Sometime past midnight, a blood-curdling scream tore through the ceiling above me.
I didn't bother getting up. Just rolled over and went back to sleep.
The next few days, the house descended into chaos.
Willow would shriek that the System was going to drain her blood. Then she'd wail that it was going to strike her blind.
Each episode required me to pay the price to appease it.
The sea-view villa under my name? Transferred to her.
Every piece of jewelry in the house? Draped over her body to "ward off disaster."
Orson agreed to all of it.
Until the day of our tenth wedding anniversary arrived.
The same day Orson had promised to throw Willow her "wedding of the century."
To build hype for his precious Willow, Orson booked out the city's most luxurious hotel. He even chartered a private jet to fly in fresh flowers from God knows where.
The guest list read like a who's who of the city's elite.
He'd invited dozens of media outlets. The whole thing was being livestreamed nationwide.
In the bridal suite.
Willow sat before the mirror in my wedding dress—altered to fit her smaller frame. Her reflection stared back at her, eyes glittering with greed and triumph.