Three years into our arranged marriage, Olivia wanted to have a baby with her dying ex-boyfriend, Luke. Through artificial insemination.

I said no. I told her if she went through with it, I’d die.

She threw divorce papers at me, her face twisted with disgust. "He’s dying, Daniel! Can you just stop being so selfish and dramatic for once?"

I failed the mission. The system’s punishment: jump from the 18th floor.

…

“Daniel, it’s just artificial insemination! I’m not sleeping with him! Can’t you be a little less selfish? Luke’s an only child. Do you want his family line to end?”

"Luke has cancer! He’s dying! I want to give him a child, give his parents something to live for! What’s so wrong with that?! If you can't handle it, we’ll get a divorce!"

Olivia’s face was flushed, her voice trembling with anger. I stared at her, stunned she would even say the word “divorce.”

"Olivia," I said, desperation creeping into my voice, "if you leave, I'll die."

"Then die," she hissed, then stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

I laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. What was I to her? Eight years of marriage, and she wouldn’t have a child with me. But for her dying ex? She’d do anything. How pathetic. How cliché. And I was stuck playing the cuckolded husband.

"Host, if you cannot dissuade the target from artificial insemination, you will fail the mission." The system’s voice was cold, emotionless.

Right. If I failed, I’d be taking a swan dive off the balcony. That was the system’s idea of a punishment, not mine. I hadn’t been serious about dying.

I racked my brain. Had I done something to deserve this? Why did she hate me so much?

Oh, right. She’d married me on a rebound, to spite Luke. Then, when it became clear they weren’t getting back together, she'd blamed me for ruining her chances.

I clung to a sliver of hope and called her. Three rings, then voicemail. Probably driving. I’d told her a million times not to answer the phone while driving. I'd call back later.

Thirty minutes later, I tried again. Same result. The hospital was close. It shouldn’t have taken her that long.

Unless…

I pushed the thought away and frantically redialed. After a dozen unanswered calls, it hit me: she’d blocked me.

The system propelled me towards the balcony. I looked down. Eighteen stories. Surprisingly, my legs didn’t shake. I’d always been afraid of heights, but this…this was exhilarating. This would definitely kill me. No chance of ending up a vegetable, or worse, crippled and even more repulsive to Olivia.

“Ready, host?” The system’s voice was a monotone. “Shall I commence the countdown?”

I smiled. I'd rehearsed this moment a thousand times. "No need," I said, and jumped.

The sickening thud. The screams. My soul detached from the mangled mess that had been my body. I watched as paramedics loaded me onto a stretcher.

…

The paramedics barely flinched at the sight of my remains. They’d seen it all before. Suddenly, my phone rang. A young female paramedic answered.

“Hello, this is…”

Olivia’s enraged voice cut her off. “Daniel! If you’re going to die, just get it over with! Stop with these pathetic attempts to manipulate me! You want to die so bad? Then do it!”

“I wish you were dead! You’re so selfish! You never appreciate anything anyone does for you!”

"You’ve probably forgotten that Luke almost got crippled saving you from those thugs! Well, I haven't! I'll never forget!"

“If you want to die so bad, just do it! Then you won’t be around to make our child’s life miserable!”

A male paramedic snatched the phone. “He’s dead, lady!” he yelled.

“Oh, really? Another one of your little games, Daniel? Fine! Keep it up! Just don’t let me see you alive again!” She hung up.

The paramedics exchanged bewildered looks. The older one took the phone and dialed Olivia’s mother’s number. “Ma’am, this is Springfield General Hospital. We’re not joking. Your son-in-law, Daniel, has committed suicide. Please come to the…”

Olivia’s mother hung up on him, too.

"Host," the system said, its voice devoid of inflection, "you are the most pathetic failure I've ever encountered."

I couldn't argue with that. Olivia's words echoed in my mind: Luke almost got crippled saving you. The irony was almost comical.

Luke, the golden boy, had transferred to our high school in sophomore year. He’d been a troublemaker, picking on Olivia relentlessly. She'd come to me, upset, and I’d confronted him. We’d fought – a lot. It turned out he'd been using those fights as an excuse to get close to her. The classic bad-boy-with-a-heart-of-gold routine. He started bringing her breakfast, orchestrated fake “rescues,” and started walking her home, taking my place.

I knew I couldn’t compete. He was the protagonist, after all. My mission was to marry Olivia when their relationship inevitably imploded, ensuring my survival.

And it had worked. They'd gotten together, but he’d treated her like crap. "That's what you get for messing with me," he’d smirked, after one particularly brutal fight. It turned out he’d been “punishing” her all along.

One afternoon, I overheard some guys planning to jump Olivia. They were doing it for a girl who had a crush on Luke. I called Olivia, warning her to take the back way home.

…

I hung up, but they caught me. They beat me with metal pipes, demanding to know where Olivia was. I curled up, protecting my head, refusing to talk. Then, for some reason, Olivia and Luke walked out the front gate. She screamed, throwing herself on top of me. Luke joined in, shielding her.

We ended up in the hospital. Me in the ICU, Luke with a fractured arm. And that, apparently, was Olivia’s version of “almost crippled.” Hilarious.

I watched as they wheeled my body into the morgue. A paramedic scrolled through my contacts, looking for next of kin. She found "Mom," but it wasn’t my mother. It was Olivia’s. I’d been raised by my grandmother. After she died during my freshman year, Olivia’s parents had taken me under their wing. We were neighbors. My grandmother used to bring them vegetables from her garden. They’d share their leftovers with us. Olivia always shared her lunch, her allowance, her new clothes. She'd been so kind. Until Luke…

The paramedics cursed under their breath and called Olivia’s mom.

“Daniel, honey, stop messing around! Your mom and I are too old for this drama! Just make up with Olivia already!”

The paramedic rolled her eyes. “Ma’am, this is Springfield General. Your son-in-law, Daniel, has committed suicide.”

“Oh, that boy! Just like Olivia said! Faking his own death! She told me you’d call! Well, I’m not falling for it!”

“Daniel, stop this nonsense! Olivia told me not to answer, but I did anyway. Now stop playing games and come home for dinner. Olivia’s coming, too.” She hung up.

I watched as they took my body to the crematorium.

Back at Olivia's parents’ house, everyone was having dinner. Olivia, her parents, Luke. One big happy family.

Olivia’s mom piled Luke’s plate with food. “Eat up, dear! You need to regain your strength!”

Luke’s father was a successful businessman. Olivia's mom had always been impressed by that. “Luke’s such a good catch,” she’d gushed to Olivia, right in front of me. “So successful, such a nice young man, and he adores you! You’d be so lucky to marry him!”

And yet, she’d married me. An orphan. Her dad had never approved. But Olivia had been stubborn. She'd insisted. They’d known me all my life, so they’d eventually relented.

Olivia picked at her food, silent, probably still fuming at me. Finally, she put down her fork. "Mom, I want a divorce."

Her mother sighed, as if expecting this. "Well, if it’ll make you happy, dear. This…this isn’t healthy."

"Mom, thank you for understanding. Daniel would never accept this baby. I can’t be selfish and drag him down with me.”

Luke sat there quietly, a smug look on his face. They'd clearly discussed this.

A knock on the door.

“Are you Daniel’s family? I’m here to deliver his urn.”