장 3: Chapter 3 – Strings of Hatred
The villa's front doors groaned as Evelyn entered, leaning on Lucien’s arm. Outside, the evening sky bled deep purple; inside, the lamps glowed soft gold, promising refuge. But each polished marble surface and ornate tapestry felt like a witness to her debt, a tableau of captivity.
Lucien guided her to a plush settee in the drawing room. Aria, his head nurse turned ally, hovered nearby with a silver tray bearing herbal tea and cooling compresses. “Welcome back,” she said quietly, setting the tray on the low table. “I’ve adjusted your medication schedule—less immune suppression for now, more pain control.”
Evelyn nodded, accepting a mug of fragrant chamomile. She cradled it between trembling hands. “Thank you,” she whispered, then withdrew, sipping carefully.
Lucien closed the doors behind them. “You’ll be safe here,” he assured her. “No Shen Medical oversight—Aria’s on watch.”
She let out a shaky laugh. “Safe, yes. Free? Not by a long shot.” Her gaze drifted to a wall-mounted panel, dark and silent. “How many meters of hate have I ticked up?”
He exhaled. “Twenty-seven percent.”
Her breath caught. “Twenty‑seven? That’s—already?” She pressed her palm to her heart. “I thought the first months would be—” She stopped, mind whirling.
Aria cleared her throat. “The meter ticked to twenty-seven after you repaired Wei‑han’s music box.” Her voice was gentle. “The System logs any perceived emotional infraction—anything that increases Lucien’s resentment.”
Evelyn looked between them. “I didn’t think touching her keepsake would count.” She clenched her fist. “They’re counting my kindness as theft.”
Lucien sank onto the settee opposite her. “It’s not about your intent,” he said quietly. “It’s about the algorithm. It interprets every action as data—inputs and outputs. Your repairing the box was an emotional trigger for me, but the System saw it as manipulation.”
Evelyn’s hand shook around the mug. “So my every move—every heartfelt deed—ticks me closer to freedom?”
“Only if it provokes his hatred,” Aria clarified. “The requirement is to reach one hundred percent hate. Then, the System releases you: memories wiped, debt forgiven.”
She stared into the tea, cold dread pooling. “So I should anger him more. Hurt him more—”
Lucien’s eyes snapped up. “No. You shouldn’t have to hurt me.”
Evelyn’s gaze hardened. “The System doesn’t care about you. It cares about data.” She set the mug aside. “If provoking your wrath saves me, I’ll do it.”
He rose abruptly. “I won’t let you—”
She stood too, voice rising. “Let me? You sold me into this. You married me to yourself for liability. You even let Shen Medical track our emotions like stock prices!” She paced the Persian rug. “I will earn my freedom, Lucien. By whatever means necessary.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t you.”
She stopped, glancing at Aria. The nurse placed a calming hand on her arm. “You’re under extraordinary pressure,” Aria murmured. “Please don’t force yourself to hateful extremes. There are other ways.”
Evelyn shook off the touch. “Other ways?” She glared. “Aria, how many patients have you seen broken by that meter? How many have died of induced crises or abandoned treatment because their caretakers couldn’t stand the pills?” She rounded on Lucien. “Lucien, you’re my only path out. And if provoking you—if rejecting every kindness you give—gets me out, I will do it.”
He drew in a ragged breath. “Fine.” His shoulders slumped. “If that’s what you want. But don’t blame me for what it does to us.”
She met his eyes, voice soft but resolute. “I don’t want to hate you. I’ll choose my targets carefully. But until one hundred percent, I have no choice.”
— — —
That night, Evelyn lay awake on the guest suite’s bed, heart thudding louder than the wind thrashing outside. The moonlight painted shifting patterns on the walls. She closed her eyes and replayed the day’s moments: Lucien’s gentle touch, Aria’s worried frown, the meter’s unblinking progress.
She rose, pulling on her bathrobe, and crept to the balcony. The air was crisp, scented with pine. She hugged herself. **I’m a prisoner of data.** She pressed a hand to her chest, still sore from the transplant incision. **But I will win.**
Footsteps sounded behind her. Lucien stepped out, arms crossed. “You’re still up.”
She didn’t turn. “I can’t sleep.”
He leaned against the railing. “Neither can I.”
Silence stretched. Then he said, voice low: “I never wanted you to hurt me.”
She let out a breath. “I know.” She glanced at him. “But the System demands it.”
He nodded once. “Then you’ll do what you must.” His eyes softened. “But know that once you cross a threshold, I might not be able to control myself.”
Her throat constricted. “Threaten me if you want, but do not pity me.”
He frowned. “There’s a difference.”
She turned to face him, expression fierce. “Pity is a currency I can’t afford. Only contempt.”
He stared at her, pain in his gaze. “Contempt, then.” He took a step closer. “Good night, Evelyn.”
She dipped her head. “Good night.”
As he vanished inside, Evelyn pressed her palm against the cool glass, willing the night to swallow her. **Twenty-seven percent down. Seventy-three to go.** She gritted her teeth. **I will reach one hundred.**
— — —
The following morning, Evelyn emerged into the villa’s great hall wearing a determined expression. Aria awaited her with a stack of journals and a pen. “I thought you might want to document everything,” she said softly. “It will help you track the meter’s triggers.”
Evelyn accepted the notebook, flipping it open. On the first page she wrote in firm strokes:
> *“Objective: Increase Lucien’s Hate‑Level from 27% to 100%. Tactics: Emotional provocation, controlled deception, calculated withdrawal.”*
Aria swallowed. “Be careful.”
She closed the journal. “I will be.” Then she raised her chin. “Thank you—for the support, Aria. I know you’re risking your career for me.”
Aria managed a small smile. “I owe you—for Wei‑han. And for saving your life.”
Evelyn nodded. “Then help me research the meter. I want patterns, thresholds, response curves.”
Aria’s eyes brightened. “I’ve already pulled the preliminary data—heart rate variability, cortisol spikes, facial-muscle microexpressions. All tied to incremental hate percentages.”
Evelyn picked up the papers. “Show me.”
The two retreated to Lucien’s study, where screens displayed charts and code. Evelyn sank into an armchair and Aria began pointing out correlations:
> * *Hate +5%*: Witnessing acts of presumed betrayal.
> * *Hate +10%*: Direct accusations of scheming.
> * *Hate +15%*: Physical boundary violations.
> * *Hate +20%*: Public humiliation in front of third parties.
Evelyn’s pulse quickened. “So the more public the affront, the larger the jump.”
Aria nodded. “Precisely. You repaired the music box alone—no audience—so only +1%. When you confronted him tonight, the personal accusation likely yielded +3%.”
Evelyn tapped a finger to her lips. “We need to plan an event—a trigger with an audience. Something that looks like a betrayal.”
Aria hesitated. “That could endanger you. If the algorithm overheats, it can force an adrenal crisis.”
Evelyn closed her eyes, steeling herself. “I’ll take the risk.”
Aria looked conflicted but nodded. “I’ll help you design a scenario.”
— — —
An hour later, Lucien found Evelyn standing at the villa’s porte-cochère, clad in an elegant black coat. She looked impossibly composed. “Where are you going?” he asked, stepping out onto the marble foyer.
She ignored him. He caught her arm. “Evelyn.”
She turned, eyes fierce. “I’m leaving—for a social engagement.”
He frowned. “You resent being here, I know. But you can’t just walk into town.”
She shrugged him off. “I have a right to a semblance of normal life.” Her gaze flicked to the brick driveway. “There’s a gala tonight—benefit for the Empathic Degeneration fund. It would look good for you to attend with me.”
He shook his head. “The board will cancel it if they suspect it’s a cover.” He stepped closer. “Why tonight?”
Her lips curved in a small, sad smile. “Because if I go alone, it will humiliate you. Publicly.” She pressed a button on a small device. “And if I appear unaccompanied, the paparazzi will circle. That’s +15% in one night.”
His eyes widened. “No—Evelyn, don’t—”
But she spun on her heel, striding to the waiting car. Lucien bolted after her, voice cracking. “You can’t risk your health for—”
She slid into the backseat. “Watch my meter, Lucien. Watch me climb.”
He slammed the door, the engine’s roar drowning his protests as the car rolled away. Evelyn leaned back, heart pounding—not from fear, but from the cold thrill of control.
She folded her arms, eyes glinting. Seventy-three percent to go. And tonight, the world would watch.
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