Unprogrammed Love

Chapter 2-Reset to Year Five

Celeste's eyes fluttered open to a cascade of silvery light. A huge panorama window revealed dawn's first pale glow creeping over the city skyline. She lay on a low, plush chaise in an impeccably minimal penthouse suite—satin sheets tangled at her waist, her throat prickling beneath the diamond collar.

A soft chime sounded in the air beside her ear, mechanical and precise. Her HUD blinked into view:

> **LIFELOOP 2/∞**

> **Objective 1:** Impersonate fiancée.

> **Objective 2:** Endure every humiliation.

> **Objective 3:** Drive target affection → –100%.

The words stung. Celeste rolled onto her side, pressing a palm to the collar. It hummed with latent power, ready to punish. She gritted her teeth and eased herself up, ignoring the tremor in her limbs.

“Good morning, Ms. Su." A crisp voice broke the silence. The suite's door slid open to reveal Lucinda, Adrian's personal assistant—tall, severe, and impossibly efficient in a charcoal pantsuit. In her gloved hands she held a silver serving tray.

Celeste sank onto the chaise's edge. “Good morning." Her throat felt raw. “Thank you."

Lucinda set the tray down—a porcelain teacup steamed beside a small plate of perfectly cubed melon. “Your gown for tonight's gala is laid out on the chaise. Mr. Lu requests the midnight-blue gown with the off‑shoulder bodice."

Celeste picked up a melon cube. Its sweet juice trickled over her tongue. She forced a small smile. “Midnight‑blue tonight." She set the cube aside. “Understood."

Lucinda's blue-gray eyes flicked to the collar. “I trust the… accessory is tolerable." Her tone was neutral, but the flash of concern was unmistakable.

Celeste traced the subtle ridge where metal met skin. “I'll manage." She pushed herself to her feet. “Thank you for breakfast."

Lucinda inclined her head and slipped away. The door whispered closed. Celeste exhaled, heart pounding.

She crossed to the chaise and draped the midnight‑blue gown over her arm. Its fabric was heavy silk, embroidered with onyx filigree. She studied herself in the full‑length mirror: the same dark waves tied back with a jeweled clip, the same doe‑eyed expression. A breath of recognition—then resolve.

**No more mistakes.**

---

Adrian Lu entered the lobby precisely at 8:15 AM, as always. Celeste stood near the velvet lounge, hands folded in front of her. She wore a simple ivory sheath dress, modest and elegant. His sharp gaze sliced across the marble floor.

“Good morning," he said, voice low and clipped.

She dipped into a curtsey. “Good morning, Mr. Lu."

He scanned her, lips twitching. “Change quickly. We leave in twenty minutes."

“Of course." She nodded and stepped back, blinking away the sudden flare of heat in her cheeks—anger or embarrassment, she couldn't tell.

Adrian pivoted on his heel. “The car is downstairs. I expect punctuality."

She watched his tailored jacket swing as he strode off. Her chest tightened. **Meter –10%.** The collar hummed, a reminder: failure meant pain.

Celeste glanced at the grand staircase behind his retreating silhouette—then followed, footsteps measured. At the bottom, an obsidian grand piano sat in the foyer. A lone attendant, crisp in black tie, hovered nearby.

He cleared his throat. “Gown fitting is at 8:30," he announced. “Second door on the left."

Celeste nodded. “Thank you." She ascended the stairs again, heart thudding. **Must not waver.**

---

**8:30 AM, Fitting Room**

The room was a minimalist reverie—white walls, soft cream carpet, racks of gowns lining one side. Lola, the head stylist, flitted toward Celeste, measuring tape at the ready.

“Good morning, Celeste," she said brightly. “You're our star today." She waved a hand at the midnight‑blue gown. “This is stunning on you. Now, raise your arms—careful of that collar."

Celeste stretched her arms upward. Lola's eyebrows shot up. “That thing—where does it grip?" She leaned in to examine the clasp at Celeste's throat.

“It's… part of the arrangement," Celeste replied, voice tight.

Lola frowned but said nothing. She pinned seams, adjusted folds, muttering about hem length and shoulder drape. Adrian's name came up only once: “He's very particular."

Celeste forced her gaze forward, fighting the memory of yesterday's humiliation. She held perfectly still, as if the gown were armor and Lola's pricks the pressure of war.

At the end, Lola stepped back, hands on hips. “Perfect. You look like royalty—if royalty were exiled and forced to earn every breath."

Celeste smiled thinly. “Thank you."

Lola nodded toward the mirror. “Show them." She slipped out as formally as she had arrived.

Celeste faced her reflection. She took a slow breath. **I am more than a stand‑in.** She straightened her shoulders, smoothed a stray lock of hair.

---

**9:00 AM, Drive to Gala**

A sleek black sedan whisked Celeste through the city streets. She hovered between the leather seats, flanked by two security guards whose earpieces glinted under their collars.

Through the tinted windows, the urban skyline blurred. She closed her eyes. **Reset five years.** Everything felt raw—like a wound reopened.

The sedan pulled up to the Lu estate's courtyard, now transformed into a red‑carpet spectacle. Valets in crisp uniforms opened her door.

Celeste inhaled. Tonight, the world would judge her as Adrian's missing fiancée. Her heart pounded as she stepped onto the carpet, a line of flashing cameras illuminating her.

“Ms. Su!" photographers called. She offered a polite nod, one hand to her collar—just in case. **Meter –20%.** The collar prickled.

A surge of adrenaline. She squared her chin. If they wanted a show, she'd give them one. She let her gaze drift to where Adrian stood at the foot of the stairs, waiting.

His posture was regal—one hand behind his back, the other holding a champagne glass. He wore his indifference like a cloak. He never looked away from her.

**Timer:** 00:05:00 until gala begins.

She took careful steps up the carpeted stairs, heels clicking. Guests murmured as she passed—some polite bows, others curious glances.

At the top, Adrian gestured with the glass. “You may enter."

**Objective update:** Impersonation successful. Proceed to endure.

She nodded and slipped past him through the grand double doors.

---

**9:06 PM**, “Gala Commencement" Alert.

Inside, the main ballroom glittered. A live string quartet played Tchaikovsky's Serenade. Crystal tables held candelabras and gilded centerpieces. Celeste moved through the crowd, each interaction a test.

“Ms. Su, delighted you could join us," a board member named Madam Zhao purred, linking arms with Celeste. “Adrian has been most concerned about your health."

Celeste smiled. “I'm better, thank you."

Madam Zhao squeezed her arm—too tight. Laughter fluttered around them. Celeste's chest constricted. **Meter –30%.** The collar tightened, pain blinking across her nerves.

At the head table, Adrian sat at the center. He raised his glass. “To Celeste."

Every head turned. Glasses chimed. Celeste lifted her champagne flute—almost spilled. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple.

She managed a nod. **Meter –35%.** The collar sparked briefly, a ghost of agony. Her hand shook as she lowered the glass.

Adrian's gaze locked on her fingers. A slow, almost imperceptible crease formed between his brows. **Anomaly detected.** The HUD flashed:

> **TARGET BLINK:** Potential recognition.

> **ESCALATE HUMILIATION.**

The collar's inner coil heated. Celeste bit her lip, fighting tears.

---

She slipped away from the table toward the balcony doors—anywhere to steady herself. The night air was cool, scented with jasmine from a nearby terrace garden. She pressed her palm to her forehead.

A soft click behind her. She turned to see Adrian, collar of his coat brushing her shoulder.

“Enjoying the evening?" he asked, voice low and flat.

Her stomach knotted. She forced a nod. “It's… lovely."

He stared at her, unreadable. “You look unwell. Maybe you should sit."

Before she could reply, a waiter rounded the corner, nearly colliding with her. He flung a tray of hors d'oeuvres—salmon canapés—directly at her.

They flew through the air, landing in her lap. The salmon slid off the crackers and tumbled onto the terrace floor with soft splats.

Gasps erupted inside. Celeste froze, mortified. **Meter –50%.** The collar jolted, and pain flared across her hips.

Adrian's eyes cooled. He stepped forward and plucked a canapé from her lap as if reclaiming a fallen object. With one fluid motion, he tossed it back into the room—where it splattered against a marble column.

A hush fell. Celeste's cheeks burned. She looked at Adrian, expecting disdain or perhaps a cruel joke. Instead, his jaw clenched—but then he glanced away, covering his mouth with a gloved hand.

**Meter stall at –55%.** The collar's pain receded to a dull throb, but her pulse raced.

He turned back. “This was your first test. How you handle it will define the rest of the evening."

Her throat tightened. “I… won't disappoint you."

He nodded. “Good." Without another word, he swept past her and returned inside.

Celeste watched his retreating figure—the curve of his shoulders, the authoritative set of his stride. Her heart hammered. **I will endure.**

She pressed a hand to her collar and forced herself to follow him back through the doors. The string quartet had moved to a livelier waltz. Guests drifted back to their conversations, glancing at her like a curious exhibit.

She inhaled slowly, quelling the pain's aftershocks. **Every humiliation is data.** She would mine it for patterns: how his lip twitched, when his eyes flickered, the slightest crack in his veneer.

Tonight was only the beginning. The game was cruel, but Celeste had played it once. She had survived a blade to the heart and five years of agony. This rewind would be no different—except this time, she had a plan.

She raised her chin. **Let's reset the score.**

And as the waltz surged, Celeste Su stepped back into the ballroom, eyes bright with purpose—and a promise of vengeance buried beneath her graceful composure.