No, no, no! Not him! Not now!
Ethan's blood ran cold. Through the tinted window of the luxury car, he saw him—the Main Character of this world, standing on the sidewalk. A living, breathing symbol of every terrible ending Ethan had already suffered. If Damien's eyes landed on that man now, the story would lock into its tragic fate. Again.
His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He couldn't go through that pain, that feeling of his life being snuffed out. He had to do something, anything, to stop this!
His brain, fueled by pure panic, went into overdrive. In the span of a single heartbeat—the exact time it takes to both regret all your life choices and devise a truly shameless plan—he had it.
"Argh!" He doubled over, clutching his stomach as his face twisted in a perfect imitation of agony.
Immediately, Damien's sharp gaze snapped away from the window and onto him. The dangerous figure outside was forgotten. "What's wrong?" His voice was tight, all thoughts of the outside world gone.
"The baby," Ethan whimpered, letting his lips tremble. He made his face go pale, calling on every ounce of his acting skills. A sharp pang of guilt pricked his heart for using the little bean growing inside him as a shield, but the memory of his last death—the cold, the nothingness—was a far more powerful motivator.
This world's MC was a magnet for chaos and violence! He absolutely, positively, had no interest in getting killed again.
"To the hospital. Now," Damien commanded the driver, his voice leaving no room for argument.
The car swerved violently, changing direction and throwing Ethan against the plush leather seats. Seizing the moment, he threw himself into Damien's arms. He panted heavily, making sure a few convincing beads of sweat dotted his forehead. As he buried his face in Damien's expensive suit, smelling the faint scent of sandalwood and power, he allowed himself a tiny, hidden smirk. Hah! I did it! Victory is mine!
---
At the hospital, after a thorough and slightly embarrassing check-up, the doctor looked mildly unimpressed. He peeled off his gloves and addressed Damien directly. "There's nothing wrong. His vitals are stable. The baby is perfectly fine. He's just extremely exhausted. He needs rest, that's all. Perhaps less stress."
Ethan had the decency to look sheepish, huddling in the hospital bed. He avoided Damien's eyes, focusing on picking at the stiff hospital sheets.
Once they were alone in the private room, the silence became heavy. Damien stood by the window, his back to Ethan, a coiled spring of tension. Ethan decided to push his luck just a little. He fluttered his eyelashes, putting on his best innocent face.
"Were you worried about me?" he asked, his voice sweet and soft.
Damien didn't answer. He didn't even turn around. He simply stood there, a dark and silent statue. But Ethan saw it—the slight, almost invisible softening in the line of his shoulders. It was all the answer he needed.
Ding! Favorability value: -50%.
A transparent screen flickered in front of Ethan's eyes for a second before fading.
Wait, what? Ethan scratched his head mentally. Negative fifty? He pondered for a moment, then shrugged. Well, it's a number. And numbers can go up, right? It's probably a good thing that it's even showing up!
---
Later that evening, back in the safety of the mansion, Ethan could feel the grim atmosphere. Damien was brooding in his study after another draining call with his grandfather. Ethan could hear the old man's voice, sharp and condescending, even through the closed door. It made his own skin crawl.
He settled on the plush couch in the living room, a tablet in his hands. He had a mission.
Okay, system, he thought, pretending his brain was a cool command terminal like in the movies. Pull up the dossier on that business rival sabotaging the merger.
A flood of data—hidden emails, secret contracts, private messages—popped into his mind. Ethan's lips curved into a small smile. Perfect. If this deal went through, Damien's influence would crumble, and his grandfather would win, keeping Damien chained to his chair and his name. Can't have that. A weak protagonist means a failed mission for me.
He worked quickly and quietly, his fingers flying across the screen. Using an untraceable account he'd set up for exactly this purpose, he forwarded the key pieces of evidence to one of Damien's most loyal subordinates. He didn't need glory. He just needed to clear the path.
When it was done, he exhaled a long breath and shut the tablet.
"There," he muttered to the silent room. "One less chain around your neck."
---
When the mansion had finally gone still and quiet, bathed in the soft light of the moon, Ethan slipped into Damien's room with his wooden case of acupuncture needles.
Damien was already waiting, propped against the headboard. His dark eyes followed Ethan's movements, calm but unreadable. "You never give up," he said flatly, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room.
"You're welcome," Ethan replied breezily, setting the case down with a soft click. He opened it, revealing the neat rows of silver needles. He carefully inserted the first needle into a point on Damien's calf. His hands were steady, his voice matter-of-fact. "Just relax. It helps the energy flow."
For a while there was silence, broken only by the faint sound of their breathing. Ethan worked methodically, his focus entirely on the task. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the rigid tension in Damien's body began to ease, though his face remained a stoic mask.
When the last needle was carefully packed away, Ethan prepared for the final step. He took a small, sterile lancet from the case. Without ceremony, he pricked the tip of his own finger. A single, perfect bead of crimson blood welled up.
Damien's expression sharpened immediately. A storm gathered in his dark gaze. "No." His tone was sharp, final, laced with something that sounded like disgust—at himself.
"You need this," Ethan insisted quietly, holding out his hand. The blood droplet shimmered. "It's part of the remedy. Don't fight it."
Damien's jaw clenched. "You think I'll lower myself to—"
"Damien." Ethan leaned in, his voice firm but low. "Trust me."
The silence between them snapped.
In a movement faster than Ethan could follow, Damien's hand shot out, clamping around Ethan's wrist like a manacle of iron. The grip was bruising. Ethan stumbled forward with a startled gasp, off-balance.
In one fluid, terrifying motion, Damien yanked him close and sank his mouth over Ethan's bleeding finger.
The pull was hot, sharp, and consuming. It wasn't gentle or grateful. It was raw and desperate. A jolt, like a live wire, shot up Ethan's arm. His eyes flew wide, his breath caught in his throat. His entire body stiffened. "W–what the hell—?!" he stammered, his voice barely a whisper.
Damien didn't stop. His gaze locked on Ethan's, dark and unyielding, almost mocking even as he drank. His grip tightened, not giving Ethan an inch of room to escape.
When he finally released him, a faint smear of crimson marked the corner of Damien's lips. His voice was low and cutting, each word deliberate and cold as ice.
"Don't mistake this for closeness," he said, his eyes boring into Ethan's. "Just because you're carrying my child doesn't mean you can step out of line whenever you please." He leaned forward, the intensity in his gaze making Ethan shrink back. "Be careful, Xia Lan… you're not irreplaceable."
Ethan froze, his mouth half open in shock, his heart pounding like a frantic drum against his ribs. His mind scrambled between outrage, confusion, and sheer disbelief.
"Wh—what kind of twisted logic is that?!" he finally sputtered, jerking his stinging hand back to his chest. His face was burning, not from any desire, but from sheer humiliation and anger. I'm straight! How did my life come to this?! This guy is insane!
But Damien had already leaned back against the pillows, eyes closed as if dismissing him from the world entirely.