Chapter 3Our Beautiful Terrible Lie

My heart clenched as if squeezed by an invisible fist. A sharp, searing pain.

I pressed a hand to my chest, forcing the memory away.

Back in the club, the last hundred-dollar bill lay at my feet. He reached for it, his expression unreadable.

I hesitated for only a second before lifting my stiletto and placing it on the back of his hand, over the delicate bones of his fingers. I didn't press down. I couldn’t. I just held it there, looking down at him.

He looked up, and for a moment, his dark eyes were like a viper's, coiled and ready to strike. A flicker of raw hurt crossed his face before he masked it, his gaze dropping, hiding his emotions beneath the shadow of his thick lashes.

A sudden chill went through me, prickling the back of my neck. My fingers, still holding the cigarette, started to tremble again.

My eyes fell to his hand pinned beneath my shoe. It was a beautiful hand, elegant and long-fingered, but so thin you could see the blue veins beneath the skin.

I closed my eyes. I couldn't stop myself.

"Do I have to burn him with the cigarette?" I begged the System, my voice a pathetic whine in my head.

After all, that hand had to type code for his computer science classes. It had to wash dishes at the campus diner, prep lesson plans for his tutoring gigs, and create latte art at the coffee shop… he was working four jobs to pay me back.

This was just cruel.

As I stood there, torn, the man on the floor suddenly looked up again, his expression sharp. A storm seemed to gather in his eyes, followed by a flicker of... confusion? It was gone as quickly as it appeared.

The System's voice was sharp, threatening.

Host, your function as the villain is to make the protagonist despise you. This will catalyze his transformation. Any unnecessary displays of compassion are counterproductive.

Complete the script, and not only will your safety be guaranteed, but you will also receive a substantial reward.

But deviation… deviation has consequences.

The thought of erasure made my blood run cold.

But then, Liam moved. He shot to his feet, his shadow falling over me. He took a step closer, an aura of suppressed fury radiating from him. His dark eyes locked onto mine.

In the next second, he snatched the cigarette from my fingers and pressed the glowing tip firmly into the back of his own hand.

He hissed, a sharp intake of breath, but his eyes, filled with a profound and weary disgust, never left mine.

"Stop the act," he rasped.

I stared, dumbfounded.

I hadn't spoken. He had just followed the script… on his own. And after I’d stepped on his hand, he was calling me the phony? Did that even make sense? Was I actually driving him crazy?

He held the cigarette there, his handsome face contorted in pain, until a dark, ugly mark blistered his skin. Then, he dropped the extinguished butt at my feet and walked away without another word.

A cold, mechanical voice echoed in my mind.

Liam Walsh: Corruption Level 30%.