His Canary Gave Birth, and I Leapt to My Death Chapter 2

"You only act this way because you know how much I love you."

The eighteen-year-old Vincent had said those exact words to me once.

It was right after he discovered I was a task-runner, a plant sent to complete a mission.

"So all of it... was just a game?" he'd asked, his voice raw. "Buying me lunch every day, bringing me water after basketball practice, saving up all your money to buy me that RTX 4090... it was all just a mission to make me fall for you, so you could break my heart?"

The usual carefree arrogance was gone, replaced by a vulnerability that made his lean, youthful frame seem fragile, on the verge of shattering.

I stood before him, pale and speechless, the excuses dying on my lips.

"You're cruel, Helena," he finally said. "You win."

"From now on, you and I have nothing to do with each other."

He forced a laugh, trying to slip back into the persona of the untouchable, wealthy heir. But as he turned to walk away, I saw the tell-tale redness rimming his eyes.

He never looked at me again.

The System informed me that his affection meter had dropped to zero.

A heavy, suffocating weight settled in my chest. It wasn't about the fifty-million-dollar prize money. It wasn't about failing to go home.

What was it, then?

It was the realization that I, Helena Shen, was a coward. I didn't have the courage to admit that I had genuinely fallen in love with the vibrant, rebellious boy from the story.

From that day on, Vincent threw away every gift I'd ever given him. He rejected my apologies, my attempts to reconcile. If he saw me in the hallway, he would physically recoil as if I were something filthy.

I thought a man as proud as him would never forgive me.

But when a group of thugs with iron pipes cornered me in an alley, their leering faces a blur of malice...

Vincent didn't hesitate. He charged in, shielding me with his own body.

After the brawl, as he lay bleeding on a stretcher, he shakily pulled something from his pocket. Something I thought he had thrown away long ago.

A simple black hair tie.

My hair tie.

"You're free now, Helena."

[Congratulations, Host. Mission successful.]

The two voices spoke at the same time.

I collapsed beside him, holding his hand and sobbing, a bittersweet ache blooming in my heart.

That day, eighteen-year-old Helena made the boldest decision of her life.

Looking straight at Vincent, she spoke to the System with unwavering certainty.

"I'm not leaving."

"I'm going to marry him."

And now, at twenty-eight, looking at the man lying in the hospital bed, I said calmly, "Let's get a divorce."