Ariana's beloved, Marvin Hadid, was in the late stages of heart failure.

His only wish in life was to marry Ariana.

With tears in her eyes, she agreed and decided to go through a fake divorce with me.

After the divorce, I was deemed a failure by the System and faced imminent erasure.

The System offered to grant me one wish.

I smiled and said, "Then donate my heart to Marvin. I want Ariana to feel my heartbeat every time she's close to him."

In the end, Ariana went mad.

She cried as she tried to shove my heart back into my body, begging me to wake up.

1

The delivery guy called, saying Ariana had refused the cake and roses I sent her.

I tried calling her, but she didn't pick up.

All I received was a brief message: [Working late at the hospital. Won't be home tonight.]

It was pouring rain, and Ariana had left without an umbrella.

I grabbed the roses and cake, determined to find her at the hospital.

After all, it was a special day.

When I arrived, the nurse informed me that Ariana had left early.

Confused, I dialed her number, only to be met with her annoyance.

"Arthur, can you stop sending me useless stuff? If you really want to make me happy, just go get the divorce papers signed."

I was taken aback.

For a while now, Ariana had been trying to get me to divorce her.

It was all because of her childhood friend, Marvin, who was dying from heart failure.

Before he passed, Marvin wanted to marry Ariana, and she had agreed.

She insisted it was a fake divorce, promising to come back for the marriage license once Marvin was gone.

But I had refused.

Ariana had been sulking ever since.

I took a deep breath, pushing down the bitterness rising in me.

"Ariana, do you remember what day it is today?"

I thought she might feel something on this special day, but her response was unexpected.

"Marvin, you... oh, you're pulling my hair!"

"Where? Let me see..."

Ariana's playful reprimand was mixed with a man's voice—Marvin's.

My blood boiled.

"Ariana, are you with Marvin right now?"

I ground my teeth, feeling the veins in my hand pulse dangerously.

She sounded irritated. "Why are you yelling?

"Isn't Marvin in late-stage heart failure? I moved him to a VIP room at our hospital to make him more comfortable, and I thought I might as well take care of him."

I thought, "Take care of him? So you two are still cozy together at this hour?

That hair-pulling intimacy must mean you're sharing a bed, right?

And today is our sixth wedding anniversary!"

I couldn't hold back and shouted into the phone, "Ariana, you're still my wife, and yet you're in another man's bed! Don't you see the problem here?"

Ariana snapped back, "Marvin and I grew up together. We've been through everything since childhood. So what if we're sharing a bed?"

Then I heard movement on the other end.

It sounded like she was shifting to another location.

Lowering her voice, she continued, "Besides, didn't I tell you? It's a fake divorce. Once I handle the wedding with Marvin, we'll get our marriage license back. We're not even getting a real divorce, so why are you making a fuss?"

After hearing her words, I felt a wave of absurdity wash over me.

About a month ago, when Ariana first told me Marvin had been diagnosed with terminal heart failure, I had felt genuinely sorry for them both.

But then she changed her tone.

"Arthur, Marvin has always wanted to marry me. Can we get the divorce first, and once this is all over, we can remarry? Let's just do it to fulfill Marvin's last wish."

I stared at Ariana in shock. "Ariana, do you think marriage is a joke? If we divorce, I might as well disappear from this world."

Ariana's anger flared up. "Always threatening to disappear—are you trying to blackmail me? Arthur Stewart, can you please get a grip? Marvin's dying, and you can't muster a bit of sympathy?"

Ariana rarely uses my full name, but this time, she was genuinely furious.

Trying to keep my own emotions in check, I asked her, "If you're only having a wedding with Marvin and not actually getting a marriage license, then why are we going through a fake divorce?"

Ariana sighed, her tone softening slightly, "I don't want Marvin to be labeled as a third wheel in our marriage."

Then, her voice hardened again. "Today is Sunday. By Monday, we need to finalize the divorce. Marvin doesn't have much time left."

Before I could say another word, Ariana hung up the phone.

2

The moment the call ended, the skies opened up, unleashing a torrential downpour.

I stared at the wilted roses and the lopsided cake in my hands, unable to suppress a bitter chuckle.

"Guess I'm the one running out of time here."

Ariana had no idea that I was clinging to this strange world for her sake.

Six years ago, I was blind, given a chance to regain my sight.

That opportunity came with a mission: to win over Ariana.

But after I succeeded, I fell for her.

I sacrificed everything from my old life to stay by her side.

Yet, the System had its doubts. "Host, people's hearts are fickle. If Ariana ever changes her mind, you'll face erasure from this world."

At that time, I shrugged it off. "Ariana loves me too much to ever stray."

Later, I received the news about Marvin's heart failure.

Ariana became obsessed with getting a divorce, all to fulfill Marvin's dying wish.

Little did she know that fulfilling that wish would cost me my life.

Noticing my low spirits, the System chimed in, "As long as you haven't signed the divorce papers, you won't disappear. I think you still have a chance to change Ariana's mind."

I gazed out at the relentless rain, lost in thought.

I thought, "Can I really change anything?"

But when I saw a post from Marvin on social media, I felt my resolve crumble.

It was a candid shot.

Marvin, in a hospital gown, rested his head on Ariana's shoulder.

She looked at him with such tenderness, peeling an orange with a smile dancing on her lips.

The caption read: [Who says childhood friends can't compete with fate? Ariana has only ever peeled oranges for me.]

From the moment I met her, I knew Ariana despised peeling citrus.

The lingering scent annoyed her, which was why we never kept oranges at home.

If we ever bought some, it was always me who peeled them for her.

So, she could break her own rules after all.

She just wouldn't do it for me.

With that realization, I turned to the System and said calmly, "Forget it. There's nothing left to fight for."

My heart had already turned to stone.

From the moment Ariana decided on the divorce, my fate was sealed.

What difference did it make if it happened sooner or later?

The System's voice softened. "Alright, Host. But before you're erased, I can grant you one wish."

I couldn't help but laugh bitterly. "A wish? Can you make Ariana fall back in love with me?"

The System paused, contemplating.

"I can only do what's within my power, like deciding how you're erased."

"What does that mean? A terminal illness or an accident?"

"Something like that."

That method of erasure seemed to lift any burden from Ariana's conscience.

So, I thought long and hard.

"How about this? After I'm gone, donate my heart to Marvin?"

Marvin needed a heart transplant to survive.

An accident or illness would only sadden Ariana for a short while.

I wanted her to feel guilt, to regret how she treated me during this time.

I wanted her to hear my heartbeat every time she got close to Marvin in the future.

The System fell silent for a moment.

"Host, are you sure? What if Ariana doesn't care?"

I let out a resigned chuckle.

"She wouldn't. I know Ariana well. She'd be devastated even if she lost a pet," I said.

After all, I had donated my heart to her beloved.

I wanted her to regret it for the rest of her life.

"In that case, let me spice things up for you."

"Spice things up? How?"

"Let's make it so that the cause of death is a car accident on the way to an early diagnosis of stomach cancer, and Ariana is the indirect cause of the accident.

"So, if she knows you donated your heart, she'll feel even more guilty. She needs to understand that it's her fault you died. If it weren't for her, you wouldn't have had to leave this world."

"Alright."

I thought, "Becoming a doctor has always been Ariana's dream since her school days.

Her ideal is to save lives, but how will she feel if she learns she has indirectly caused someone's death, especially someone close to her?

And to make matters worse, that person has donated his heart to her beloved."

I couldn't help but smile at the thought.

Once she knew the truth, she'd be living in a state of despair and guilt for the rest of her life.

3

I had forfeited my chance, so the System began to accelerate the erasure process.

The moment I woke up the next morning, I felt a gnawing discomfort in my abdomen.

The System chimed in, its tone dispassionate as always, "It's just early-stage stomach cancer. If treated promptly, you'll be just fine."

"If Ariana wavers even slightly in her obsession with Marvin, that car accident won't occur."

I realized the System was offering me an escape route.

But I was prepared to disappoint it.

Only by letting everything unfold as it was meant to would Ariana feel the full weight of her pain.

The pain in my stomach intensified, and soon, I broke into a cold sweat before slipping back into unconsciousness.

Time passed—how long, I couldn't say—until I was jolted awake by the shrill ring of my phone.

Rubbing my eyes, I noticed a few missed calls from Ariana.

Just as I was about to dial her back, I heard the sound of a keypad being tapped at the front door.

She walked in, dragging a massive suitcase behind her.

Seeing me lying on the sofa, she was annoyed.

"Arthur, didn't we agree to finalize our divorce today? What's taking you so long?"

I blinked at her, suddenly remembering that we'd planned to finalize the divorce.

Her annoyance grew as she noticed my dazed expression.

"Come on! Get a move on! What are you waiting for?"

I pressed my hand against my abdomen, feeling pale and clammy.

"Ariana, I'm not feeling too well today. Can we push this until tomorrow? It's not like this is some race."

I used to be in good health, so I'd never imagined stomach cancer could be this debilitating.

A memory flickered through my mind—my father passing away from late-stage stomach cancer.

He'd hidden his pain from me, not wanting to burden me with his suffering.

It hit me how much agony he'd endured without a word.

But my uncertainty only seemed to fuel Ariana's impatience.

"Arthur, if you're looking for excuses, at least make them more convincing. Quit stalling! Hurry up and get ready. I'll just pack my things while I'm at it."

Before I knew it, she was shoving me toward the bathroom.

She genuinely seemed eager to wrap things up.

Trying to steady myself for the day ahead, I reached for a painkiller from the medicine cabinet.

Maybe it would relieve some of the discomfort.

On my way to the kitchen to grab some water, I caught sight of Ariana's open suitcase, and my heart sank.

Among her clothes, a few packages lay unopened, all addressed to her. My eyes narrowed, and I could hardly believe what I saw is a lacy black nightie, sultry and scandalous.

Ariana had never worn anything like that around me in our years together.

Back then, I'd teased her for being so conservative.

Ariana'd said with a dismissive wave, "You know me, I'm not the risqué type."

I thought, "So who exactly is she planning to impress with that little outfit? Marvin?"

Emerging from the bedroom, she clutched an armful of her clothes, her gaze catching mine as I stared at the suitcase in shock.

She quickly followed my line of sight, panic flashing across her face.

She hurried to cover the package with her garments, then zipped the suitcase shut, looking a mix of flustered and defensive.

"Oh, um, I bought that for you—intended to wear it for you, actually. But it ended up stuck in my car's backseat, and I totally forgot about it."

Her eyes darted away, betraying her unease as she fumbled through her explanation.

Ariana seemed to forget that I'd previously complimented how lovely she looked in white lace—and how black lace wasn't really her style.

Besides, I had also made it clear that I didn't like that tacky style.

If she had genuinely bought it for me, why in the world would she choose something I didn't even like?

Her justifications felt like a flimsy veil over a truth she didn't want to confront.

Deep down, even she had to realize how absurd this all was.