Programmed Redemption

Programmed Redemption

Gavin

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I woke up to the sterile beep of a heart monitor – but I was already dead, or should have been. My brother, Leo, paralyzed and silenced by an accident that was my fault, was all I could think of as I swallowed those pills. Then a cold, digital voice in my head offered a deal: fulfill 100 impossible requests for New York' s reclusive tech billionaire, Julian Croft, and Leo would be saved. I became his "personal assistant," more like his public punching bag, enduring two years of humiliation where I was dubbed "Julian's Lapdog" by every tabloid. I waded into freezing Met Gala fountains in couture gowns, repainted penthouses overnight, and publicly took the blame for his screw-ups, all for a brother no one else knew existed. The 99th task was done. The 100th, the final payment, was supposed to cure Julian's "dying" girlfriend, Victoria. It meant undergoing an experimental, agonizing procedure that everyone, including Julian, secretly believed would be my ultimate act of "love" for him. But then Victoria herself, with a venomous smirk, whispered a revelation: her illness was a lie, a "minor nerve disorder," and my procedure wasn't just "dangerous," it was 100% fatal. I was literally going to die as a sick test for Julian's devotion to her. Then I saw Julian' s silhouette, frozen just outside the door. He' d heard everything. Yet, I smiled. Why did I willingly accept a certain death for Julian, knowing he' d been manipulated and I' d been sacrificed for a lie? Because my world was bigger than his, and my real reward was already waiting. I was going home.

Introduction

I woke up to the sterile beep of a heart monitor – but I was already dead, or should have been.

My brother, Leo, paralyzed and silenced by an accident that was my fault, was all I could think of as I swallowed those pills.

Then a cold, digital voice in my head offered a deal: fulfill 100 impossible requests for New York' s reclusive tech billionaire, Julian Croft, and Leo would be saved.

I became his "personal assistant," more like his public punching bag, enduring two years of humiliation where I was dubbed "Julian's Lapdog" by every tabloid.

I waded into freezing Met Gala fountains in couture gowns, repainted penthouses overnight, and publicly took the blame for his screw-ups, all for a brother no one else knew existed.

The 99th task was done.

The 100th, the final payment, was supposed to cure Julian's "dying" girlfriend, Victoria.

It meant undergoing an experimental, agonizing procedure that everyone, including Julian, secretly believed would be my ultimate act of "love" for him.

But then Victoria herself, with a venomous smirk, whispered a revelation: her illness was a lie, a "minor nerve disorder," and my procedure wasn't just "dangerous," it was 100% fatal.

I was literally going to die as a sick test for Julian's devotion to her.

Then I saw Julian' s silhouette, frozen just outside the door. He' d heard everything.

Yet, I smiled.

Why did I willingly accept a certain death for Julian, knowing he' d been manipulated and I' d been sacrificed for a lie?

Because my world was bigger than his, and my real reward was already waiting.

I was going home.

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