He Watched Me Die 99 Times,The 100th Time, I Disappeared

Still refusing to stop.

Each breath burned.

Each step felt heavier than the last.

I reached the door, stepped inside, and locked it behind me.

The sound of the lock clicking into place echoed faintly.

Outside, Dominic watched my retreating figure, his brows drawn tightly together.

For the first time in a long while, there was confusion in his eyes.

He truly didn't understand me anymore.

"Do you have to die again just to be satisfied?" he muttered under his breath.

"Is this another trick to get my attention?"

But I didn't answer.

I didn't have the strength to.

When I woke again, a frustrated sigh slipped from my lips before I could stop it.

The dose had been too small.

I was still alive.

The disappointment was dull but heavy, settling deep inside me.

Turning my head slightly, I noticed a bottle of allergy medication sitting on the nightstand. Beneath it was a small note, the paper slightly crumpled at the edges.

[Take your meds when you wake up. I'll be there in a few minutes.]

There was no signature.

But I didn't need one.

I knew that handwriting too well.

A long time ago, we used to leave notes like this for each other all the time. Back when things were different, back when his care wasn't something I had to question. Before the blood-bound alliance had turned into a cage. Before Celeste. Before the ninety-nine deaths that taught me what this family truly cost.

His reminders would be stuck to the fridge every single day.

[Wear something warm. It's cold today.]

[No ice during your period.]

[Text me if you're out late. I'll come pick you up.]

Simple words.

Small things.

But they had once meant everything.

Then one day, the fridge was replaced.

And with it, those notes disappeared.

No one ever mentioned them again.

"Still upset you didn't die?"

Dominic's voice broke through my thoughts.

He entered the room, his expression unreadable, his gaze steady but distant. He moved the way he always moved through the estate, as though every room belonged to him and every person in it existed at his discretion.

Only then did I realize that I had sighed again just moments earlier.

He walked toward me, his tone curt, controlled.

"Did you take your meds? Next time you run into something you're allergic to, don't be stupid enough to swallow it."

There was a pause.

He reached out, his hand hovering in the air for a brief second, as if he intended to touch me.

But he stopped himself.

Something in his expression shifted, hesitation creeping in. His signet ring was perfectly still on his finger.

It had been too long.

The distance between us was no longer something a simple gesture could bridge.

In the end, he lowered his hand and pulled it back.

"Dominic," I said quietly, my voice calm and steady despite everything, "I'm sorry. I made Celeste vomit again."

The apology came easily.

It always did.

I picked up the bottle of medicine from the nightstand, twisted it open, and poured all the pills into his palm. The small white tablets collected there, meaningless and cold.

Then I looked up at him, meeting his eyes directly.

"You can deprogram me," I said softly.

"Or just kill me."

"That's it. Hand it to me. I'll take it myself."

My voice came out eerily calm, almost detached, the kind of calm that didn't belong in a moment like this. It was twisted in a way that made even me sound unfamiliar to my own ears, steady but edged with something quietly defiant.

Dominic froze.

For several long seconds, he didn't move at all, as if my words had struck him somewhere deeper than he expected. His eyes locked onto mine, searching, trying to understand, but finding nothing he recognized.

"Serafina, are you insane?" he snapped finally, his voice rising sharply. "Do you want to die that badly?"

Without warning, he flung the bottle of pills across the room. It hit the floor with a sharp crack, scattering white tablets across the marble. His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles along his face rigid with barely contained anger. Somewhere beyond the bedroom door, a soldier's weight shifted at the sound, then went still again.

"You want to die? Fine," he continued, his voice raw, almost hoarse with emotion he couldn't fully suppress. "But I won't let you."

The words echoed in the air.

And then, just as suddenly, he went still.

It was as if even he hadn't expected himself to say that.

A flicker of something crossed his face. Surprise. Irritation. Maybe even confusion. He hadn't been this visibly angry in years. Dominic was always composed, always controlled. The heir apparent of the Bellandi Family did not lose his temper. It was a luxury the rank didn't permit.