The System Gave Me One Job Then Regretted Choosing Me Chapter 01

The System Gave Me One Job Then Regretted Choosing Me Chapter 01

After surviving a suicide attempt brought on by severe depression, I woke up inside a novel.

The System shrieked a warning inside my head.

[You must take down the impostor heiress. Mission failure will result in immediate termination.]

For the first time in months, I felt a spark of interest. I latched onto the voice in my head.

Wiped from existence? You mean it? No chance of survival whatsoever?

The System hesitated.

[…Yes?]

Well, in that case, I had no reason to hold back.

On the very first day I was reunited with my birth family, their adopted daughter stood at the edge of the second-floor balcony, crying into the wind as she pulled her favorite stunt all over again.

“Please don’t blame Mom and Dad for loving me. This is all my fault. If having me here upsets you, I’ll give everything back to you right now…”

My parents and older brother rushed outside. From the lawn below, they pointed at me and screamed.

“How can you be so cruel? You just got here, and you’re already trying to drive Vivi to her death?”

I did not get angry. I did not argue. I sprinted upstairs, yanked Vivian away from the balcony, then climbed over the railing myself. Half my body hung in open air as I called to her in delight.

“Vivian, killing yourself is hard work. You shouldn’t have to do it. Let me take care of it for you.”

Then I closed my eyes, smiled peacefully, and stepped off the balcony.

Halfway down, I heard my entire family drop to their knees and scream. The System exploded inside my head.

[Jesus Christ! You win! Just stop!]

…

“Emma Reed, even if you’re desperate for attention, there are limits.”

A low, controlled male voice came from beside the hospital bed.

I slowly opened my eyes to a painful expanse of white.

I had failed again.

The Whitmores had installed an absurdly expensive shock-absorbing turf system beneath the second-floor balcony.

All I had managed to do was break my left leg.

The System spoke in my head, sounding close to tears with relief.

[Please, I’m begging you. Can we just do the mission? Termination hurts.]

I ignored it and looked at the man in the tailored suit beside my bed.

Adrian Whitmore.

My older brother.

He held a glass of warm water. Behind his glasses, his gaze was cool, appraising, and condescending.

“You wanted Vivian gone so badly that you threw yourself off a balcony.”

Adrian set the glass on the nightstand without making a sound.

“Congratulations. You got what you wanted. She’s in the next room on oxygen because you scared her so badly.”

“But this family will not tolerate hysterics or suicide threats.”

He never raised his voice or used a single ugly word. He did not need to. Every measured sentence branded me as the problem.

I stared at the ceiling light and calculated my odds of success if I jumped from the hospital roof that night.

“Adrian, how can you speak to Emma like that?”

My mother, Eleanor Whitmore, entered carrying an insulated food container. Her designer suit was immaculate. Her eyes were red, but even her grief looked elegant.

“Emma spent twenty years suffering in a poor rural town. She never had the education or opportunities we gave Vivian. Of course she sometimes acts rashly.”

Eleanor came to my bedside and tucked the blanket around me. Her perfume smelled lovely.

Her words did not.

“Emma, I know you’re angry with us. But Vivian has been our daughter for twenty years, and she’s always been fragile. If your behavior had caused a serious attack, could you have lived with yourself?”

I looked at my mother.

My depression had hollowed out my ability to connect with other people. Anger, hurt, grief, all of it had long ago settled into stagnant water.

“I couldn’t,” I said at last. My throat was dry and my voice came out hoarse.

Eleanor blinked. “What?”

I met her carefully preserved gaze and answered honestly.

“I couldn’t live with it. I’m having a hard time accepting that I survived.”

The room went dead silent.

Adrian’s brows drew together. He clearly took my honesty as one more act of defiance.

“Emma Reed.”

Using my full name made the distance between us unmistakable.

“Our mother is trying to teach you how decent people behave. Is this really how you intend to respond?”

The door opened again.

Grant Caldwell walked in.

He was heir to the Caldwell fortune, and our families had arranged for us to marry before I was even born. He wore an understated designer coat, and his handsome face carried equal parts exhaustion and impatience.

“Vivian finally fell asleep,” he told Eleanor.

Only then did he look at the cast on my left leg.

“Emma, if all you want is to become Mrs. Caldwell, fine. I’ll marry you.”

Grant stopped at the foot of the bed and looked down at me.

“You don’t have to hurt yourself just to torment someone weaker than you. Vivian was crying in her sleep, begging you to forgive her.”

He sighed, his disappointment almost theatrical.

“Being around you is suffocating.”

I listened without defending myself or shedding a tear.

Then I pressed the call button.

A nurse arrived moments later. “Are you in pain? Is something wrong?”

I pointed to the window.

“Could someone remove the safety restrictor?”

She stared at me. “Why would you want that removed?”

“Because I want to jump, and the opening is too narrow for me to fit through.”

The air in the room turned to ice.