Jiang Yue's body still ached in places she couldn't name. The needle marks on her arm were faint now, but every time she looked at them, her heart clenched. If Qin Yuze and the male lead hadn't arrived when they did, she would have…
She didn't want to think about it.
The stalker hadn't been some random lunatic. He had been hired, by whom, she didn't know. The system was vague, dropping cryptic messages about "events accelerating" and "probability of survival fluctuating." Every night she dreamed of shadows closing in, of hands holding her down while her body refused to move.
Her parents begged her to come home. Her brother called nearly every day, voice tight with anger and fear. But Jiang Yue couldn't leave. Not now. Her career as a writer was finally gaining momentum. The publisher had just offered her a trilogy contract,, an unprecedented deal for someone with only one bestselling book. It was her dream, shimmering right in front of her.
"Luck is double-edged," the system whispered in her ear when she signed the contract.
She smiled bitterly. Of course it was.
The retreat was supposed to be her reward. A weekend away with other authors, editors, and a few young fans who had won scholarships to attend. The venue was a converted lakeside resort, all glass windows and wooden beams, surrounded by pine trees that reached for the sky.
She wore simple clothes, a pale sweater, jeans, her long black hair tied back in a ribbon. She thought maybe, just maybe, she could breathe here.
But bad luck always had a way of finding her.
It began with small things. Her suitcase zipper broke. Her phone slipped from her hands into a puddle, shorting out the charging port. Her speech notes vanished mysteriously from her folder, only to be found hours later crumpled in the lobby trash bin.
"Calm down," she whispered to herself in the bathroom mirror. "You've survived worse. This is nothing."
Still, she couldn't shake the tension in her chest.
The night of the second day, she was scheduled to give her talk. The retreat's kitchen staff were preparing dinner while guests gathered in the hall. Jiang Yue stepped onto the stage, clutching her notes. The microphone squealed once before settling into silence.
She looked out at the audience, fellow writers, curious fans, seasoned editors. For a moment, her anxiety lifted. She was in her element here. Words were her power.
She began softly, her voice weaving through the crowd. "When I wrote To Love, To Lose, To Heal, I never imagined it would reach so many of you. At its core, that book wasn't about fame or recognition. It was about survival. About holding on when everything in you tells you to let go. About believing that even in pain, there can be meaning."
Heads nodded. Pens scribbled notes. She relaxed.
And then the fire alarm went off.
At first, no one moved. A few chuckles rippled through the audience. But when the acrid smell of smoke filled the hall, reality sank in.
"Fire in the kitchen!" someone shouted. Panic surged.
Jiang Yue's bad luck struck with brutal precision. One of the exit doors jammed. A chandelier chain snapped, sending shards of glass raining onto the stage. Her heart raced as flames licked the walls near the back, smoke curling like black fingers toward the ceiling.
She should have run. Everyone else was running. But she saw the scholarship students three teenagers huddled in a corner, frozen with fear. Without thinking, she leapt from the stage and pulled them to their feet.
"This way!" she shouted, her voice raw. She guided them toward the open exit, shielding them with her body as debris fell. The smoke burned her lungs, but she kept pushing them forward.
She wasn't the only one helping. Some writers linked arms, shepherding groups toward safety. Staff tried to douse the flames, but the fire was too fierce.
When the last student stumbled into the night air, Jiang Yue coughed violently, her chest tight. She tried to step outside but the ceiling groaned and a beam cracked above her. She froze.
Suddenly strong arms wrapped around her waist, yanking her backward just as the beam crashed to the floor where she had stood. She gasped and looked up into familiar dark eyes.
He was here.
The male lead.
His suit jacket was smudged with soot, his tie loosened as if he'd run the whole way. His heart pounded against her back, his grip unyielding.
"You're not allowed to die," he said hoarsely, his voice breaking in a way she had never heard before.
Her throat tightened. She wanted to joke, to say something light, but all that came out was a whisper. "You're late." Then she passed out i
His arms tightened. "I'll always come, even if I'm late."
Firefighters arrived soon after, dousing the blaze and evacuating the remaining guests. Miraculously, no one was seriously injured, though several were hospitalized for smoke inhalation. The retreat organizers called it an accident. Jiang Yue knew better.
The system chimed in her ear that night as she sat wrapped in a blanket, staring at the flames being put out.
> System Notice: Probability event triggered. Bad luck quotient: rising. Survival chances: recalculating.
She shivered.
Lu Zhenkai crouched in front of her, his gaze unwavering. "Why is it always you?" he asked softly, almost to himself. "Every time I look away, something happens."
She forced a weak smile. "Maybe I'm cursed."
He brushed soot from her cheek, his touch lingering. "Then let me be the one who breaks it."
For the first time in days, she felt warmth,not from the fire, but from the certainty in his voice.
Still, deep inside, she knew the system was right. This wasn't the end. Her bad luck was only just beginning.