Part 1Pain Transfer System

I was born with "pain transference." My specialty is weaponized empathy. Whatever pain someone fakes in my presence, they feel for real.

When a two-faced girl pretended I pushed her and cried about how much it hurt, the next second, she was screaming as if every bone in her body had shattered.

When a con artist threw herself in front of my car, wailing that her back was broken, her vertebrae instantly dislocated, paralyzing her on the asphalt.

Over time, people learned to treat me with a healthy dose of fear. No one dared to fake an illness or play the victim in my vicinity.

Until, for the sake of a family merger, I was engaged to a brilliant, aloof maestro of surgery.

At our engagement party, his "little sister" from med school clutched her stomach, her face slick with cold sweat as she cried. In front of the city's medical elite, she clung to my fiancé's sleeve and whimpered:

"Julian, my stomach cancer… it's flaring up. It hurts so much, please, save me."

The elegant ballroom fell silent. My fiancé removed his gloves.

"Seraphina, Monica is in critical condition. The engagement party will have to wait."

"A doctor's duty comes first. I can't just stand by while a patient suffers."

The champagne flute in my hand paused mid-air.

"I just did a full-body scan on you. Turns out, you're telling the truth. In that case, you can just drop dead."

"Your cancer cells have just metastasized. The pain has been magnified tenfold. You're going to die in agony."

* * *

For the sake of a dynastic union, I was engaged to Dr. Julian Barclay, a brilliant and aloof surgical prodigy. He was the youngest chief surgeon in the medical community, his future limitless. Our two families were titans, and the engagement party was a lavish affair. Everyone who was anyone in the city was there.

I stood in the center of the grand hall, wearing a couture gown, my arm linked with Julian’s. Everyone said we were a match made in heaven.

Just as we were about to exchange engagement rings, the doors were thrown open. A frail girl in a white dress stumbled in.

It was Monica, Julian’s junior from medical school.

Her face was as white as her dress. Clutching her stomach, she rushed towards us. In front of hundreds of guests, she grabbed Julian’s sleeve, tears instantly streaming down her face, her skin glistening with a cold sweat.

"Julian, my stomach cancer… it's flaring up. It hurts so much, please, save me."

The entire hall fell silent. Every eye was fixed on the three of us.

I looked at Monica's pathetic, damsel-in-distress act and sneered inwardly.

Stomach cancer? Just yesterday, I saw her post a picture on Instagram of herself devouring a spicy hot pot. Today, she was having a terminal cancer flare-up?

Julian's cool, indifferent expression shattered. He didn't hesitate to pull his arm from mine, turning to support Monica. "Monica, what happened? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Monica sagged into his arms, breathing weakly. "Julian, I know today is a big day for you. I didn't want to bother you. But it hurts so much, I feel like I'm going to die. I just wanted to see you one last time."

Her speech was so heartfelt, so moving, that a few of the guests actually started dabbing their eyes.

Julian's own eyes reddened. He pulled the engagement ring, the one meant for me, from his finger and tossed it unceremoniously onto a nearby table.

"Seraphina, Monica is in critical condition. The engagement party will have to wait. A doctor's duty comes first. I can't just stand by while a patient suffers."

He didn't even offer me an apology before sweeping Monica into his arms, ready to leave. I paused, my champagne flute held steady. I watched Monica, nestled in his embrace, shoot me a triumphant, provocative smirk.

Fine. You want to play games?

I swirled the champagne in my glass and spoke, my voice calm and deliberate.

"I just did a full-body scan on you. Turns out, you're telling the truth. In that case, you can just drop dead. Your cancer cells have just metastasized. The pain has been magnified tenfold. You're going to die in agony."

Julian stopped in his tracks and glared at me. "Seraphina, what the hell are you talking about? Monica is already so sick, and you're cursing her? How can you be so vicious?"

The moment he finished speaking, a bloodcurdling shriek ripped from Monica's throat.

"AAAAAHHH!"

The sound was so piercing it seemed to shatter the crystal chandeliers. Monica thrashed out of Julian's arms, crashing to the floor. She curled into a ball, clutching her stomach like a boiled shrimp, her white dress instantly soaked with sweat. She writhed on the ground, her head banging against the marble.

"It hurts! It hurts so much! Somebody help me! My stomach is exploding! My insides are on fire!"

She screamed, clawing at her own belly, her nails digging bloody furrows into her skin.

Julian was horrified. He dropped to his knees, trying to restrain her. "Monica! What's wrong?"

Lost to the pain, Monica bit down hard on his wrist. Julian grunted in pain but refused to let her go. He looked up at me, his eyes blazing with fury. "Seraphina! What did you do to her?"

I stood my ground, looking down on them. "What could I do? Didn't she say she has terminal stomach cancer? This is what a flare-up looks like. Surely a great doctor like you would know that."

The guests began to whisper.

"That girl's screams... they don't sound fake."

"Could she really have terminal cancer?"

"How tragic."

Julian no longer had time to argue with me. Monica's eyes were rolling back in her head, foam flecked her lips, and her breathing grew ragged.

"Monica, hang on! I'm taking you to the hospital right now!"

Ignoring the bite on his wrist, he scooped her up and ran for the door. At the threshold, he turned back, his gaze pinning me. "Seraphina, if anything happens to Monica, I will make you pay."

I just smiled coldly and drained my champagne. "Let's be clear, Julian. You're the one who publicly abandoned me for another woman. As of now, our engagement is void. You're not breaking it off. I am."

Julian froze for a second, then snarled, "Fine! I wouldn't want a cold-blooded woman like you anyway!"

And with that, he was gone.

Dead silence filled the ballroom. Everyone stared at me.

I set down my glass, walked onto the stage, and took the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, my apologies, but the engagement party is canceled. Please, eat, drink, and enjoy the rest of the evening. It's all on my tab."

Then, I gathered the skirt of my gown and walked out, leaving a sea of stunned faces behind me.

I knew with absolute certainty: Monica was a dead woman. My power of pain transference had never once failed. If she dared to fake terminal cancer, I would make her experience it for real.

Magnified by ten.