Chapter 2

I sat on the edge of the bed in sheer panic, waiting for the next plate. Julian sat beside me, making casual small talk while gently rubbing my stomach.

To an outsider, he looked like a doting husband. In reality, his arms pinned me down like iron chains, as if terrified I might sprint out of the room the second he blinked.

I exhaled slowly, fighting to calm my racing pulse.

Breaking the plate wouldn't work twice. I needed another way out.

Glancing at Julian—who still seemed like the sweet, devoted man I fell in love with whenever dumplings weren't mentioned—I tried to pry for information.

"Julian, how long has your family been doing this wedding night tradition?"

Julian’s face remained casual. He thought for a second.

"A few hundred years, probably. It’s the very reason our family has stayed prosperous and whole for generations. It’s our greatest ancestral secret."

He puffed out his chest, bursting with pride.

A spark of hope flared in my chest. If I could figure out which color Eleanor picked on her wedding night, couldn't I beat this deadly game?

Julian’s next words instantly crushed that hope into dust.

"Though according to our tradition, every bride is attuned to a different color."

"Take my mom, for example. She chose black. If you really don't know what to pick, you could try her choice."

His tone was casual, but his eyes carried a faint, unsettling flicker of anticipation.

I recoiled slightly. I had no idea if he was testing me or dropping a hint, but the sheer agony of my third death—when I picked black—flooded my nerves. I didn't dare ask another question.

When Eleanor reentered the room holding a fresh plate, the suffocating shadow of death gripped me once more.

Identical dumplings. Identical arrangement.

Even the angle of Eleanor’s lips curved into the exact same chilling smile.

If the lingering smell of the crushed dumplings on the floor hadn't grounded me, I would have sworn I had reset into another life.

This time, Eleanor took precautions. She shot Julian a look, and he immediately locked his arms around me from behind, immobilizing me completely.

Wearing a saintly smile, Eleanor held the plate right against my lips.

"Vivian, hurry up and pick. I’ll feed you this time. Once you eat it, I’ll hand over our family heirloom."

I stared down at the plate. Despite the mouth-watering aroma, it felt like staring at pure poison.

With no escape in sight, Julian’s comment about Eleanor picking black flashed through my mind. I gritted my teeth and decided to gamble on the exact opposite.

If black meant instant death for me, would white keep me alive?

Clinging to that desperate logic, I swallowed hard, squeezed my eyes shut, and yelled:

"I pick white!"

Eleanor’s hand froze. A flicker of reluctance and dark disappointment passed through her eyes. She forced a strained smile.

"Vivian, are you sure? There are so many lovely, vibrant colors here. Don't you want to reconsider?"

"White is so terribly plain. You wouldn't want your married life to be dull, would you?"

Hearing her hesitation, my eyes flew open, burning with sudden triumph.

Four lifetimes!

This was the very first time Eleanor had ever tried to talk me out of a color!

This had to be the right one!

I nodded frantically, my voice ringing with certainty.

"I’m sure! I want the white one!"

Eleanor let out a soft sigh. Lingering for several agonizing seconds, she finally, begrudgingly lifted the white dumpling to my lips.

I bit into it without hesitation, desperate to end this nightmare once and for all.

The moment the dumpling slipped down my throat, my legs gave out. I hit the floor hard. Blood gushed from my eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. Within seconds, the life drained out of me.

Right before the darkness consumed me, Eleanor’s ghostly whisper drifted into my ear.

"Sigh... I told you white represents doom. You still got it wrong. What bad luck."

As my final spark of consciousness faded, bottomless despair swallowed me whole.

Which damn color didn't kill me?!