They Can Be on Their Knees, But My Wrath Won't Cease

Caleb pulled on his gloves and began preparing the instruments. His gel-covered hands pressed against my stomach, cold and impersonal, like I was livestock under his inspection. After a moment, he nodded with satisfaction.

“You remind me of an old saying,” he mused, his tone mocking, “even a tiger won't eat its own cub. I can’t believe someone as vicious as you managed to bear a healthy child.”

He picked up a scalpel, eyes gleaming. “If this child can save Delia's life, maybe I'll consider giving you back your photos.”

“Don’t bother,” I said calmly. Caleb didn't know that Delia had already spread those pictures everywhere. There was nothing left to blackmail me with.

“But I want something else,” I said, raising my wrist with the faded bracelet. “Remember this?” Caleb's gaze dropped to the worn plastic bracelet around my wrist. Surprise flickered across his face. The cheap charm had long since lost its color. He had given it to me when we were children, saying it was a symbol of his promise to protect me. 

“I want to claim your promise.”

His fingers hesitated before he slipped it off, stroking the frayed string. For a moment, his expression softened.

“Apart from setting you free,” he murmured, “I can promise you anything.”

I lowered my eyes, unwilling to meet his gaze. “After I die, scatter my ashes in the river.”

His jaw clenched. “You really think you can play the martyr?” he snapped. “It's just a C-section. You're not going to die.”

I smiled faintly. “I trust your medical skills,” I said. “But death doesn't need an invitation.”

Caleb turned away with a grunt and busied himself checking the equipment. He didn't even call for a nurse; he was going to operate alone.

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “If you want to use that promise for something like this, don't regret it. From now on, as long as you leave Delia alone, we’re done.”

He turned his back to me again. I stared at him for a moment, then whispered, “Goodbye, Caleb.”

The system confirmed it: the last thread connecting me to Caleb had been severed.

I asked the system why, when I was destined to die, it was so insistent on cutting ties with my targets. But the system, usually so chatty, fell silent.

The system had pushed me to end things with him, though I didn't understand why. I was destined to die anyway. What was the point of breaking these connections?

The system, usually so chatty, remained silent.

Just then, the door burst open. My parents stormed in, clutching a document. Without a word, they grabbed my hand and forced my thumb onto the ink pad.

It was a surrogacy agreement.

As long as Delia remained sick, I would be forced to stay pregnant, endlessly providing her with umbilical cord blood.

Mom and Dad—my first assigned "targets" when I arrived in this world. The system said that parental love was the easiest kind of affection to earn, so it counted both of them as a single goal. I had to reach 100% affection from both to complete the task.

Their favorability rating towards me had always been stable at 99%. For years, they'd adored me, kept me close and showered me with affection. I truly believed it would last forever. Even if I never completed the task or returned to my original world, I'd been content to grow old with them here.

But everything changed the day Delia returned.

Her tearful words echoed in my memory: “I don't know why Aurora left me there alone.”

They hadn't questioned her story; they'd simply looked at me with cold, accusing eyes.

And after Delia repeatedly whimpered, “Aurora, I'll be good. Please don't leave me again,” their affection withered entirely.

From that moment on, I became invisible in my own home.

Parent-teacher conferences? They only attended Delia's. Vacations, gifts, new clothes? All for Delia.

When I joined them at the dinner table, the lively chatter died. Sometimes, they didn't even set a place for me. Later, they claimed work trips as an excuse to stay away. Delia and I were sent to boarding school. But classmates whispered the truth: Delia was a day student. Our parents picked her up every afternoon, smiling, arms laden with treats. They'd built a new life without me.

When I introduced Damon to them, they refused to meet him. Until Delia declared she liked him too. Then, on the very night, they called, invited us to a lavish family dinner.

They got Damon drunk and locked him in a room with Delia, while locking me outside. I stood outside in the freezing cold, pounding on the door, begging them to stop.

“This is what you owe Delia,” Dad said through the crack in the door.

But Damon didn't go along with it. He climbed out the window and disappeared into the night.

Afterward, my parents begged me to convince Damon to marry Delia. When I refused, they cut me off.

They vanished from my life for seven years. When neighbors asked about me, they'd say I'd run off with a delinquent and died somewhere far away.

I might never have seen them again if not for Delia's illness. Now, here they were again, forcing my signature on a contract that turned me into a breeding machine for Delia's health. I didn't resist. I simply let them press my thumb to the paper.