already dried and blackened. I came to this world for one reason: to resurrect my love, Jean White, by completing the task set before me—winning the heart of Damian Koepp. I was an orphan. No one had ever loved me until Jean pulled me from the darkness. So when the System told me that conquering Damian’s heart was the key to bringing Jean back, I agreed without a moment's hesitation. I gave Damian everything. I laid my heart bare for him, and even when he tortured me, I showed him nothing but unwavering devotion. Damian knew I was a Tasker. He knew I would be reborn after every death, so he used that knowledge to inflict every cruelty imaginable, showing me not a shred of mercy. For my ninety-ninth life, he dragged me to a fashion show for his beloved Sarah Vance. He gazed at her on the runway with a look of profound affection, all while humiliating me as if I were a dog at his feet. I simply sat there, silent and still, letting his words wash over me, refusing to leave his side. Halfway through the show, the ceiling suddenly gave way. A shower of glass rained down upon us. Without a thought, I threw myself on top of Damian, letting the shards pierce my back. But he shoved me off violently, scrambling to the side of Sarah, who was completely unharmed. The entire venue emptied out, but no one spared me a second glance. A piece of glass was lodged deep in my heart. I welcomed my ninety-ninth death. It was alright. After this rebirth, I only had to die one more time. Then, I could finally have Jean back. I had barely managed to pull myself to my feet when Damian’s call came through. "Are you awake yet?" he barked. "Sarah and I are at City Central Hospital. Make some broth and bring it over. Now." His voice dripped with impatience, as if every word spoken to me was a chore. The fact that I had just died for him didn't move him in the slightest. I struggled to my feet and drove home. Without even changing out of my filthy, blood-stained clothes, I started making the soup. Damian was always like this, demanding that any food I brought him be made by my own hands. If he found even the slightest flaw, he would throw the entire container, soup and all, in my face. During my sixty-seventh life, he’d scalded me so badly that a large scar marred my face. He didn't care. In fact, he led the jeering. "What does it matter?" he'd sneered. "The next time you die, it'll all reset anyway." Carrying the thermos, I hurried to the hospital. I found Damian tenderly caring for Sarah as she lay in her bed. The moment he saw me, his brow furrowed in disgust. "You didn't even change? What if you bring germs in here?" Sarah gently patted his hand, then offered me an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Nina. Damian is just so worried about me." She was pretending to defend me, but the mockery and contempt in her eyes were crystal clear. Damian snatched the thermos from me. He opened it, ladled out a spoonful of soup, blew on it, and carefully fed it to Sarah. She had barely swallowed when she began to cough violently. Damian panicked, patting her back frantically. After a few minutes, Sarah finally calmed down, her eyes misty as she glanced at the thermos. "I'm allergic to lemon." I stood frozen, staring at her. I knew her dietary restrictions better than her private physician. But if she decided, in this very moment, that she was allergic to lemon, there was nothing I could do. Damian spun around, his face contorted in rage. He flung the scalding soup directly at my face. "Are you trying to kill her? What, you think if you get rid of Sarah, you can take her place?" The searing heat felt like it was peeling my skin off. I bit my lip, fighting back the agony, and slowly explained, "I'm sorry." It didn’t matter what I said. Damian would never believe me. It was better this way. A quick death at his hands, and I could finally go home. Sarah watched my pathetic state with a triumphant smirk before melting back into a damsel in distress, tugging on Damian’s sleeve. "That's enough, Damian. Nina didn't mean it." Damian shot me a cold, hard look. "Clean it up." I knelt, my hands scraping against the broken glass on the floor, gathering the shards of the shattered thermos as if I couldn't feel the pain. For some reason, Damian’s mood soured even further. He roughly yanked me to my feet. "Can't you use a dustpan? Who are you putting on this pathetic act for?" He shoved me aside and called for a janitor. Seeing Damian standing next to me, Sarah’s brow tightened for a moment before she quickly changed the subject. "Oh, by the way, Damian, you haven't told Nina about the dress for the exhibition, have you?" Damian glanced at me, then spoke slowly. "Sarah needs a custom hand-embroidered gown for next month's gala. You'll have it done in the next few days." My embroidery skills were taught by a master artisan, refined and exquisite. But this kind of intricate work was incredibly time-consuming and strained the eyes. In my forty-sixth life, I had worked day and night on a piece for him, all because of an offhand comment he'd made. The exhaustion and eye strain had been so severe that I’d died in my sleep. When I was reborn, my vision had never fully recovered. The doctor had warned me to avoid such detailed work. Damian knew this. But he didn't care. I looked at him, my gaze soft, my eyes filled with nothing but pure, absolute love. "Of course. I'll do it." Damian froze, seemingly caught off guard by the look in my eyes. He turned his head away awkwardly. "After you finish Sarah's gown, I'll take you abroad to see a specialist." "It's okay, Damian," I said softly. "I'd do anything for you. You don't need to feel guilty." Damian stared into my genuine eyes, and for the first time, a flicker of something—perhaps emotion—stirred in his cold, merciless gaze. I, however, had no time to worry about whether he'd actually take me to a doctor. Once I left this world, none of it would matter. My eyes would be the least of my concerns. Damian's lips parted as if to say more, but from the bed, Sarah let out a pained whimper, clutching her head. "Damian..." He instantly turned his full attention to her, completely forgetting I was even in the room. I had no interest in staying anyway. I returned to my apartment and immediately began working on Sarah's gown. If I was lucky, I'd die from overexertion, just like last time. I couldn't wait to see Jean. I had been away from him for far, far too long. 2 The embroidery demanded my complete focus; not a single stitch could be out of place. The design for Sarah’s gown was immensely complex, and I found myself working day and night, pushing myself to the brink. My eyes were a web of red veins from the strain, and a dull ache throbbed in my head. Suddenly, my vision blurred. The world swam before me, and I collapsed, completely missing the phone screen as it lit up with Damian’s name. In the depths of my unconsciousness, I felt a large hand gently touch my forehead. I thought I had died, that I had finally returned to my own world. My eyes flew open, and I cried out Jean’s name in a rush of joy. "Jean!" But the eyes I met were not his. They were Damian's, narrowed with suspicion and a dangerous glint. "Jean," he repeated, his voice low. "Who is Jean?" His grip on my wrist tightened, his voice dropping an octave. "Who. Is. Jean?" My mind raced. I had to think of something. "He's just... a minor celebrity I used to have a crush on," I lied, the words feeling clumsy on my tongue. "I was just dreaming about him." It was a pathetic excuse, but after a few seconds of tense silence, Damian seemed to accept it. After all, my love for him was absolute. I had willingly died for him ninety-nine times. How could I possibly have someone else hidden in my heart? "You certainly have time for fantasies," he said, releasing my hand. His expression turned cold again. Just then, the sharp click of high heels echoed from the doorway. Sarah. Her face stiffened when she saw Damian and me together. "Nina, Damian told me you fainted while working on my dress. I came as soon as I heard. I'm so sorry, this is all my fault." She lowered her eyes in a show of guilt, but Damian immediately jumped to her defense. "This has nothing to do with you," he said, his tone dripping with mockery as he glanced at me. "Nina agreed to do it. She has to see it through." He let out a cruel laugh. "After all, a worthless life like hers is meant to serve you. If I told her to die, she'd probably do it without a second thought." His words struck me, but I felt nothing. On the outside, however, I had to feign a look of profound, repressed heartbreak. "Yes, Damian," I whispered. "Whatever you ask, I will do. I came into this world for you." Damian’s pupils constricted. He seemed flustered, unsettled. He grabbed Sarah's arm and pulled her from the room, tossing a final command over his shoulder. "Just get the dress done. You don't have to kill yourself over it." That was new. Damian had never cared about my life before. I shook my head, clearing the thought. I had to die, and soon. And I had a feeling Sarah would be the one to give me the opportunity. She presented a flawless, angelic facade to the world, but beneath it, she was vicious and selfish. She claimed she and Damian were just like siblings, but she ruthlessly tormented anyone who got close to him. As I pushed myself up, I realized I wasn't in my apartment. I was on Damian’s private yacht. I stepped out of the cabin for a walk and saw Damian and his friends hosting a party on the deck. I made my way to the bow, staring at the moon and letting the ache of longing for Jean wash over me. "There you are, Nina." Sarah approached me, a wine glass in her hand and a sweet smile on her face. But her eyes were filled with malice. "It seems you're getting better at this. Damian's been so gentle with you lately," she purred. "But it's foolish to think you can steal him from me. Do you really believe he could ever love you? All I have to do is crook my little finger, and he'll discard you without a second thought." She slowly backed towards the railing, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "Nina," she whispered, "what do you think he would do if he knew you pushed me into the sea out of jealousy? Would he… tear you to pieces?" Before I could even react, Sarah let out a piercing scream and threw herself over the railing, plummeting into the dark water below. Damian was there in an instant. He dove into the sea without hesitation, pulling a sputtering Sarah from the waves. Crew members lowered a lifeboat, and soon both of them were back on deck. Sarah slowly came to, her face streaked with tears as she clutched Damian’s sleeve. "Damian, don't blame Nina," she sobbed. "She just… she just loves you so much… I can understand. It's all my fault." Her words hung in the air, and every eye on the deck turned to me. "I always thought Nina was just a pathetic sycophant, but it turns out she's a vicious one too." "How dare she push Sarah overboard? Everyone knows Sarah is the apple of Damian's eye." "Who the hell does Nina think she is?" The whispers turned to accusations. Damian’s gaze, dark and murderous, settled on me. It was a look I knew well. It was the look he always had right before he killed me. He gave a cold, sharp order. His men seized me and dragged me towards a three-meter-high glass tank on the deck. I can't swim. I thrashed wildly as they threw me in. Damian stared at me as if I were already dead. "Who gave you the nerve to touch Sarah? It seems I've been too lenient with you lately." The filthy water filled my nose and mouth. My survival instinct kicked in, and I fought my way toward the surface, but Damian ordered his men to keep adding more water. The people around the tank erupted in laughter, the sound a distorted roar in my ears. Then, I remembered. This was it. This was what I wanted. If I die, I can see Jean again. I stopped struggling. My body went limp and sank to the bottom of the tank. Seeing this, Damian must have thought I was putting on an act. "Nina, stop pretending! You think this will make me let you go?" I didn't move. "Nina? Nina!" I remained motionless in the water. A note of panic entered his voice. "NINA! Drain the water! Drain it now!" 3 I dreamed a long, beautiful dream. A dream where the car crash never happened. Jean and I were married, happy. We had a child. A family of three, living through the seasons, together. I drifted back to consciousness, and the first thing I saw was Damian’s face, his eyes filled with a worry he was desperately trying to conceal. My heart sank with disappointment. So, I’m not dead yet. "What a clever little scheme, Nina," Damian’s voice was laced with cold fury. "Push Sarah into the sea, then pretend to drown yourself. Were you trying to make me feel sorry for you?" "No, Damian," I whispered, my voice weak. "I just… didn't know what else to do." My listless, broken state was, in his eyes, the ultimate proof of my love—a love so profound it left me unable to even defend myself. "Sarah is willing to forgive you," he said, his tone shifting. "But on one condition. Her research team is conducting an experiment. They need someone to spend a day alone in a room with a… psychopath. Don't worry, the security measures are top-notch. You'll be perfectly safe." Seeing my silence, he must have thought I was refusing. His brow furrowed with annoyance. "You hurt Sarah—" "I'll do it, Damian," I cut in, my voice soft. "For you, I'll do anything." From the first moment I met him, this was the mask I wore: a woman of infinite, gentle devotion, whose world revolved solely around him. Damian had never truly believed it, which was why he tested me, hurt me, again and again. And I just kept coming back, my only goal to prove my love. Unexpectedly, Damian reached out and gently touched my cheek. "I promise you," he said, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it. "After this is over, I'll marry you." I lowered my head and nodded. "Okay." I already knew how I was going to die. And this time, no one would be able to stop me. I was brought to the room that housed the madman. Outside, a team of monitors watched everything. I turned and gave Damian a small, reassuring smile before stepping inside without a shred of hesitation. For some reason, a sharp, painful knot twisted in Damian's chest. He had a sudden, overwhelming urge to stop me. But then he looked at Sarah's hopeful eyes, and he steeled his heart. It's fine, he told himself. It'll be over soon. I'll marry her. I'll make it all up to her. After all this time, Damian had finally started to realize that a life with me might actually be... good. Inside the house, to avoid raising suspicion, I spent the first few hours deftly evading the psychopath. I led him on a chase, playing the part of the terrified victim. Finally, he cornered me in a small room. He raised an axe. I didn't dodge. I didn't even flinch. I simply smiled and walked toward the blade. Blood pooled on the floor.
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