Prank 100: Faking Death to Ruin Him

The billionaire heir faked amnesia and chased me hard. I played Silas’s fake girlfriend for three years. Then I actually caught feelings. I gripped the positive pregnancy test.

Before I shared the news, I caught my college bully whispering to him. "Thanks for faking amnesia to ruin Eden.

Ninetynine pranks down." "Hit one hundred, and I become your girlfriend." Reality hit me. Brooke stayed his toxic obsession. The untouchable girl.

He just played me like a joke to get a laugh out of her. Later, a plane crash ripped my life away. Silas tore through the smoking wreckage like a maniac.

He only uncovered a single engraved ring: Prank 100. I bet you love me. Rumors say Silas dropped to his knees in the ash. He sobbed until he blacked out.

Paramedics rushed him to the ER. He woke up and completely destroyed everyone who joined that gaslighting game. Meanwhile, I stood in a French blizzard. I struck a match and smiled.

I watched my medical records burn to ash. He faked amnesia to steal my heart. I faked my death to destroy his.

Chapter 1 Separated by a single wall, Brooke’s voice pitched up, teasing. "Silas, Prank 96 is a total success!" Silas responded with an unfamiliar, mocking drawl. "Did you find it entertaining, Brooke?" "Just getting payback for you, Brooke," Dylan chimed in. "That's what Eden gets for stealing your Ivy League fellowship and the game design championship." Another frat brother whistled. "Brooke, once we hit a hundred, Silas can finally make it official with you!" I went completely numb, my blood running cold. "Silas is an absolute savage for coming up with the fake amnesia plot just to mess with Eden." "Remember the first time?

Making her hunt for that heirloom jade bracelet in the pouring rain and mud, just to hand it straight to Brooke?

The absolute devastation on Eden’s face…" My fingernails sliced into my palms. Wet warmth seeped against my skin. That bracelet was the last thing my dying mother gave me.

Silas claimed the movers lost it. I crawled through the mud in a torrential downpour for seven hours that night.

I ended up in the ER with a 104degree fever. "The thesis defense was the ultimate power move!

Silas texted her saying he got jumped at a dive bar." Dylan barked out a laugh. "Eden stormed into the bar, realized he was perfectly fine, and then broke down begging her professor over the phone.

I still have the video." I clamped my teeth down on my lower lip until I tasted copper. I abandoned six months of grueling thesis prep to save Silas.

It cost me my thesis defense, and I had to delay my graduation by an entire year.

Brooke let out a soft, venomous giggle. "And when you used her game design blueprints—the ones she stayed up three nights making—to fold paper airplanes?

She spent the whole night picking them up, her eyes red and swollen.

Just like a stray dog." Silas chuckled right on cue. "How are we playing it this time?" "Tell her you’re in the hospital. Make her rush over.

We'll go party while she sits in the waiting room alone!" My phone buzzed against my thigh. A text from Silas. "City Hospital ER. Come now." Bile rose in my throat.

I spun around and bolted down the hall before they could hear me breathe. Two minutes later, Silas unsent the message. Like a flicker of regret. I played my part.

I stared at the blank screen and did not type a single word. The truth was, a sick intuition had already been gnawing at my gut.

Yesterday, while Silas showered, I unlocked his phone. I found an encrypted folder titled Game Progress. Ninetysix videos. Ninetysix separate pranks. A perfect match.

The passcode was 1224. Brooke’s birthday. The bastard lied to my face. He told me it was the day we first met.

Last Christmas Eve, I stood in kneedeep snow for three hours waiting for him. He was at Brooke’s mansion, placing a birthday tiara on her head. He didn't show up until midnight.

When he finally arrived, Silas carefully wrapped his scarf around my frozen neck. He looked at me like I was his entire world. A dull, hollow ache carved out my chest.

Oxygen refused to enter my throat. I forced myself to open his messages. In his pinned chat with Brooke, he documented every single prank.

Line after line of sick devotion. "Told her I was working late at the firm. I was actually taking you to Disneyland.

She waited up until 3 AM." "Gave her the wrong time for her presentation. Making it two hours late.

Watching her sprint across campus in her pajamas killed me." The last message was sent during our college reunion.

Brooke had "accidentally" knocked a mug of boiling coffee toward me. Silas reacted instantly, shielding my body with his own.

But the text message to Brooke shattered that illusion. "Touching her makes my skin crawl. I scrubbed my hands with sanitizer three times." Chapter 2 I dialed my dad.

I told him I wanted to move to Paris with him. Ever since Mom passed away five years ago, he had been living in Paris, the city where they first fell in love.

I stayed behind in the States just for Silas. I rejected every Ivy League studyabroad offer, barely seeing my dad once a year. I thought I could melt the ice around Silas’s heart.

I forgot that melting ice only leaves a bonechilling frost. My desperate, mothtoaflame love was nothing but a sick prank.

I was just the punchline he used to court his obsession.

Dad's voice crackled through the speaker, thick with relief. "You finally see it, sweetie." I swallowed the hard lump in my throat. "Yeah. Dad.

When I fly out…" I gripped the phone. "I need you to fake a plane crash for me." He didn't understand. But he agreed. A fiery wreckage would be my parting gift to Silas.

I would make him choke on the name Eden for the rest of his miserable life. I nuked every photo of us from my phone.

While tossing my clothes into a suitcase, a leather journal slipped from his open wall safe. Dark green.

Stamped with the phoenix emblem from Ember Lore—the exact logo I drafted after thirtysix caffeinefueled allnighters. Silas had custombound it.

Inside lay every single concept sketch I’d ever drawn. He collected my dreams. I froze at page seven. A Polaroid of me coding in my glasses.

Beside it, a sticky note in his aggressive scrawl: "She ripped the lead dev a new one today like a pissedoff kitten. The new pitch is ten times better.

How can a genius be this cute?" My chest tightened. Every time I pulled an allnighter, Silas stayed up too. He rubbed the knots out of my shoulders. He cooked for me at 3 AM.

He drove across the city for red velvet cake just because I craved it. He kept heating pads and ibuprofen stocked on my nightstand before my period even started.

They called it a prank, but he played the part of a man dangerously in love. Then I flipped to the last page. A crumpled Valentine’s Day boarding pass.

His handwriting bled into the blank margins. "If I had to do it again, I’d still pretend to lose the tickets.

I’d still make her pull an allnighter sleeping on airport chairs with me. Because I promised Brooke. Prank 72." Rain lashed against the bedroom window.

A foundation built on rotting lies. Maybe a fraction of his care was real, but his devotion belonged to Brooke. I was just a punching bag. My fingers trembled.

Bile clawed up my throat. I opened my phone and scheduled an appointment at the abortion clinic. Deep into the night, the front door clicked.

Silas slipped into the bedroom, smelling of winter frost. Eyes clamped shut, I forced my breathing to remain even. I waited for the fallout. I ruined his hospital prank tonight.

I embarrassed him in front of Brooke and his frat brothers, yet he was letting it slide? Silence stretched. He stopped moving. The mattress dipped behind me.

Strong, heavy arms wrapped around my waist, hauling my back flush against his chest. Silas buried his face in the crook of my neck.

He exhaled a long, shaky breath—like a man who finally found his way home. "We're having a baby, Little Moon." His deep voice vibrated against my collarbone, rough with euphoria.

Little Moon. He claimed I was his light in the dark. But the group chats told a different story.

He bragged to Brooke that he fabricated the nickname just to watch an arrogant honors student turn into a desperate, loveblind fool. I stayed still.

He didn't know the appointment was already set. Silas shifted. He pulled my crumpled ultrasound printout from his pocket. He smoothed it out over my stomach.

Three tiny hearts were inked in the corner. Drawn with a fountain pen. The Montblanc I bought him with my very first paycheck. He carried it everywhere. I gave him nothing. No gasp.

No movement. Silas tightened his grip, crushing me against him. He murmured breathless promises against my skin, but my core remained absolute ice.

Not a single drop of his warmth reached my blood. "I'm tired," I rasped. "Let's sleep." He stopped instantly.

He pressed a reverent kiss to my shoulder. "Tomorrow, we're going to Brooke's birthday party," he whispered into the dark. His breathing leveled out. He fell asleep.

I stared at the wall. My eyes burned, wide open until dawn. He faked his memories to steal three years of my life. I would fake my death to destroy the rest of his.

Chapter 3 The VIP lounge thumped with heavy bass. Silas's frat brothers cornered me against the leather booth.

They shoved a massive slice of red velvet cake into my chest. "Eat up, Eden," Dylan sneered. "Silas loves watching his girl gorge on sweets." I shot a desperate look at Silas.

He dragged his gaze to the wall, swirling his bourbon. He pretended I didn't exist. I forced a bite past my lips. A violent, chemical bitterness exploded on my tongue.

My stomach heaved. Brooke slammed her manicured hand over mine.

She forced the fork back toward my mouth, jamming the sickeningly sweet frosting against my teeth. "It's my birthday, Eden.

Don't be a buzzkill." Brooke tilted her head, her smile venomous. "Or are you just disgusted by me?" A vicious cramp ripped through my abdomen.

The guys howled, snapping photos on their phones. I was just a walking punchline. I choked down the last bite and shoved past them.

I hit the bathroom tiles on my knees and emptied my stomach until my throat bled. Muffled cheers echoed through the heavy door. Prank successful.

Silas crouched beside me. "Has your stomach bug still not cleared up?" He held out a cup of warm water steeped with mint leaves.

The exact remedy he had taught me during our freshman year. I couldn't reach for it. Needles shredded my insides. A sickening, wet warmth soaked my underwear. I looked down.

Thick, dark blood snaked down my inner thighs, pooling on the white porcelain tiles.

I dug my nails into Silas's forearm. "Hospital… now." Brooke materialized in the doorway, blocking our exit. She rolled her eyes. "It's just a heavy period.

Girls get cramps all the time." She crossed her arms. "Stop being so dramatic, Silas." "Move!" Silas roared. It was the first time in three years he ever raised his voice at her.

Sterile fluorescent lights burned through my eyelids. I woke to the hum of the ER monitors.

And Brooke's hushed, furious voice drifting from the hallway. "Did you spike the icing with too much of that emetic?" she hissed at Dylan. "The plan was just to make her puke and look pathetic!" Dylan let out a low chuckle. "Hey, taking out a bastard kid is doing my boy a solid.

Silas should be thanking me." "Exactly," another brother chimed in. "It's been three years.

If she actually had a kid, how the hell would Silas ever ditch Eden?" The hallway went dead quiet. "The pranks are one thing," Silas finally spoke, his voice dangerously low. "But you do not touch her body." Brooke let out a sharp, offended gasp. "Who came to me and said, ‘Let’s make this nerd taste the pavement’ to get payback for me?" Brooke snapped. "Making Eden humiliate herself as my birthday gift—wasn't that your idea?

Are you actually catching feelings for her?" Silas didn't miss a beat. He recoiled like she accused him of murder. "Are you insane? I'm obsessed with you, Brooke.

Only you." Laughter erupted in the hall again. The tension evaporated. They clinked imaginary glasses to the end of Prank 98. They started pitching ideas for Prank 99.

I pressed my palm against my hollow, aching stomach. My baby and I. We were nothing but a sick party favor. A twisted birthday gift to make Brooke smile.

I swiped the cold moisture from my cheeks. My fingers spasmed uncontrollably as I opened my phone. I hit 'Cancel' on the abortion clinic portal.

I didn't need to make the choice anymore. The father had already executed his own child. I pulled up my dad's contact. Before I could hit dial, the heavy wooden door creaked open.

I snapped my eyes shut. I slowed my breathing to a steady, rhythmic crawl. Footsteps dragged across the linoleum. Silas stopped beside my bed. "Eden," he whispered.

His voice cracked, raw and suffocating with guilt. "I'm so sorry…" He didn't need to explain. The reason was selfevident. Chapter 4 After my discharge, Silas fed me a line.

He claimed Brooke and the guys wanted to apologize. They invited me to hike a steep trail upstate.

He said the summit had a famous wishing tree where people left memorials for lost loved ones. We could leave a tag for our baby. My gut screamed it was another trap.

Another sick prank. But the hollow ache in my stomach won. I was leaving for Paris soon. This would be my final goodbye to the child I never met.

The entire hike up, the frat brothers orbited Brooke. They carried her water, laughed at her jokes, and treated me like dead weight. We reached the summit.

The wind howled through the massive, ancient branches of the wishing tree. Silas bought a wooden memorial tag.

We stood shouldertoshoulder, carving a message for our baby into the wood. Brooke watched us.

A sickly sweet smile stretched across her face. "Eden, you're such a good mother." I ignored the venom dripping from her words. The lower branches were full.

I had to lean half my body over the wooden safety railing to find an empty spot. I stretched my torso over the sheer drop. Two hands slammed into my back. Hard. A violent shove.

Gravity yanked me over the edge. I tumbled down the jagged incline. Rocks shredded my clothes. Branches whipped across my face. A sickening crack echoed in my ears.

Whitehot agony exploded up my right leg. My vision shattered into dark static. I blacked out. I dragged myself back to consciousness. Fingers dug into my shoulders.

Silas hauled my broken body against his chest. His eyes were bloodshot, wild with sheer panic. "Little Moon, stay with me. I've got you." Blood pooled in my mouth. "Why?

Why are you doing this to me?" My leg was destroyed, but the real agony tore through my chest. A violent, suffocating physical ache. Silas shook violently.

Raw terror contorted his features. "I didn't know they would go this far. I swear to God, I didn't know—" The darkness swallowed me whole again.

I woke to the sterile smell of iodine. A massive plaster cast locked my right leg in place. The surgeon stood at the foot of the bed.

He muttered words like shattered tibia and permanent nerve damage. I stared at the ceiling tiles. Cold, silent tears tracked into my hairline.

Silas sat slumped in the visitor's chair. His clothes were stained with my blood. He looked hollowed out. Dark circles bruised the skin under his eyes.

He uncapped his Montblanc pen. He traced a tiny crescent moon onto the white plaster. "Little Moon," he choked out. "I'm not going anywhere.

I'll stay right here until you walk again." The moment I squeezed my eyes shut pretending to sleep, Silas immediately sprang into action.

He tucked the thin hospital blanket around my shoulders, terrified of making a sound. He spent the next hour pacing the room, organizing my medications, arranging pillows.

Playing the role of the devoted, terrified boyfriend flawlessly. The exact same man who had orchestrated my destruction. My heart hammered a sickening rhythm against my ribs.

I kept my breathing steady. Fake sleep. Silas never closed his eyes. He stayed anchored to my bedside all night. He pressed desperate, wet kisses to the moon on my cast.

Hot tears splashed against my skin.

He crushed my fingers in his grip, like releasing me meant I would vanish into thin air. "I'm so sorry, Little Moon." His voice broke, a jagged whisper in the dark. "This is on me.

I never should have listened to them. I never should have let them hurt you." He buried his face in my palm. "Thank God I still have a chance. I'll never let anyone touch you again.

You're my whole damn life." He stared at my bruised face until the sun came up, suffocating in his own guilt. "I almost lost you. I'm so sorry…" I knew he was hurting.

Because I was bleeding. Chapter 5 He told Brooke and the guys the pranks were one thing, but they couldn't touch my body. For a pathetic second, my resolve had actually wavered.

I was a complete joke. Silas’s only real boundary was Brooke. This was Prank 99. I was still just a toy to make her smile, and Silas stood by and let it happen again.

Who was to say he wouldn't hold the knife for Prank 100? The next morning, Silas left to buy breakfast. I immediately called my dad. I told him to send his security team.

It was time to execute the plane crash. While I waited, Brooke strolled into my hospital room.

She beamed like a pageant queen who just stole the crown. "Shattering your leg was my idea, Eden. Prank 99." I locked my jaw, staring daggers at her.

Brooke dragged her gaze up and down my broken body, then smugly adjusted her designer cashmere shawl. "Prank 100 is happening at the Apex Indie Showcase.

You’re going to be blacklisted for plagiarism." Brooke smirked. "Silas forwarded me every single source file for Ember Lore. He already bought off the judges.

Your submission timestamp will permanently show up three minutes after mine. Get ready to be crucified." Apex was the most prestigious game design competition in the country.

I bled over that project for two years. The master files were sitting right on my laptop. A violent tremor seized my good arm.

I swung hard and slapped her across the face. "Stealing my life's work.

Obsessing over my boyfriend." I spat the words out. "Brooke, you'll always be a scavenger feeding on my scraps. Doesn't that make you sick?" Brooke’s face contorted with pure rage.

She dug her acrylic nails into my wrist, twisting hard, and raised her hand to strike me back. "You're the one taking my sloppy seconds!" But the slap never landed. "Brooke, what the hell are you doing?!" Silas stood in the doorway.

Two men in dark suits—my dad’s private security—flanked him. For the first time, Silas aimed his fury directly at Brooke. Brooke just rolled her eyes.

She clearly assumed he was just keeping up the boyfriend act for the final prank. Knowing she was caught redhanded, she grabbed her bag and stormed out.

Silas opened his mouth to explain, but my dad's men ignored him. They unfolded a wheelchair and prepared to move me. Silas’s jaw tightened.

He slammed his hands down on the armrests, blocking them. Panic flared in his eyes. "Little Moon, what is this?" I dropped my gaze to my lap. "I'm going to Paris to recover.

My dad is worried sick." Silas shook his head, insisting he couldn't let me go alone. He was the one who shattered my leg.

I kept my voice flat, repeating that my dad needed to see me immediately. He finally backed down. He pulled out his phone, his fingers moving frantically.

He booked a ticket for tomorrow right in front of me, swearing he would follow me. He asked for my flight number.

I didn't even blink. "Flight 5882." He reached for the wheelchair handles to escort me out. His phone suddenly buzzed.

Dylan's frantic voice bled through the speaker. "Silas, get here now! Your girl fell down the stairs!" Silas didn't offer a single word.

No explanation about Dylan claiming Brooke was his girl. No goodbye. He just pivoted and sprinted down the hospital corridor.

I let out a dry, hollow laugh. "Let's go," I told the guards. The private terminal. "Ms.

Eden, the flight path is cleared," the head of security murmured. "Your father promised the most convincing wreckage possible." The departure screen flashed my actual flight: AF1621.

I gave a single, sharp nod and boarded the plane to Paris. Chapter 6 Silas claimed it was the day we first met. Real or fake, I locked onto that exact moment.

I wanted it burned into his skull forever. I wanted him to know I died inside his twisted game. I wanted him to choke on the regret for the rest of his miserable life.

A split second before the plane supposedly went down, I fired off one final text. Silas. For Prank 100—I'm putting my life on the line. My screen instantly lit up.

Rapidfire incoming calls. A flood of frantic messages