He Watched Me Die 99 Times,The 100th Time, I Disappeared

A sudden gust of wind cut through my thoughts, sharp and cold, snapping me back to the present. My body swayed slightly, but I steadied myself and climbed out of the trunk. My legs felt heavy, each step an effort, but I forced them forward. I had barely taken a few steps when his voice rang out behind me, cold and sharp as a blade. "Did you forget something?" I stopped. For a moment, I said nothing. Then, quietly, almost mechanically, I replied, "…Sorry." Every time I came back, this was what he demanded. An apology to Celeste. For making her nauseous. For dying in front of her. For existing at all. The words came out calm, stripped of any emotion. I straightened my back, as much as my battered body allowed, and continued walking without looking back. Perhaps it was my obedience this time that pleased him. Or perhaps he simply hadn't had enough. "This car is dirty," Dominic said after a pause. "Clean it. We'll ride back with the steward." I heard the car door open and close behind me. When I turned slightly, I saw him stepping out, one arm carefully shielding Celeste's belly, his brows drawn together in concern, every movement gentle, protective. Two soldiers materialized from the follow car and flanked them without a word, hands loose at their sides, eyes scanning the road. I had been pregnant once too. But at three months, the dog I had raised barked at Celeste, startling her. That was enough. Dominic had unleashed two mastiffs on me without hesitation. Their teeth tore into my flesh, ripping through skin and muscle alike. I could still remember the pain, sharp and endless, the way my body collapsed under their weight. And the child inside me… Didn't survive. He had looked at me afterward, expression cold, almost bored. "Children can come again," he had said flatly. "But if I don't teach you a lesson, you'll never learn your place." Now, I would never bear a child again. But at least… I was free. The walk back to the estate felt endless. Each step dragged, pain radiating through my entire body. The road blurred in and out of focus, but I kept moving, driven by nothing more than habit. The iron gate of the Bellandi compound rose against the dark sky long before I reached it, flanked by cameras that watched everything and forgave nothing. By the time I reached the house, they were already there. The two of them walked in together, close, intimate, as if the world existed only for them. His hand rested protectively on her, his posture soft in a way I had never seen directed at me. I stepped forward to follow. But the house steward blocked my path. His expression was awkward, almost apologetic, but he didn't move aside. "I'm sorry, signora," he said hesitantly. "The young master said Miss Russo can't stand the smell of blood." Before I could react, a high-pressure water hose was turned on me. The force hit like a blow. Ice-cold water slammed into my wounds, tearing through already damaged flesh. Pain exploded instantly, sharp and merciless, ripping a broken cry from my throat. My body gave out beneath me. I crumpled to the ground on the stone courtyard, shaking uncontrollably as the water continued to pour over me, washing away the blood along with what little warmth I had left. Every second stretched into eternity. Ten unbearable minutes passed. By the time it stopped, I could barely feel my limbs. I lay there for a moment, trembling, before forcing myself to move again. Slowly, painfully, I dragged my soaked, broken body toward the bathroom. Head lowered. Clothes clinging to me. Barely holding together. There was only one death left. The final one. The thought settled in my mind with a strange, quiet clarity, like the last flicker of a dying flame. After everything, after all the pain and the countless times I had crossed that line between life and death, there was only one more step left to take. "Dominic," Celeste whispered softly, her voice light and almost dreamy, "she's survived ninety-nine times. If our child could be like that too…" Her words floated in the air, gentle on the surface, but heavy with something darker underneath. "I know a black clinic," Dominic replied, his tone low and shadowed, as if even speaking about it required caution. "They specialize in deprogramming people with… unusual body types." "Deprogramming?" Celeste tilted her head slightly, her brows knitting in innocent curiosity, as though she were asking about something harmless. Dominic's gaze flickered briefly in my direction before he lowered his voice even further. "We'll talk about it later."

A thick silence followed, pressing down on the room. The kind of silence that lived inside the walls of the Bellandi estate, where even the guards outside the door knew when to stop breathing. It lingered, uncomfortable and heavy, until Celeste suddenly broke it, her tone turning light again, almost playful. "Is this mango fresh?" The shift was so abrupt it felt unreal. As I stepped out of the room, my movements slow and steady despite the weakness still clinging to my body, she walked toward me, holding the fruit out with a soft, sweet smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Her smile appeared half a beat too quickly, then vanished just as fast when she remembered she was supposed to look concerned. "Could you taste it for me, Serafina?" she asked gently. "I'm pregnant, so I can only eat fresh ones." Her voice was syrupy, coated in false innocence. Dominic's chest rose and fell visibly as his eyes landed on my pale lips. For a fleeting second, something flickered across his face. He remembered. I'm deathly allergic to mangoes. Today had already been chaotic, messy, out of control. I could see the hesitation in his posture, the slight tightening of his jaw. His signet ring turned once along his knuckle. He was just about to stop her, just about to say something. But I didn't give him the chance. Without a moment's pause, I reached out, grabbed the mango from her hand, and shoved the entire fruit into my mouth. The motion was sudden, almost violent. Juice burst between my teeth as I bit down hard, spilling from the corners of my lips, sticky and sweet as it ran down my chin. I chewed desperately, swallowing the taste that would soon turn into poison. Perfect. This should be the last death. Finally. Relief, faint but real, flickered through me. But before I could even swallow properly, Dominic rushed forward. His hand clamped around the back of my neck, fingers digging in as he forced my head forward. "Spit it out!" His voice cracked with something dangerously close to panic. He forced my mouth open, making me spit out what I hadn't yet swallowed. The next second, a sharp slap landed across my face, loud and unforgiving, the impact sending my head snapping to the side as heat exploded across my cheek. "Are you trying to die?!" he shouted, his voice trembling with fury. "You know you're allergic to mangoes! Dying once a day isn't enough for you?!" The sting on my face pulsed, but I ignored it. Instead, I forced myself to swallow whatever remained in my mouth, pushing it down despite the instinct screaming at me to stop. His footsteps approached again, heavy and urgent. I closed my eyes. For a brief moment, everything felt still. The estate went quiet around us, the way it always did when Dominic's anger filled a room. Even the low hum of the surveillance feeds seemed to hold its breath. Then, unexpectedly, his hand came up and cupped my face. The touch was warm. Familiar. His voice dropped, losing its sharp edge, softening into something that almost sounded like the past. "Spit it out." But it was already too late. A sudden wave of suffocation surged up my throat, violent and overwhelming. My chest tightened as if an invisible hand had wrapped around my lungs, squeezing the air out of them. I gasped, my body instinctively fighting for oxygen, my fingers clawing weakly at his sleeve. The world tilted. My breathing grew shallow, broken. At that exact moment, Celeste suddenly gagged. Loudly. The sound cut through everything. The second Dominic heard it, his grip on me vanished. Without hesitation, he let go and turned toward her, panic flashing across his face. "This mango tastes awful…" she whined, her voice trembling. The house steward rushed in, took one look at me, and his face turned deathly pale. "The Signora is allergic!" he exclaimed urgently. "Call the family surgeon!" Dominic hesitated. Just for two seconds. Two seconds where his gaze flickered between us. Then he made his choice. He swept Celeste into his arms, holding her close as if she might break. "Take care of Celeste first," he ordered quickly. Then, turning to the others, his voice hardened again, cold and commanding. The voice of the Bellandi heir who gave orders that no one in the household questioned. "To the rest of you, cover the Signora's mouth and lock her in the bathroom. I don't want even the scent of mango near Celeste." The house steward stood frozen, clearly overwhelmed, sweat forming along his brow. But I didn't wait. I pushed myself upright, my body swaying as dizziness washed over me. Leaning against the wall for support, I forced one step after another, dragging myself toward the bathroom. My thumb pressed against the pulse in my inner wrist. Still there. Still beating.

Still refusing to stop. Each breath burned. Each step felt heavier than the last. I reached the door, stepped inside, and locked it behind me. The sound of the lock clicking into place echoed faintly. Outside, Dominic watched my retreating figure, his brows drawn tightly together. For the first time in a long while, there was confusion in his eyes. He truly didn't understand me anymore. "Do you have to die again just to be satisfied?" he muttered under his breath. "Is this another trick to get my attention?" But I didn't answer. I didn't have the strength to. When I woke again, a frustrated sigh slipped from my lips before I could stop it. The dose had been too small. I was still alive. The disappointment was dull but heavy, settling deep inside me. Turning my head slightly, I noticed a bottle of allergy medication sitting on the nightstand. Beneath it was a small note, the paper slightly crumpled at the edges. [Take your meds when you wake up. I'll be there in a few minutes.] There was no signature. But I didn't need one. I knew that handwriting too well. A long time ago, we used to leave notes like this for each other all the time. Back when things were different, back when his care wasn't something I had to question. Before the blood-bound alliance had turned into a cage. Before Celeste. Before the ninety-nine deaths that taught me what this family truly cost. His reminders would be stuck to the fridge every single day. [Wear something warm. It's cold today.] [No ice during your period.] [Text me if you're out late. I'll come pick you up.] Simple words. Small things. But they had once meant everything. Then one day, the fridge was replaced. And with it, those notes disappeared. No one ever mentioned them again. "Still upset you didn't die?" Dominic's voice broke through my thoughts. He entered the room, his expression unreadable, his gaze steady but distant. He moved the way he always moved through the estate, as though every room belonged to him and every person in it existed at his discretion. Only then did I realize that I had sighed again just moments earlier. He walked toward me, his tone curt, controlled. "Did you take your meds? Next time you run into something you're allergic to, don't be stupid enough to swallow it." There was a pause. He reached out, his hand hovering in the air for a brief second, as if he intended to touch me. But he stopped himself. Something in his expression shifted, hesitation creeping in. His signet ring was perfectly still on his finger. It had been too long. The distance between us was no longer something a simple gesture could bridge. In the end, he lowered his hand and pulled it back. "Dominic," I said quietly, my voice calm and steady despite everything, "I'm sorry. I made Celeste vomit again." The apology came easily. It always did. I picked up the bottle of medicine from the nightstand, twisted it open, and poured all the pills into his palm. The small white tablets collected there, meaningless and cold. Then I looked up at him, meeting his eyes directly. "You can deprogram me," I said softly. "Or just kill me." "That's it. Hand it to me. I'll take it myself." My voice came out eerily calm, almost detached, the kind of calm that didn't belong in a moment like this. It was twisted in a way that made even me sound unfamiliar to my own ears, steady but edged with something quietly defiant. Dominic froze. For several long seconds, he didn't move at all, as if my words had struck him somewhere deeper than he expected. His eyes locked onto mine, searching, trying to understand, but finding nothing he recognized. "Serafina, are you insane?" he snapped finally, his voice rising sharply. "Do you want to die that badly?" Without warning, he flung the bottle of pills across the room. It hit the floor with a sharp crack, scattering white tablets across the marble. His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles along his face rigid with barely contained anger. Somewhere beyond the bedroom door, a soldier's weight shifted at the sound, then went still again. "You want to die? Fine," he continued, his voice raw, almost hoarse with emotion he couldn't fully suppress. "But I won't let you." The words echoed in the air. And then, just as suddenly, he went still. It was as if even he hadn't expected himself to say that. A flicker of something crossed his face. Surprise. Irritation. Maybe even confusion. He hadn't been this visibly angry in years. Dominic was always composed, always controlled. The heir apparent of the Bellandi Family did not lose his temper. It was a luxury the rank didn't permit.

With a bitter scoff, he loosened his tie, tugging it down impatiently before dropping himself onto the chair nearby. His posture relaxed, but his expression hardened again, settling back into that familiar coldness. His signet ring caught the lamplight as his hand came to rest on the arm of the chair, perfectly still. "Stop throwing tantrums," he said flatly, as if trying to erase the moment that had just passed. "You're not going to die. We've checked everything, and we still don't know what's wrong with you." His tone shifted, becoming more calculated, more deliberate. "I recently acquired a black clinic. Private. Off the books. They'll draw some blood. Figure it out." He paused briefly, his gaze flickering as if weighing his next words. "Maybe… maybe we can use it for the baby in Celeste's belly…" Before he could finish, I had already rolled up my sleeve. Silently. Calmly. I extended my arm toward him, pale skin exposed, veins faintly visible beneath it. "Go ahead," I said softly. "Draw it. The more, the better." Something in his chest tightened. He couldn't quite explain it. The feeling was subtle but unmistakable, like a thread pulling somewhere deep inside him. But he had already promised Celeste. He had already decided that whatever secret existed within me would belong to their child. So he forced that discomfort down, burying it beneath logic, beneath purpose. Without another word, he called the family surgeon. When the surgeon arrived, his movements were hesitant, almost uneasy. He prepared the equipment in silence, his eyes darting toward me more than once. He knew what he was. He knew who paid him. And he knew that questioning the Bellandi heir's orders was the kind of mistake a man only makes once. The needle he used was thick. Too thick. Nearly the width of a baby's finger. When it pierced my skin, it sank deep into my vein with a dull, invasive pressure that spread through my arm. Blood flowed steadily through the tube, dark and steady, as if my body had already accepted what was happening. I didn't tell Dominic the truth. From the very first time I died for him, I had known. I could only die one hundred times. And once I had died in his hands one hundred times, my blood-vow curse would be complete. After that, I would disappear. Gone completely. To a place no one could reach. From that moment on, I would no longer belong to love. Nor to humanity. Nor to anyone at all. Dominic's phone rang, cutting through the silence. He answered without even glancing at me, his attention already elsewhere. "I'll pick you up tomorrow and take you to the clinic," he said, his tone brisk and efficient. The surgeon hesitated mid-motion, his hands pausing slightly as he looked up. "Don Bellandi," he said cautiously, "with the Signora's current condition… she really needs rest." Dominic paused for a brief second, as if considering it. Then he replied, curt and dismissive. "She won't die." The surgeon's expression stiffened instantly. A thin sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. He lowered his head and said nothing more, not daring to argue. In this house, a medical opinion weighed nothing against a direct order. But the next day came. And Dominic didn't show up. Neither did he the day after that. Instead, the joint account we shared began lighting up with transaction notifications. One after another. Couple's down jackets. Thermal winter sets. Wool socks. A sled. The list went on. Without warning, a memory surfaced. Once, long ago, we had gone to Antarctica together. It had been one of the rare times when things still felt… almost right. But somehow, Celeste found out. And she followed us there. When she arrived, she was dressed in nothing more than a thin sweater, her entire body trembling violently from the cold. Her lips were pale, tinged blue, her breathing uneven. Like a man possessed, Dominic had rushed to her. He pulled off his own coat and wrapped it around her shoulders without hesitation. Then, as if that wasn't enough, he turned to me. And stripped the coat from my back. Without a word. He gave that to her too. Celeste collapsed into his arms, sobbing softly. "Serafina didn't want me to come…" she cried, her voice fragile, trembling. "She threw away all my clothes. But Dominic, I just wanted to see the penguins with you…" He looked at me then. Not with doubt. Not with hesitation. But with pure scorn. "You're jealous," he said coldly. "Poisonous. Vicious." His gaze was sharp, cutting. "Fine. Taste for yourself what it's like to freeze to death in Antarctica." And then they left. Together. Leaving me behind in the endless white.

I died there. Alone. Wearing nothing but a single thin layer of clothing. The cold had crept in slowly at first, numbing my fingers, my toes. Then it spread, seeping into my bones, until even breathing felt like inhaling shards of ice. And then… Nothing. The memory faded. I returned to the present. Silently, I picked up my phone and ordered a pair of couple's snow goggles. For them. After that, I canceled the joint account I shared with Dominic. The confirmation message came through almost instantly. A short while later, my phone vibrated. A message from him. [Just one symbol?] I stared at the screen. And didn't respond. Minutes passed. Then, from outside my door, I heard the sound of footsteps. Familiar. Steady. The enforcer posted in the hallway shifted aside without a word. The door opened. "Pack up," Dominic said. "We're going to the clinic." I lowered my eyes and stood quietly, saying nothing as I followed him. From behind him, Celeste stepped forward. Her smile was sweet. Too sweet. Sickening. It appeared half a beat too quickly, then softened into something rehearsed. "Serafina," she said softly, her voice laced with false concern, "it must've been so hard for you, giving so much blood for the baby." She tilted her head slightly, her expression gentle. "But if the tests don't yield results… we might need your help again." Her gaze lingered on me, something sharp flickering beneath the softness. "You're not going to die anyway," she continued lightly. "Serafina, maybe you could even lie on the operating table and let us deconstruct you." Her smile widened just a fraction. "For Dominic's child, of course." "Alright," I said. Calmly. Without hesitation. The word fell from my lips as easily as breathing. Dominic's expression darkened immediately, his brows drawing together. Something unreadable flashed through his eyes before his voice cut in, cold and firm. "We'll talk about that later." For a split second, a flicker of jealousy crossed Celeste's face. It was gone just as quickly. The three of us walked out together and got into the car. An enforcer held the door, eyes forward, seeing nothing. Dominic started the engine. Then he turned on the music. Soft. Distant. But the silence between us was louder than anything else. It filled every corner of the space, heavy and suffocating, pressing down on all three of us like something that could no longer be ignored. Celeste smacked Dominic lightly on the chest, her tone playful and teasing, as if nothing in the world could possibly trouble her. "Why jazz?" she pouted, her brows knitting slightly in mock annoyance. "You know I hate jazz." The soft melody continued to flow through the car, smooth and low, filling the quiet space. Dominic reacted immediately, almost instinctively. "Sorry," he said, reaching forward to adjust the music, his voice carrying a trace of apology that he rarely showed anyone. But as his hand hovered near the controls, his eyes drifted upward, caught by the rearview mirror. For a brief second, his gaze met mine in the reflection. I sat in the backseat, silent, unmoving. I like jazz. The realization hit him all at once. A faint frown creased his brow, his expression darkening almost imperceptibly. A flicker of irritation passed through his eyes, quick and sharp, like something he didn't want to acknowledge. But then he noticed my indifference. There was no reaction on my face. No attachment. No trace of emotion. It was as if the music meant nothing to me at all. That was what unsettled him the most. The shadow in his chest deepened quietly, something heavy and unfamiliar pressing down where nothing had been before. These days, even with Celeste sitting beside him, chattering endlessly, filling the car with her voice, he found it harder and harder to respond. Her words drifted past him like noise. He nodded when necessary, gave short replies, but his mind seemed elsewhere. Far away. Somewhere he couldn't quite reach. By the time we arrived at the black clinic, the air inside the car had grown thick with something unspoken. The lead surgeon was already waiting outside the unmarked entrance, his posture eager, almost overly enthusiastic as he stepped forward to greet us. Two soldiers flanked the doorway behind him, hands loose at their sides. "Don Bellandi," he greeted with a wide grin, his eyes gleaming with excitement. Then his gaze shifted to Celeste, his smile widening further. "Signora Bellandi," he added, lowering his voice slightly, "you have no idea how many priceless samples Don Bellandi has sent over these past few days. Each one is practically a treasure worth thousands." There was admiration in his tone. Greed, too. Then, as if unable to resist, he glanced at me.

His eyes sharpened, assessing. Curious. Lowering his voice even more, he asked knowingly, "Is this the new experimental subject?" The words lingered in the air. Dominic's expression stiffened instantly. His signet ring went still against his knuckle. A trace of displeasure flickered across his face before he masked it completely. "How's the blood sample I sent earlier?" he asked instead, cutting the conversation short. The surgeon seemed to understand immediately. He nodded and turned, his tone shifting into something more professional. "The results are in," he said. "The reanimation factor inside is slowly degrading…" He gestured for Dominic to follow him deeper into the clinic. Concerned about exposure, Dominic turned slightly toward Celeste, his voice softening again. "Wait outside," he said gently. "It's not safe in there." Celeste nodded obediently, her expression sweet and compliant. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then followed the surgeon inside. The moment he disappeared through the doors, everything changed. Celeste's expression snapped. The softness melted away like a mask breaking apart, revealing something cold and sharp beneath. She reached into her purse and pulled out a small bottle of pills, her fingers steady, her gaze fixed on me with quiet malice. "Serafina," she said slowly, her voice no longer gentle, "you're really hard to kill." Her lips curled slightly. "After everything… you're still alive." There was no warmth left in her tone. Only contempt. "Let's make a bet," she continued, tilting her head slightly, her eyes gleaming. "Let's see who Dominic really cares about." She stepped closer, her presence suffocating. "Whoever loses… vanishes." There was nothing to bet on. I already knew the outcome. I was destined to lose. "I bet Dominic will deconstruct you himself," she said with a soft, cruel laugh. "Don't worry. Once it's done, I'll have the clinic declare you dead." Her voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. "Then you can disappear forever. Never show your face to us again." "Alright," I said. Without hesitation. The word came out effortlessly, calm and steady. Celeste paused. Clearly surprised. For a split second, her smile appeared half a beat too quickly, then vanished just as fast when she remembered she was supposed to look stricken. Something like confusion flickered across her face, as if she hadn't expected me to agree so easily. But it vanished just as quickly. Her grip tightened suddenly. Before I could react, she grabbed my hand and forced it up, pressing it hard against her throat. In the same instant, she swallowed the pills hidden in her palm. Everything happened too fast. Her body convulsed almost immediately. Foam bubbled at the corners of her lips, white and thick, spilling down as her knees buckled beneath her. With a loud thud, she collapsed onto the floor. I stumbled back instinctively, shock surging through me, my legs weakening as the scene unfolded in front of me. My heart pounded violently. My thumb found the pulse at my inner wrist. It was racing. Footsteps thundered from the hallway. "Celeste!" Dominic's voice echoed sharply as he rushed into the room. His eyes landed on her instantly. On her trembling, convulsing body. Panic overtook his expression. "Celeste! Wake up! Celeste!" He dropped to his knees beside her, his hands shaking slightly as he tried to lift her, his voice breaking through the tension. Then he turned to me. His gaze was sharp, accusing. "What did you do?!" Before I could answer, the clinic director arrived, his face pale, sweat forming along his temples as he quickly assessed the situation. He knelt down, checking Celeste's condition with practiced efficiency. His expression darkened. "The signora's vitals are unstable," he said urgently. "She's suffocating. If we don't act fast, we'll lose the child." The words hit like a hammer. His next sentence came even faster. "We need to deconstruct the subject now to determine the survival potential." Silence fell. Heavy. Suffocating. The fluorescent lights of the black clinic hummed above us, the only sound in a room where no one breathed. Dominic's chest rose and fell violently as he stood there, his eyes fixed on me. There was something in his gaze. Conflict. Hesitation. But it didn't last. "…Prepare the operating table," he said finally. His voice was firm. Decisive. That was his answer. Moments later, I was strapped onto the clinic table. Cold metal pressed against my back, seeping through my skin, anchoring me in place. My wrists were secured. My legs immobilized. There was no escape. The final death was coming. I could feel it. My thumb had gone still against my wrist. I wasn't checking for a pulse anymore. As the anesthesia began to flow into my veins, a cold numbness spreading slowly through my body, Celeste leaned in close. Her face hovered just above mine, her breath warm against my ear. Her voice was sharp. Like a blade. "Don't worry," she whispered, her lips curling slightly. "Once you're dissected, I'll personally send your ashes to the crematorium." Her eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction. "No matter how powerful you are… you can't come back from dust." I saw Dominic standing nearby. Still. Silent. His brow furrowed slightly, his chest tight, something unreadable flickering across his face. His signet ring sat motionless on his finger. He had already decided. But he didn't move. Didn't stop anything. Didn't say a word. I closed my eyes. This was the hundredth death. The final one. From this moment on, Dominic and I had nothing left between us.