Chapter 18: The Theater of Fate
Blinding white.
Franz's eyes snapped open, the sheer brightness stabbing into his skull like needles. The floor beneath him was cold, smooth, and eerily clean — the kind of sterile emptiness that made it impossible to tell where the ground ended and the walls began. If there even were walls. Everything stretched into infinity, white on white.
He sat up, running a hand through his damp hair, memories of the lake and Victoria's trembling smile still fresh in his mind.
"Where the fuck… am I?"
[Welcome to the Projection Space, Host.]The voice of Quiet Life System rang in his head, calm as ever.
Franz stood up, flexing his fingers, testing his body. No pain, no weakness — it felt like he'd just woken from a deep sleep. "Would've been nice if someone warned me before shutting me down."
"Figures," Franz muttered. "So, what now?"
Without waiting for a reply, he snapped his fingers on instinct.
A black leather recliner appeared behind him, complete with a cupholder. Franz raised a brow but said nothing, dropping into the seat. His mind already understood — in this space, whatever he imagined could become reality.
Before him, the empty void rippled. A massive theater screen unfolded, floating in the air. Rows of plush red seats appeared behind him, stretching back into infinity. A popcorn machine materialized at the side, the soft hum of kernels popping filling the silence.
[Your first reward is ready.]
Franz rested his head back, watching as the screen flickered to life.
A bridge under a cold, clouded sky.
A woman stood alone, her hands gripping the railing — blonde hair swaying in the breeze, her figure trembling just enough for the camera to catch. No Franz appeared to pull her back. The wind rose, and she leaned forward, falling without a sound.
The screen didn't cut away.
Her body struck the water, the ripples swallowing her whole.
The scene shifted — a quiet house the next morning. Celeste Ardent sat on the living room floor, the blue glow of the television washing over her pale face. Her mother's body had been found. The news anchors said it was an accident.
Celeste didn't cry. She sat perfectly still, staring at the screen, her hands balled into fists so tight her knuckles went white.
Franz's brows pulled together slightly.
The story continued.
Victoria's death left Celeste completely alone. Her uncle arrived not long after — Thomas' brother, a man whose smile never touched his eyes. His hand rested on Celeste's shoulder, his grip too tight, his presence too heavy.
He was the kind of man who lingered in doorways. The kind who called himself family but only ever took. Piece by piece, he dismantled everything her parents built — the businesses, the reputation, the legacy. Everything Victoria had tried to protect was sold off, smeared with rumors, or burned to the ground.
And Celeste — with nowhere left to turn — became his next target.
The proposal wasn't loud. There was no grand speech. It was whispered late at night in the empty dining room. Marry me, keep the family bloodline strong. His smile was calm. His hand on hers was anything but.
She was too tired to fight.
The engagement party was held just weeks later.
Celeste stood beside him, dressed in white, her face an empty mask. Guests whispered behind their hands — half-pity, half-disgust — but none of them moved to stop it. No one stood up for her. No one stepped in.
Until the door crashed open.
Zane Walker.
He wasn't alone — Lena, Iris, and even Celeste's longtime rival stood with him, expressions grim and ready for war. Together, they laid bare everything — the uncle's crimes, his blackmail, his financial schemes, even the forged papers tying Celeste's inheritance directly to him.
The uncle screamed, denied, and cursed — but in the face of overwhelming evidence and Zane's unwavering conviction, he was dragged out of the house, kicking and thrashing like a cornered rat.
And in the silence that followed, Celeste looked at Zane.
He had become her light.
The boy who saved her. The one who showed up when no one else did.
Gratitude turned to admiration.
Admiration turned to affection.
The screen dimmed, fading back into the empty white void.
Franz sat there, cigarette resting between his fingers, unreadable eyes locked on the fading screen. He remembered this. Not all of it, but enough. This was how the story had played out in the novel. He hadn't cared much about the romance or the drama back then —
He took a slow drag, exhaling the smoke in a thin trail.
"So she was Celeste's mom, huh?"He leaned back into the recliner, legs stretched out in front of him.
"Well, Technically… she's single now."