Chapter 1

I ran a 104-degree fever while pulling an all-nighter to finish the final design draft for Ethan Vance. Then, I clicked on a racing forum he had left open on his computer.

Pinned at the very top was a video of the champion racing across the finish line.

It was him.

"Damn, Vance is a beast! He won first place even with a crippled leg!"

"That speed... he’s faster than he was five years ago!"

"Crippled leg? Please. He's totally faking it to play that gullible little assistant of his."

Five years ago, we were in a car accident. He was in the passenger seat and injured his leg, supposedly ending his racing career.

He blamed me for ruining his life. He demanded one hundred acts of penance to pay off my "debt."

It was all a lie. His leg had healed a long time ago.

This "penance" was nothing but a sick, five-year-long game of revenge.

This was the 99th time.

Fine, Ethan.

One hundred times. I won't miss a single one.

Once the game ends, we are even. And I will never see you again.

1:00 AM. With a 104-degree fever, I swallowed some Tylenol and buried myself back in the blueprints.

My phone buzzed. Ethan’s name flashed on the screen.

"How's the progress?" His voice was as cold as ever.

"Almost done. Just give me one more night," I croaked, trying to sound steady.

"One more night? You know the client expects the final draft tomorrow morning."

"I'll deliver it on time. Don't worry." I grit my teeth.

"You better. You owe me this." The line went dead after his impatient snap.

For five years, those words had been branded onto my soul.

*You owe me.*

Because of that accident, his career was ruined. His legs were supposedly destroyed.

I looked back down at the screen. The concepts were his, but I was the one doing all the heavy lifting and perfecting the details.

At least, that was the story he told the world.

Six hours later, the final draft was complete.

I rubbed my burning eyes and prepared to shut down the programs.

But my cursor slipped to the taskbar, clicking open an active browser window he'd left open.

A racing forum popped up. The pinned video headline pierced my eyes:

*Ethan Vance Reigns Supreme Again! The King of the Track Returns!*

Date posted: Yesterday.

My hand froze on the mouse. My heart skipped a beat.

With trembling fingers, I clicked the video. A sleek black race car tore down the track like a bullet.

The driver’s movements were flawless, taking corners with lethal precision.

When the car crossed the finish line and the driver pulled off his helmet, my entire world shattered.

It was him. The very man who whimpered in "pain" in front of me every single day.

Ethan stood on the podium, hoisting the trophy high, his movements effortless and agile.

The comments section sliced through my heart like a blade.

"Vance is a god! Not even a leg injury can stop him!"

"What leg injury? He's just faking it to keep that brainless assistant wrapped around his finger."

"I heard she waits on him hand and foot every day. How pathetic."

Five years of memories rushed over me like a tidal wave.

His painful groans. My sleepless nights taking care of him.

The glasses he smashed in rage, and how I knelt to sweep up the shards.

The blueprints I stayed up all night to finish, only for him to take the credit.

His fame, and my obscurity.

It was all a lie.

This was my 100th "penance."

I took a deep breath, saved the final draft, and emailed it to his inbox.

Then, I closed all the tabs, cleared the browsing history, and pretended I saw nothing.

Tomorrow, I would show up at the studio just like any other day.

But in my heart, a cold, quiet voice had awakened:

One hundred times. Not one more, not one less.

Once this game is over, we are through. Forever.