Mission Failed: His Marriage Phobia Kills Me

My CEO boyfriend, Dylan Abbott, has a phobia of getting married. Because of that, he sets up a weird rule that requires me to pass all 99 trials set up by his secretary, Lynette Woods, before finally agreeing to marry me.

The first time we're about to get married, I wait for Dylan at the marriage registration department for three hours. But that's when I'm informed that Lynette has lost Dylan's ID, causing our registration to get delayed.

The second time we're about to get married, Lynette happens to be driving around in my car. She stages a brake failure and hits a passerby on purpose. By the time I'm done dealing with the accident and rush to the City Hall with Dylan, it's already closed for the day.

The 98th time we're about to get married, Lynette laces my glass of water with rat poison. Because of that, I'm taken to the hospital immediately to have my stomach pumped out, hence missing out on the marriage registration.

When it's the 99th time for us to get married, I'm under the impression that I've passed Lynette's trials, which means Dylan won't flake out on me anymore.

But I spend the day waiting for Dylan at the City Hall till nightfall. I've spammed so many phone calls and text messages to him, and yet he never shows up.

In the end, I come across a post Lynette has made on her social media feed about her and Dylan being officially married.

"My boss loves me far too much! All I said was that I wanted to get married as well, and he was quick to marry me at the City Hall! I love him so much!"

I just leave a like on the post without losing my temper or kicking up a ruckus.

That's when Dylan calls me on the phone all of a sudden.

"Don't misunderstand the whole thing, Felicia. This marriage is just a joke. Lynette is a graduate hailing from an overseas university. I merely married her because I want her to keep working for my company without any complaints.

"Once the divorce procedures are over, I'll marry you immediately before throwing you the grandest wedding ever, okay?"

What Dylan doesn't know is that I've already signed an agreement with the system. If I can't get married with Dylan in five years, that means I've lost the bet.

My time will be up in three days. By then, I'll get annihilated by the system. There will no longer be a future for me and Dylan.

[Your five years are up. You've failed your mission. You have 72 hours until your elimination.]

I heard the system's cold voice echoing in my head and laughed bitterly as I rejected my boyfriend, Dylan Abbott, who was making empty promises to me again.

"No, thank you!"

I was going to die. We weren't going to have a future together anymore.

A short bout of silence later, he sent me a video.

"Is this the reason why you're rejecting me, Felicia Cooper? Because you're planning to continue bullying Lynette behind my back?

"I can't believe that you actually broke into her home and forced her to drink! Wanna bet that I won't even consider the years we spent together and just sue you for trespassing?"

I listened to his increasingly accusatory voice and tapped the play button on the screen to watch it out of curiosity.

The video showed me holding a glass of wine as I poured it down his secretary, Lynette Woods' throat.

I was shocked.

I had indeed gone over to her place today, but it was only because today had been the final day of the five-year deadline. I had been worried sick that she would ruin my chances of getting Dylan to marry me again today, which would make me lose my life.

So, I had gone looking for her to beg her, beseechingly, to finally grant me my wish.

When I arrived at her place, she had been drinking with her friends, and she easily agreed to my request, saying that she wouldn't cause trouble for me again today.

However, when I saw that she was mixing all kinds of alcohol in her glass, I advised her against it out of the kindness of my heart.

In the end, she went back on her word and even took the video out of context, sending Dylan an edited, reversed video before accusing me of forcing her to drink.

Even with such an obvious reversal, Dylan still believed her wholly and berated me loudly.

"Don't you know that alcohol is literally a slow poison? Drinking too much can actually cause death! You're killing her on purpose!"

At first, I wanted to defend myself and explain. However, I suddenly realized that it wouldn't make much of a difference anyway.

Every time we attended a socializing drinking party, he would force me, someone with a slight alcohol allergy, to take part in drinking games under the guise of networking with our suppliers, business partners, and potential customers.

I had been hospitalized multiple times due to stomach perforation from drinking so much. And although he would care for me afterward, he never told me that I should stop drinking.

In fact, in regard to the issue, he would just say nonchalantly, "You're only like this because you're not exposed to alcohol often enough. Just keep training until your body gets used to it, and you won't get sick like this again."