In the third year of being locked up in a psychiatric hospital by Jonathan Fowler, I had already lost all of my vibrance and vitality.

During a particularly harsh winter, Jonathan's new girlfriend, Charlotte Stewart, visits me in the hospital. She caresses my sunken cheek lovingly with one hand.

"You must be Jon's legally-wedded wife, right?"

I just stare at her in alert without saying anything.

The next thing I know, Charlotte shoves me down the stairs. Her expression is already twisted into one of malice.

"Everyone tells me that I'll get to marry Jonathan once you're dead, so just hurry up and die already!"

I don't have any energy to fight back. After crashing onto the floor, I'm left bleeding and broken.

After struggling in the operating theater for one full day, I managed to survive the ordeal.

With red-rimmed eyes, Jonathan rushes into the ward and grasps my hand.

"Mallory, I promise that if you agree to stay alive and not pin the crime of manslaughter on Charlotte, I can let bygones be bygones! In fact, I won't disturb you anymore for the rest of your life!"

I don't have the strength to respond to Jonathan.

That's when the System, which has stayed silent for a very long time, suddenly speaks in my mind.

[Congratulations. You've maxed out the male lead's guilt. You may now leave this world.]

I secretly let out a sigh of relief.

Finally, I can go home.

I'd just been dragged back from the brink of death, but instead of being wheeled into the ICU, I was transferred to a regular hospital room.

Seeing how pale I still was, Jonathan Fowler softened his tone. "Don't worry. I'll get the best doctors to save you, but on one condition. Lottie's career is just taking off right now, and it can't be ruined by this one incident. As long as you're willing to tell everyone it was an accident, I'm willing to let you out of here."

He helped me sit up and brought over a bowl of oats. "The doctor said you're too weak right now and can only handle this. Come on…"

I turned my head away with my eyes lowered. "There's no need to trouble you, Mr. Fowler."

Jonathan's expression instantly darkened, and his voice rose. "It's been three years, and you still can't change how you address me?"

I didn't answer. In truth, before he drove me insane, I used to call him Jon.

When I first arrived in this world, before the system even told me what my mission was, I met him. He treated me incredibly well, making it clear through his actions that I was the love of his life and the wife he'd chosen for eternity.

So, that way of addressing him never changed, even ten years into our marriage. He was the one who changed first.

Jonathan decided I was "too old" and found a woman named Charlotte Stewart, who looked like a younger version of me. The day I saw photos of him out shopping with her, I exploded, demanding to know what he thought he was doing.

What I got in return was his perfectly righteous explanation. "I just really miss how you looked when you were younger. She looks so much like you, but don't worry—nothing has ever happened between her and me. I only love you."

I said nothing and stared at him as I shed tears of grievance.

He stepped forward, pulled me into a tight hug, and soothed me in a gentle voice, "I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

And I believed him.

Later, a video of Jonathan and Charlotte kissing blew up online. This time, I held back my anger and forced myself to stay calm as I asked him about it. For the first time, he snapped at me, openly impatient.

"It was a scene. A kissing scene is a totally normal part of the script! What are you jealous about now? Can't you stop throwing these tantrums?"

I stared at him in disbelief. He wasn't even Charlotte's male lead, so what exactly was he helping her with?

I spoke softly, "Let's get a divorce."

He refused.

I couldn't stand the sight of him, so I packed a suitcase, wanting to go away to clear my head.

Jonathan thought I was trying to run. He had me dragged back overnight from out of town and essentially put me under house arrest.

When he snapped a handcuff around one of my wrists, I swung my free hand and slapped him hard across the face. "You're insane!"

He didn't even get angry. He just wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and said, "I told you you're the only one I love. So don't even think about leaving me.

"You're just jealous because I've been spending too much time with Charlotte, right? Fine, then. I'll keep you by my side and spend every day with you. What more do you want?"

I looked at him, thinking he really had lost his mind.

I refused to accept this. One day, when Jonathan went on a business trip, I took my chance and climbed out the window to escape. But as I limped into the airport, I saw him standing at the boarding gate.

In that instant, my blood ran cold.

He called over his bodyguards, who seized me. He said, "You must be sick in the head to keep trying to leave me like this. You love me with all your heart, don't you?"

Jonathan had me locked up in a psychiatric hospital. He told me to reflect on myself and stop being jealous and acting crazy.

In that place, I was shocked with electricity, beaten with clubs, and pumped full of drugs until there was barely any life left in me.

At last, when I was hanging on by a thread and Jonathan was asking if I could finally behave, the system appeared with a notification. [Congratulations. Mission triggered: Max out the male lead, Jonathan Fowler's guilt. Current guilt: 80%.]

I was stunned. I tried to struggle up from the bed, but the nurse by my side thought I was trying to run again and immediately sedated me. I collapsed back onto the mattress, unable to say a single word.

[Current guilt: 83%.]

I lifted my gaze and caught a flicker of reluctance and pain in Jonathan's eyes.

So that was it. The more miserable I was, the guiltier he felt. If that was all it took to get me out of here and back home, then I would play along.

But after that, the guilt stopped rising. I had to wait three years before Charlotte finally showed up in person. The first time she came to see me, she brought a grand gift. I was already half-dead, and she pushed me down a flight of stairs.

I was on the verge of death, my whole body feeling like it was being blown apart from the inside. But when I saw the guilt meter over Jonathan's head finally hit 100%, I smiled in pure relief.

Perfect. I could finally go home.

When Jonathan saw the smile playing on my lips, he gritted his teeth and snarled, "Is it that hard for you to just stay by my side? And is it that hard for you to tolerate Charlotte? No matter how wild she and I get, you'll still always be my wife."

I turned my head away. "I had to go through all of this torture just so you could keep me in this position of being your wife. If you think it's such a good deal, you might as well give the title to her."

My words made Jonathan's expression twist. He suddenly grabbed my chin and forced me to look up at him. "What did you just say? Say it again. Do you really think that I'll let you go if you keep talking like this?"

I stared straight into his eyes and enunciated, "I said, I don't care about being Mrs. Fowler."

Before he could respond, an anxious female voice came from outside the room, "Mallory, the doctor told me you're awake!"

Charlotte rushed in and dropped into the chair beside my bed, frowning as she looked me up and down. Tears started rolling down her cheeks in an instant. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

Even I was thrown for a second as I watched her cry. How could she look so much like me even when crying?

The very next second, Jonathan walked over to her and started soothing her. "Don't be scared. She's fine. She just needs a few days of rest."

She leaned into his chest without missing a beat. "You have no idea what people online have been saying about me these past few days. They're calling me a murderer and saying Mallory doesn't have long to live. I've been so scared that I couldn't sleep. I rushed over here as soon as I heard."

Before she could get any further, the door to the hospital room was suddenly slammed open from the outside. A swarm of reporters poured in with cameras and mics, flashes exploding in my face like fireworks. The light was so harsh I couldn't even open my eyes.

"Ms. Silva, is it true that Charlotte pushed you down the stairs?"

"Rumor has it you were locked up in a psychiatric hospital for three years. Is that true?"

The questions crashed over me like waves. On instinct, I raised an arm to shield my eyes. The movement tugged at the wounds that still hadn't healed, and a sharp pain shot through me. Cold sweat broke out across my skin.

Jonathan immediately stepped in front of me, blocking their view. "Who let you in here? Get out!"

Charlotte shrank back behind him, putting on a look of pure panic. But when I turned to glance at her, I caught the brief triumphant curl of her lips.

The reporters ignored Jonathan completely. They only pressed in closer, practically shoving their mics into my face.

"Ms. Silva, please say something!"

I leaned back against the bed, my face deathly pale and expressionless. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jonathan turn toward me, his gaze full of warning.

I lowered my eyes. Home was finally within reach. I didn't want to be entangled with him anymore. So, I drew a deep breath and lifted my head to speak.

"What happened that day was an accident. I lost my balance. It had nothing to do with Ms. Stewart."

The room instantly erupted. The reporters clearly didn't buy it and only came at me harder.

"But the surveillance footage clearly shows Charlotte making a pushing motion at the time!"

"Ms. Silva, are you being threatened into saying this?"

Jonathan opened his mouth, but before he could get a word out, Charlotte suddenly broke away from behind him. She rushed to my bedside and grabbed my hand, squeezing so hard that my knuckles ached.

Her eyes were rimmed red, and tears trembled on her lashes. "Mallory, I know you hate me, but how can you do this to me? I never once blamed you for pushing me down the stairs back then. Why won't you just tell the reporters the truth?"

I was taken aback, and so were the reporters.

Charlotte yanked up her sleeve, revealing a large patch of purple bruises on her arm. "I know you love Jon, and you hate that I'm always around him. But I never once thought about stealing him from you. Why do you have to push me this far? Why do you want me dead?"

She sobbed so hard she could barely breathe.

Jonathan quickly strode forward to hold her up, his brows drawn tight.

I opened my mouth, but it felt like a hand had clamped around my throat. I couldn't make a sound. I barely had the strength to stand, let alone shove her. How could I have pushed her?

But the reporters now had their cameras pointed straight at me. The sympathy in their eyes turned into suspicion.

"Ms. Silva, is what Charlotte said true?"

"Did you frame her on purpose because you were jealous?"

"Are you dealing with some kind of serious psychological problem?"

The flashes went off in a rapid-fire crackle, every question stabbing into me like a knife. I looked at Jonathan.

He was staring down at Charlotte, who was crying in his arms. Then, he lifted his head and glanced at me, his eyes icy cold. "Mallory, you've gone too far."

I couldn't be bothered to explain anymore. I lowered my gaze and said quietly, "Think whatever you want."

But Charlotte refused to let the matter slide. She spoke up, her voice full of wounded grievance, "Mallory, if you're upset, you can take it out on me. Just don't lie with all the reporters here. What will Jon think of me after this? What will the whole country think of me?"

As she spoke, her knees suddenly buckled, and she collapsed.

Jonathan reacted quickly and caught her in his arms, his expression changing instantly. "Lottie? Lottie!"

He scooped her up and strode out of the room. He paused at the doorway and said, "When Lottie wakes up, I'll have someone send you back to the psychiatric hospital."

The reporters frantically pressed their shutters, trying to capture every second of this circus.

I didn't cry or kick up a fuss. I just lay there, staring quietly up at the ceiling.

It was fine. Nothing mattered as long as I could go home. Everything that happened here would stay here.