"If she doesn't want me to wear it, I won't... Even though the System said if I don't put on the 'Gown of True Love' tonight, it'll take ten years off my life..."
She clutched her chest, face draining of color, as if the pain were unbearable.
Orson's expression shifted to panic. He dropped the gown and rushed to pull her into his arms.
"Willow! Don't be scared. I'm here!"
He whipped around to glare at me, voice sharp with accusation.
"Renata Fox! Do you want to push her to death? Is that what you want?"
"It's just a piece of clothing! Her life is at stake. Is your vanity really that important?"
I sat on the sofa, watching this little performance unfold.
Funny, really.
As someone who actually possessed a System, I knew perfectly well—what Orson "heard" wasn't anyone's inner voice.
It was just Willow Pruitt's one-woman show: The Tragic Heroine Forced by the System to Seduce the Male Lead.
But he bought it.
Not only bought it—he'd cast himself as the savior.
He believed that if he fulfilled Willow's every wish, he could rescue this poor, helpless girl from the clutches of an evil System.
How noble. How heroic.
There was just one problem.
Don't play generous with what's mine.