Chapter 3: The Poisoned Welcome

As we walked down the hallway, Mr. Ellison pointed to a two-story guest house in the backyard. “Nathaniel, we ran out of rooms in the main house, so I had this one built just for you. It’s all yours.”

He smiled, wide and fake, like a politician shaking hands at a rally. The guest house gleamed in the afternoon sun, its white siding almost blinding. It looked perfect from a distance, but I knew better now. I could practically taste the chemicals in the air.

Carter, who’d been sulking, suddenly sneered.

He shot me a sideways glance, his lips curling in a smirk. There was something predatory in his gaze, like he was waiting for me to fall into a trap. I held his stare, refusing to flinch.

He folded his arms and said, “Little bro Nate, what a great gift. Don’t waste Dad’s kindness. Go on, move in.”

His voice was syrupy sweet, but there was poison underneath. He leaned in, just close enough for only me to hear. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint Dad, right?”

In my last life, after foster care, I thought I’d finally found family. I believed every word they said.

The thought still makes my stomach twist. I was so eager to belong, so desperate for love, that I ignored every red flag. I wanted to believe in happy endings, in second chances. I never realized I was just a pawn in their game.

I never questioned Carter’s sarcasm. Or wondered if Mr. Ellison might actually want to poison me.

Looking back, it’s almost laughable. Why did I ever trust them? I was so naive, so willing to see the best in people who never gave me a reason to trust them. I mistook cruelty for teasing, malice for affection. I never questioned why Carter seemed so pleased to see me move in.

I was grateful. Overjoyed. I moved in.

I remember unpacking my bags, humming to myself, thinking I’d finally made it. The room was spotless, the bed made up with crisp sheets. For a moment, I let myself believe I was home. It was the happiest I’d been in years.

Every night, I could barely breathe. My throat tightened. My head spun.

The air was heavy. Thick with something I couldn’t name. I’d wake up gasping, my chest burning, my vision swimming. I blamed allergies, stress, anything but the truth. I told myself it would get better.

Then the nosebleeds started. Often. Out of nowhere.

They hit out of nowhere. Sudden. Violent. Impossible to ignore. I’d tilt my head back, pinch my nose, try to laugh it off. But deep down, I knew something was wrong. I just didn’t want to admit it.

Not once did I blame the house.

Not until I died. Only then did I get it.

That memory still cuts. Like a shard of glass in my mind. Lying on the floor, struggling to breathe, I finally understood. The house was never meant to be a home. It was a cage—a slow, silent death sentence.

The house was a shoddy prefab Mr. Ellison bought off one of those sketchy discount websites. He’d even gone out of his way to repaint the walls with cheap paint and cover them with the lowest-grade wallpaper. All the furniture was cheap particleboard, the kind that falls apart if you look at it wrong.

A death trap. Dressed up as a fresh start. Every corner reeked of shortcuts and corner-cutting. The wallpaper peeled at the edges, the furniture sagged under its own weight. Even the light fixtures buzzed with static, casting harsh shadows on the walls.

The whole place stank of chemicals.

It wasn’t just unpleasant—it was toxic. The air stung my eyes, burned my throat. I started to dread going home, but I had nowhere else to go. Every breath felt like a risk I couldn’t afford to take.

The spot where the house stood? It used to be the family’s dog run.

That was the last straw. I’d been given the leftovers, the scraps, the place where they’d kept their pets. It was a reminder that, no matter what they said, I would never be one of them.

Same as last time. Mr. Ellison handed me the house keys. “Here are the keys. There are rooms downstairs—Nathaniel, pick whichever one you like.”

His smile was forced. He kept glancing at Carter. I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers drummed against his leg. He was waiting for me to play my part, to make things easy for him.

Suddenly, I heard it—a robotic voice, like something out of a video game, in Mr. Ellison’s mind: [Attention, host. If the target likes the living arrangement you’ve provided, the family affection score will go up. If not, it will go down.]

The voice was cold, mechanical, echoing in the back of his mind. It sounded like a game show host, reading out the rules. For a moment, I wondered if I was losing my mind—but the fear in Mr. Ellison’s eyes told me it was real.

[If the affection score reaches 100, the mission is complete.]

[If it drops to -100, the mission fails and the host will be erased.]

The stakes were clear, and for the first time, I understood just how desperate they were. It wasn’t love or duty that kept me here—it was survival. Their survival.

I could hear it. The system. For real.

The realization sent a chill down my spine. I wasn’t just reliving the past—I was seeing it from the inside out. I could hear their fears, their calculations, their secrets. It was terrifying—and liberating.

Last time, I only learned about the system after I was dead. I’d never heard the system’s voice.

Back then, I’d thought their cruelty was personal, that I’d done something to deserve it. Now I knew better. They were just playing a game, and I was the prize. Or the penalty.

Lucky me. I got another shot. And this time, I could hear the system.

This time, I wouldn’t expect anything from family. I’d only do what benefited me.

I took the keys. Just like before.

Mr. Ellison’s lips curled, as if he knew I’d accept.

His relief was almost palpable. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his shoulders sagging. For a moment, I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

Carter looked smug. Pleased with himself.

He shot me a smug grin, his eyes glinting with triumph. It was clear he thought he’d won. I let him enjoy the moment. It wouldn’t last long.

But then, his smile froze.