His Wish is for My Cousin's Safety
My fiancé, Victor Hawthorn, was a man who came with his own built‑in “mission.”
He pulled out every trick in the book to win me over, even throwing himself in harm’s way when I was kidnapped, taking seven knife wounds for me without a second thought.
Just when I finally accepted him, a cold, mechanical voice echoed in my ears:
“Congratulations, strategy mission complete! Your wish can now be granted!”
Victor left me in a burst of joy, disappearing without a trace for an entire month.
It wasn’t until I went with my parents to pick up my cousin, Isabella Sterling, from the hospital that I saw Victor again—standing by her bed, waiting, worn thin by anxiety and lack of sleep.
His fingers were laced together in front of him, his expression solemn as he prayed, almost devout:
“Isabella, I hope your life will be safe and smooth from now on.”
Then he turned to me and apologized, his words cutting like a blade. He admitted he had only approached me to complete his “strategy mission.” Once the mission succeeded, he would be granted a wish.