When I stepped aside and handed the starting spot on the esports team to the guy Zara Moody had always loved, she saw how obedient I had been and moved our wedding up as a reward.

But at the ceremony, the man she could never forget suddenly pulled out a knife and cut himself, jealousy burning in his eyes.

"Please don't marry him!"

Zara, who was usually so calm, instantly lost her composure. She turned to me, panic written all over her face as she begged me to help save him.

Every guest in the room was watching, waiting to see how I would react.

I didn't argue or cause a scene.

Instead, I quietly stepped aside and gave up the groom's place.

When Zara saw how reasonable I was, just like always, her eyes reddened at the corners.

"I promise this is the last time I'll ever put you through something like this. After the ceremony, we'll go register our marriage."

What she forgot was that this was the 96th time she had hurt me.

And I had no intention of spending the rest of my life with her.

I was only waiting for three more promises.

Once I repaid the debt I owed her for saving my grandmother's life all those years ago, I would walk away from her for good.

After that, we would never see each other again.

"He just slinked off the stage like that?"

"What else was he supposed to do? He was always just Charles's stand-in. Things are finally back where they belong."

"Look at them. They're perfect together."

Following the direction of the guests' gazes, I looked toward the stage.

Zara Moody and Charles Tingey walked side by side, their fingers tightly intertwined. They looked like something out of a fairytale. They were both stunning, a perfect match.

The ceremony hadn't started yet.

Staff members kept walking onto the stage, replacing the signs and decorations around the hall. They even handed out brand new invitations to everyone.

I got one, too.

When I opened it, the bride's name was still Zara.

But the groom's name had changed to Charles.

Zara noticed everything.

She knew perfectly well that Charles's earlier suicide attempt had just been a jealous stunt to get her attention. Still, she shot him an indulgent look.

"Charles, you're way too reckless," she said, half scolding. "You're not allowed to do that again. What if you actually hurt yourself?"

All her concern was focused on whether Charles might get injured.

She had completely forgotten that this wedding had been meant for me.

It was a reward she promised after I gave up my professional career.

She also didn't know that marrying her had been the wish I wrote down every year on my birthday and sealed inside a glass bottle, a wish I never had the courage to show her.

Only after every trace of me had been erased from the venue did the ceremony finally begin.

But when it came time to exchange rings, Charles suddenly refused to continue.

After Zara asked him several times, he finally spoke, his voice hesitant.

"I've been sick for years. I don't really have friends anymore. I wanted Joseph to be my best man, but I was worried it might offend him."

All eyes turned toward me.

I looked straight at Zara.

My wedding had already been taken from me. I had already become the evening's entertainment.

Did she really expect me to stand on that stage and watch her marry someone else?

When Zara saw the once bright, carefree boy standing there so nervously, her eyes reddened again. She looked at me with quiet pleading.

"Joseph, you already gave up the wedding," she said softly. "Being the best man shouldn't be a big deal, right?"

I almost forgot.

Charles had disappeared years ago after faking his death during the height of their relationship.

Zara chose me because she could never forget him.

I was just the substitute.

Now, the man she truly loved had come back.

And somehow, I still foolishly hoped she might love me, even just a little.

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my chest and asked her, "Does this count as one of the things I've done for you?"

Zara frowned, irritation flashing across her face, as if she felt she had forgotten something important.

She looked like she wanted to ask a question, but Charles looked so anxious that he was practically about to cry, so she let it go.

"Yes," she said. "It counts."

I nodded. "Alright. I'll do it."

Years ago, my grandmother and I only had each other.

When she fell gravely ill, Zara appeared out of nowhere. She hired the best doctors in the world and arranged the most expensive hospital suite.

Because of Zara, my grandmother lived another year. She passed away peacefully, smiling.

On the day my grandmother died, I asked Zara how I could ever repay what she had done. Her gaze lingered on my face for a long time.

"Just stay with me. That's enough."

But I could tell. She wasn't really looking at me. She was looking through me, at someone else.

"There should be a deadline, Ms. Moody," I said to her.

"Call me Zara."

Zara pushed down the sadness in her eyes and spoke casually.

"As for the deadline…" she mumbled. "How about this? You help me with 99 things, no questions asked. Or once I've hurt you 99 times, we'll call the debt settled."

It seemed that she had forgotten all about it.

But it didn't matter anymore.

This was the 97th time.

Just two more, and whatever tied us together would finally be over.

I took a slow breath and walked toward the stage.

As I passed their wedding cake, I caught Charles flashing a strange smile.

I was still trying to figure out what it meant when a sudden force slammed into my back.

My body pitched forward before I could react, crashing straight into the rolling cart.

The cake collapsed under my weight. My knee smashed into the metal frame, and pain shot through my leg.

Gasps rippled across the room.

Onstage, Charles let out a dramatic sigh. Shaking his head, he said, "If you didn't want to be the best man, you could've just said so. You didn't have to fake a fall and ruin the cake I spent all day preparing."

Several guests behind me had clearly seen what really happened. Still, they joined in with mocking laughter.

Someone called out, "Mr. Houle, everyone's got their own strength, but acting clearly isn't yours. Stop embarrassing yourself."

Zara had started walking toward me, probably to check if I was hurt. But after hearing that, she stopped and looked at me with quiet disappointment.

"Your clothes are filthy," she said. "Go change into something clean."

Charles slipped his arm around hers.

"It's fine," he said easily. "I don't care about little details like that. Let's continue with the ceremony. I can't wait to marry you."

Zara looked like she wanted to say something more, but when she saw that I had already stepped onto the stage, she stayed silent.

I limped slowly toward the center.

Zara noticed, and a flicker of concern crossed her eyes. "What happened to your leg?"

Beside her, Charles shrugged.

"You really should practice more," he said lightly. "If you're going to pretend to be hurt, you should go for your championship hands. That would make Zara worry way more. Next time, pick a more valuable part of your body."

Zara's expression darkened. She clearly wanted to scold him, but with so many people watching, she lowered her voice instead.

"Enough," she said quietly. "Stop with the games. Don't embarrass yourself. Whatever you wanna say, say it later."

I let out a bitter smile.

The room was full of people who used to bow and flatter me when I was at the top of my career.

Now that Charles had Zara's favor, they were terrified of offending him. So they mocked me instead, eager to prove they were on his side.

With them backing him up, and Zara already biased toward him, anything I said would've been pointless.

Thankfully, Charles didn't cause any more trouble after that. The ceremony finished without another scene.

By the time most of the guests had left, I was ready to head out, too.

Then Charles suddenly called after me.

"Don't rush off," he said with a grin. "We'll need the best man tonight when it's time for the after-party, if you know what I mean."

My fists clenched instinctively.

I looked at Zara. She raised an eyebrow and, for once, actually scolded him.

"That's enough," she said. "Stop joking around. Go wait in the car."

After Charles left, she turned back to me.

"Don't listen to him," she said. "It's just a small get-together with some old friends tonight."

Her gaze flicked down to my injured leg.

"You're hurt," she added calmly. "I won't bring you along. Go home and get some rest. We've got plenty of time ahead of us. I'll take you next time."

Then she turned and walked away.

What she didn't know was that once I repaid the debt I owed her, I would be gone.

There wouldn't be a next time.

-

Zara specifically told the driver to take me home.

When I rolled up my pant leg, my knee was already bruised purple.

While I was applying ointment, Zara had someone deliver gifts.

One was a limited-edition watch.

The other was the key to a brand-new Porsche.

She had even left a message explaining the gifts.

The watch was her apology for taking the wedding from me. The car was her apology for forcing me to be the best man.

Without a word, I carried both items into the collection room.

Inside, rows of glass display cabinets lined the wall. I placed the watch and the car key into cabinets labeled 96 and 97.

A housemaid standing nearby held a tray and stared at them with open admiration.

"Ms. Moody's gifts get more expensive every time," she said. "She must really love you."

I just smiled and said nothing.

She didn't know that every gift here was compensation for the times Zara had hurt me.

I looked at the wall of glass cabinets.

Only two empty spaces remained.

I knew the day I would leave was coming soon.

I went back to my room and packed a few personal documents and IDs.

Everything Zara had ever given me stayed where it was. I didn't want any of it.

There was only one thing I wanted to take with me, the only thing my grandmother had left behind.

Even though I had moved into Zara's family estate, my grandmother was still worried Zara might feel slighted.

Without telling me, she melted the old gold bracelet passed down through our family and had it made into a pair of earrings and two wedding rings.

The earrings and Zara's ring had both been gifts from my grandmother.

All I wanted was the ring that belonged to me.

A few days ago, Zara suddenly asked to borrow it. She probably forgot to give it back and tossed it somewhere in her jewelry cabinet.

But after searching through the entire thing, I still couldn't find it.

The cabinet was filled with sparkling pieces of jewelry, but the small ring I was looking for was nowhere in sight.

I was about to ask one of the housemaids when the front door opened.

Zara came back with Charles.

She had even brought dinner with her. It wasn't leftovers; the food was freshly made, packed neatly into containers.

And every dish was something I liked.

She was always thoughtful in little ways like this.

Sometimes, it even made me believe she might've actually fallen in love with me.

But I didn't look at the food.

I asked directly, "Where's my ring?"

Before Zara could answer, Charles stepped forward and raised his hand, showing me the gold ring on his finger.

"You mean the wedding ring?" he said with a smile. "I noticed Zara never took hers off, so I got curious and borrowed the other one to try on. Later, I decided to melt both rings down and make this signet ring. Sorry about that. I made the decision without asking you. Just tell me how much it costs and I'll pay you back."

My chest tightened.

"Zara," I said quietly, "that was our wedding ring."

Zara paused for a moment.

Then she casually picked up a fork, grabbed a bite of the food I usually liked best, and held it out toward me.

"It was just a symbol," she said. "If you want another wedding ring, I'll buy you one."

She had forgotten that the ring was the only thing my grandmother had left me. No amount of money could replace it.

I leaned away from the food she was offering and said flatly, "No, thanks. I don't want your money."

Charles's voice immediately choked up. He slipped the ring off his finger and looked at me with watery eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I suddenly had one of my episodes and insisted on melting the rings. Please don't blame Zara. If I've caused trouble between you two… I can't live with myself. I'd rather just die!"

Zara wasn't short on money. She could've bought him a new ring.

Charles knew exactly how important that ring was to me. He did it on purpose.

And somehow, Zara still didn't notice.

She had clearly come over intending to apologize.

But the moment she saw Charles on the verge of breaking down, she dropped the fork and rushed over to comfort him.

"They were just a couple of rings," she said firmly. "If melting them to make that ring makes you happy, then that's all that matters. There's nothing for you to apologize for."

Charles glanced toward the stairs, where I had already started walking away. "What about Joseph?"

"Don't worry," Zara said. "I'll compensate him."

By then, I was already upstairs.

I closed the door behind me.

My parents had died when I was young. My grandmother had been the one who raised me.

And now, I couldn't even protect the last thing she left me.

Maybe this was her way of telling me from somewhere above that this relationship had gone on long enough.

I pulled a sheet of paper from the notebook on my desk.

It was filled with rows of numbers.

At the very bottom, I wrote another one.

Ninety-eight.

At some point, Zara had walked into the room without making a sound.

Before I could hide the paper, she reached over and pulled it out of my hand.

She stared at it, her brows knitting together. A trace of unease flickered across her face.

"What's this supposed to mean?"

I quickly grabbed the paper back.

"It's nothing," I said. "Just scribbling."

She looked a little surprised by my reaction.

Then something seemed to click in her mind.

"Oh," she said slowly. "You're still thinking about that game from last time, aren't you? The one where you tried more than 20 times and still couldn't win the stuffed toy."

She was talking about the day we were walking downtown and stopped at a small street stall.

She suddenly decided she wanted one of the plush toys, so I tried the little number puzzle game the vendor was running.

But no matter how many times I tried, I couldn't write the full sequence of 100 numbers without making a mistake.

In the end, we left empty-handed.

Seeing she had misunderstood, I didn't bother explaining.

I just nodded.