That night, I had a dream.
In the dream, Ethan's shirt was partially unbuttoned, revealing his chest, and he was breathing heavily. He leaned in, gripping my chin while the shackles on my wrists jingled softly.
"Estelle..."
He murmured my name, his voice low and magnetic, as he bent down to kiss me.
I jolted awake.
Sweat clung to my back, damp and uncomfortable. I got out of bed and headed to the bathroom to clean up.
As I stared into the large bathroom mirror, fragments of the dream lingered in my mind—Ethan's husky breaths, the sweat dripping from his skin, and the way he whispered my name so tenderly...
I sighed.
This was what happened when I stay single for too long, I thought. Fantasizing about the male lead—and with handcuffs, no less. How embarrassing.
---
I had thought my life would remain peaceful.
That was until Alina called me in tears.She said her adoptive mother—my biological mother, whom I'd never met—had a failing kidney and urgently needed a transplant.
"Estelle, you're Mom's biological daughter," she pleaded. "Your kidney is very likely to be a match. You can't just watch her die."
"Estelle, you're still young. Losing one kidney won't affect your life much... Please, I'm begging you. Save Mom, and I'll give you everything back. Please save her!"
Her voice was thick with sobs, her words broken by gasps for air. In the background, I could hear a faint, familiar voice offering comfort. It sounded like one of the White brothers, or maybe Ethan—it was hard to tell.
I calmly ended the call, silencing her cries, and blocked her number.
They wanted my kidney?
Dream on.
---
I woke again, gasping for air, haunted by the sensation of drowning in icy seawater. Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I stood in the bathroom, staring at the dark circles under my eyes.
It had been a week since I'd had a good night's sleep.
The knowledge that Alina was seeking my kidney felt like a sword hanging over my head. No matter how many times I told myself that this was a civilized society where they couldn't just take me away, it didn't help.
In this story, morality bent to the whims of the female lead and male lead.
If they killed, it was called justice. If they tormented the "villainess," it was deemed romantic banter. And if someone like me—a despicable third party interfering in their love—died, it was deserved.
Smash.
The bottles of lotion on the sink toppled over. Glass shattered, and shards pierced my foot, mixing blood with the milky white liquid—cold and stinging.
In my last life, Ethan had captured me just after I'd landed my first job.
The boss had been kind, willing to overlook my lack of qualifications, and my colleagues were genuine, joking about how I'd owe them drinks once I got my first paycheck.
It wasn't much—two thousand a month—but I had cherished it.
I had been so excited to start, only to be dragged into a CEO's twisted game of dominance and affection, ending up dead and ruined.
What had I done to deserve that?
In the mirror, a pale, ghostly face stared back at me. Its lips curled into a grim smile.
"Don't push me," I whispered.
Because if they did, I'd drag them down with me, even if it cost me my life.
