His Heart Gone, System’s Die Command Comes

The day Peter Monks took his protge back to their alma mater was the day the System told me to die.
It said that Peter, the storys male lead, was falling out of love with me.
The battle-hardened System egged me on.
Why dont you just kill yourself? Its the classic groveling ex trope. That's how all those second-chance romance stories go.
Peter will be consumed by love for you after youre gone. His affection score will skyrocket, and your mission will be complete!
When I realized that dying meant, well, actually dying, I stared at the System in disbelief.
But if Im dead, what good is his love to me?
How about this, I countered. We unlink, and you can find someone else to conquer his heart.
I ignored the System and chose to live. I never expected that would be the thing to make Peter Monks fall madly in love with me all over again.

1.
The System went silent.
For the first time, its mechanical, electronic voice was tinged with something like raw fury.
[HOST, THINK CAREFULLY. WITHOUT MY ASSISTANCE, PETER MONKSS LOVE SCORE FOR YOU WILL PLUMMET TO NEAR ZERO!]
[YOU WILL HAVE NOTHING!]
So what?
I was done arguing. With a single thought, I pulled up the interface in my mind and selected Force Unlink.
A shrill alarm blared for a split second before cutting off abruptly.
I walked to the bathroom and looked at the stunning, radiant face in the mirror, a laugh bubbling up from my chest.
Thank God I had been careful when I first signed up, poring over the contract that was thicker than a brick.
Upon unlinking, the System couldn't retract any rewards it had already granted. Better yet, there were no penalties for failing the mission.
And over the years, trading on the pitiful dregs of Peters affection, I had acquired a flawless appearance, a photographic memory, a ruthless instinct for business, and a black card with no credit limit.
I would have nothing?
Please. I already had everything.
I pulled out my phone and casually posted an update on my social media feed.
Officially single. Parted ways with Mr. Peter Monks. Wishing him all the best.
The accompanying picture was a selfie Id just taken in the mirror. My smile was brilliant, the light in my eyes outshining the diamond necklace around my neck.
I couldnt even be bothered to pack.
I called the most expensive moving company in the city. Pointing at everything that was mine in Peters villa, I gave a simple instruction, Pack it all up. Dont leave a single thing. And then, throw it all away.
Who cares? I wasn't lacking for anything.
Out with the old, in with the new.
Id grown accustomed to the good life and had no intention of slumming it.
So, I turned around and bought a standalone villa in the same exclusive, ultra-wealthy districtthis one with a better view and an infinity pool.
Behind me, the movers worked in a flurry of activity.
I sat serenely on the terrace of my new home, sipping champagne and watching the sunset paint the sky.
My phone buzzed.
The name Peter Monks flashed across the screen.
I could already picture his expression when he saw my posta mixture of shock and simmering rage. He probably thought this was just another one of my games, another desperate attempt to get his attention.
Too bad.
I didnt even want to waste a second looking at his name. With a flick of my thumb, I blocked his number, deleted his contact, and moved on.
A man?
He'd only slow down my spending.

2.
When Peter finally found me, I was in the middle of teasing a new male model, dangling a cherry just above his lips.
His eyelashes were long, his cheeks smooth and flushed. My playful words had turned the tips of his ears a bright crimson. He looked like an innocent puppy.
During my years with Peter, I had to play the part of his preferred "sweet, innocent flower," living a life as austere as a nun's.
Only now was I discovering how exhilarating it was to finally let loose.
Get out.
Peters voice, cold as ice, sliced through the air, heavy with the authority of a man used to being obeyed.
The model flinched, scrambling out of the VIP booth like a startled animal.
Now, it was just the two of us.
Peter loosened his tie, his gaze raking over me, the fury in his eyes barely contained.
Sienna, what the hell is this?
I popped the cherry into my mouth, slowly and deliberately spitting the pit onto a napkin.
We broke up, Mr. Monks.
I looked at him, feigning confusion. Break up. Are those two words really so hard to understand? Or has your vocabulary deteriorated to the point where you need to go back to elementary school?
His face darkened to the color of thunderclouds.
But he reined in his temper, letting out a heavy sigh as he sat down across from me. His tone, when he finally spoke, was almost gentle.
Are you still angry that I went back to the university with Willow?
I almost laughed.
See? That was him. Always so certain that I couldn't live without him, that every move I made was a calculated play for his attention. It seemed he hadn't forgotten my ultimatumthat if he went with her, we were through.
He continued, explaining as if to a child, Willow is just a naive kid. She was bullied a lot back in school and was scared of being singled out at the reunion. I was just looking out for her.
Mhm, I understand, I nodded, my agreement completely sincere.
Of course, I understood.
Just like Id understood all the other times.
When Willows laptop broke, he, the CEO, went to her apartment to fix it himself.
When Willow worked late, he canceled our dinner plans to drive her home personally.
When Willow was in a bad mood, he even ditched our anniversary date to stand in line for hours to buy her a limited-edition cake from some trendy bakery.
All because she was naive, vulnerable, and like a small animal that needed protecting.
My brain isn't broken. How could I not understand?
I rested my chin on my hand, blinked innocently, and asked a question that caught him completely off guard.
And what role were you playing while you were helping her, exactly?
The gentle expression on Peters face froze solid.
I scoffed internally.
Keep pretending.
He played the part of the caring boss while acting like a boyfriend, savoring the thrill of the ambiguity and expecting me to be grateful for his "impartiality."
He probably expected me to cry, to scream, to demand answers, only to be shut down with his usual, Dont be unreasonable.
But honestly, I didnt have the energy to play these games with him anymore.
As I was figuring out the quickest way to get rid of him, Peter rubbed his temples, looking thoroughly exasperated.
Sienna, stop it. It was my fault, okay?
Tell me what you want as an apology. A bag? A car?
He thought a limited-edition handbag would smooth things over, just like it always had.
I was about to tell him to get lost.
But the words caught in my throat, and an idea bloomed.
I looked at his handsome face, etched with impatience and condescension, and a slow smile spread across my lips.
Alright.
Peter was visibly taken aback, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily.
Meeting his surprised gaze, I spoke, my voice clear and steady.
I want ten percent of Monks Corp.

3.
Peter didn't agree right away. After some back and forth, he finally conceded, offering me seven percent as compensation.
I propped my chin on my hand and watched him, my smile so genuinely joyful that it seemed to momentarily daze him.
Deal. But Mr. Monks, Ill need to see the share transfer agreement first.
Once its signed and sealed, Ill come back to you, just like you want.
The look on Peter's face was utterly grim. He had likely never been manipulated like this before, especially not by me, the one who was supposed to be pliable.
But still, he nodded. Fine.
Just as the word left his lips, his phone rang.
He answered, and after listening for only a moment, his entire demeanor shifted.
Im on my way!
He hung up without another glance at me, tossing a clipped, Urgent business at the office, over his shoulder as he hurried out the door.
I raised an eyebrow, unbothered.
Half an hour later, I was scrolling through my feed when I saw a new post.
It was from Willow.
The picture showed a mans hand, the knuckles elegant and defined, gently dabbing her forehead with a towel. On the wrist was a Patek Philippe watch.
The same one Peter had been wearing when he came to see me.
The caption read: Just a little fever, but I didnt expect someone to be so worried about me.
I curled my lip and set my phone face down on the table.
Then I waved over at the model, who was still waiting in the wings.
Come on back. Keep me company.
Peter, to his credit, was efficient.
The very next morning, his lawyer delivered the share transfer agreement to my new villa.
Seven percent. In black and white.
As I signed my name, I couldnt help but calculate Monks Corps net profits from the previous year.
This golden goose was far more lovable than Peter himself.
After finalizing the paperwork, I went to Monks Corp in person to register as a shareholder.
Speak of the devil.
I was stopped at the elevators by Willow.
She looked positively indignant, her eyes red-rimmed as if she were carrying the weight of Peters suffering on her shoulders.
Ms. Scott, how could you do this to him?
Hes such a good person! How could you threaten him with a misunderstanding and blackmail him for company shares? Youre nothing but a gold digger!
I almost laughed out loud.
I crossed my arms, looking her up and down.
And you? What gives you the right to stand here and question me? By the way, that Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet on your wrist I doubt you bought that yourself, did you?
The color drained from Willows face.
Her lips parted, but no words came out. Her eyes darted around nervously.
Just as I was about to dismiss her and leave, she lunged forward and grabbed my wrist.
Then, she used my own hand to shove herself, hard.
She crumpled to the ground like a fragile doll.
A piercing shriek echoed through the entire lobby.
And then, a mans voice, sharp with anger and panic, roared from across the hall.
Willow!

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