Eden's Pov.
I finally get up after a few minutes and turn to my side, ready to sink back into sleep, when a series of notifications from Lotus ding loudly in my head.
> +100 bonus points for laundry room composure!
> +70 bonus points for dinner!
> +3000 bonus points for wedding night!
I sit up immediately, my eyes wide in the dark. I turn to my side to find Enzo still sleeping soundly. All I can see are dollar signs, and the human ATM machine is snoozing right next to me.
"Okay, this is shocking, Lotus. I get points for just doing random things now?" My voice is a low whisper. I can't contain the excitement by speaking through my mind alone.
[More for acting civil and cooperative. If you keep up the good work, you could unlock your main quest to advance to the Seed level.]
"There's a main quest?" I ask, my interest officially piqued.
[Of course. Just see it as the water needed to finally plant the seed.]
"Ugh..." I lay back on the bed, letting out a sigh as I adjust the duvet over my body. Just then, Enzo turns in his sleep, causing the covers to drag down his legs.
I bite my lower lip hard and scoot a little closer, carefully pulling the duvet back up to cover his full body. He hums softly in his sleep, a sound I take as sleepy approval.
[Won't you look at that? You're caring for your husband already. How sweet.]
"We share the same duvet. If he could just stop stirring, I might actually get a decent share of it," I answer plainly, then realize how selfish that sounds, especially considering he's done quite a bit for me since I got here. "I hate feeling guilty," I mutter as I turn back to my own side of the bed.
[You should love it, though. It's a sign your conscience is still alive, which is genuinely surprising for a person like you.]
"Go to sleep, Lotus," I grumble.
She replays my own voice back to me in a perfect, mocking imitation. [You should say goodnight, Enzo.]
"Lotus...." I growl, a clear warning in my tone.
[Okay, sorry. I can't sleep, you know. I'm a system, remember? We don't sleep.]
"Well then, be quiet," I shoot back.
[Goodnight, Eliza,] she says before going offline with a soft, final click.
I let out a sigh of relief, sinking into the pillows. The quiet lasts for all of thirty seconds. Then, a strong arm suddenly wraps around my waist, pulling me firmly back against him. My eyes fly wide open.
His grip around me tightens, and it feels like he's wrestling against something in his sleep, his body twisting and turning. Oh my goodness.
He's going to break me in half at this rate. My heart starts racing as he swings his arm out violently, sending the bedside lamp crashing into the corner.
"Lotus!" I mentally scream, but the little bastard doesn't respond.
I know something is wrong. Maybe he is a monster. Is he going to eat me? Is that the real reason he doesn't want me in here? I can't die this way.
It would give Eliza, in my body, the perfect tragic story to make a big break in her journalism career. I can already picture the headline: "Hockey Star's New Wife Found Dead in Bizarre Bedroom Accident." But not today.
Then, my chest twitches when I get a proper look at his face. His brows are furrowed in pain, and a single tear is rolling down his cheek. He starts gasping for air, and I lose my composure for a second.
I quickly fight against his grip, rolling off the bed and onto the floor like I'm shooting a low-budget action movie. I scramble for his phone, my hands shaking as I dial 911. Calling for help is what every sane, concerned citizen would do, right?
That decision seems to have led us directly to this moment. Now, he is holding me by my hand again, pulling me close to his side. I can feel him trembling, but he is forcing his breathing to steady. He intertwines our fingers together and forces a convincing smile at the paramedic.
"I'm okay... really. My wife is just being overly concerned," he says, his voice strained but firm.
"Are you absolutely sure, Sir?" the female paramedic asks again, her eyes flicking between us with clear doubt.
He holds onto my hand tighter, his grip almost painful. "Yes."
"No, he is not," I finally find my voice, shaking my head vigorously. "You know how men are. They deny these things all the time. Please, don't just leave him like this."
"Please leave," Enzo says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "The guards at the gate will see you out," he adds.
So he does have guards? Of course he does.
He starts pulling me from the porch back into the house, his steps quick and determined.
"If anything happens to him, I did my best! I did not touch this man! I will not stand trial for this!" I scream over my shoulder at the retreating paramedics, just as he finally yanks me through the doorway and slams the heavy door shut behind us with a deafening bang.
> - 2000 points for public disturbance and causing a scene!
Not her too..
Lorenzo lets go of my hand instantly, the contact breaking like a snapped wire. He doesn't even look back, just starts going upstairs in a desperate hurry, his movements unsteady and rushed.
"Why wouldn't you just go with them?" I press, following close behind him. My voice is tight with a mix of fear and frustration. He staggers suddenly, his hand shooting out to grip the wooden banister for support, his knuckles turning white from the strain.
"Just shut up, Eliza!" he booms, the sound raw and explosive in the quiet hallway.
I flinch back from the force of it. How could he yell at me like that? After everything I just tried to do for him? A fresh wave of rage starts to build up inside my chest.
I want to storm out, to just leave him here to deal with his own problems. But then he tries to take another step and his legs just give out, slumping heavily against the wall. I stop dead, my own heart rate spiking with a jolt of pure alarm.
"What is going on with you?" I ask again, my voice smaller this time. I finally get a clear look at his face.
His eyes are bloodshot red, glassy with unshed tears and sheer panic. He's heaving, his chest rising and falling too fast, struggling to pull in a full breath.
"Lotus, what do I do?" I'm crying now, the tears coming without my permission. I can't believe I'm even crying over this man, but the sight is terrifying.
Lotus doesn't respond. The silence in my head is deafening. Is he going to die right here? Does she know he's going to die? Is this my punishment for everything I've done? No, he can't die. I won't let him.
She sent me his medical records. She said he was perfectly okay, physically. Didn't she? So what is this?
"Check the kitchen..." he manages to heave out, the words a strained whisper. "The bottom cabinet... to the left. Provalin."
I'm running before he even finishes the sentence. I skid into the kitchen, my eyes frantically skimming over the cabinets until I find the one he described. I yank the door open and find a small collection of prescription bottles tucked inside.
My hands are shaking as I grab a yellow plastic bottle, my eyes scanning the label until they lock onto the word "Provalin." I see the active ingredient listed underneath: "propranolol." I think this is it. This has to be it.
I fumble with a glass, filling it to the brim with water from the tap. I fight back my usual sanitary urges about tap water and just run, rushing back to the living room to find him now slumped against the couch, his head in his hands, trying to focus on some kind of breathing technique.
He takes the pills from my outstretched hand, his own fingers so shaky he can barely grasp them. He swallows the pill dry first, then drinks the water in one sharp, desperate gulp before dropping the empty cup aside. Then, without a word, his arms wrap around me and he pulls me down into a tight, crushing embrace.
I don't say anything. I don't know what to say. I just continue sobbing quietly against his chest, feeling the frantic, unsteady beat of his heart. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, his breathing still a ragged, heaving mess against my skin.
[He has Social Anxiety Disorder, Elizabeth] Lotus finally speaks, her voice calm and clear in the quiet of my mind, a stark contrast to the chaos in the room.
More tears pour out instantly, a hot flood of them. My guilt overwhelms me completely, washing away the last of my anger. I cling onto him tightly, my fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as if I can physically hold him together. "I'm sorry," I whisper into his chest, the words muffled but fervent. "I'm so, so sorry,"