After 99 times of love pranks, I pretended to die but he went crazy
I played the role of Ethan Parker’s girlfriend for three years, only to discover I’d fallen for him.
Right when I was about to tell him I was pregnant, I overheard Brittany, this girl who’d always given me a hard time, talking to him.
“Ethan, thanks for faking amnesia to help me get back at Olivia,” she said.
“One hundred pranks, and I’ll go out with you.”
My world shattered.
I was just a pawn in his game to win over Brittany, his unrequited love.
I died in a staged plane crash.
Ethan frantically searched the wreckage, finding only a ring inscribed with: “Prank 100: I bet you love me.”
They said he cried until he collapsed, waking up in the hospital consumed by rage against everyone involved in the pranks.
Meanwhile, I burned my fake death certificate in the French Alps, a small smile playing on my lips.
He faked amnesia to play with my heart; I faked my death to teach him a lesson.
Brittany’s voice, dripping with saccharine, floated through the wall. “Ethan, prank 96, success!”
Ethan’s voice held an unfamiliar edge. “Having fun, Brittany?”
“Getting back at Olivia for stealing your scholarship and that game design award. Duh,” one of Ethan’s buddies chimed in.
“Just four more, Brittany, and Ethan’s all yours!” another one shouted.
My blood ran cold.
“Ethan’s a genius. Who would’ve thought of faking amnesia to mess with Olivia?”
“That time we made her search for her bracelet in the pouring rain…priceless! And then he gave it to Brittany!”
My mom’s jade bracelet, the one she gave me on her deathbed. The one Ethan “lost” when he moved. I searched for seven hours in the downpour, ending up with a 104-degree fever.
“And remember her thesis defense? Ethan told her he got jumped at a bar.”
They roared with laughter. “She ran to the bar, found nothing, and ended up begging her professor not to fail her! We got it all on video.”
I bit my lip hard.
I’d missed my thesis defense, a project I’d poured six months into, all for nothing. I ended up having to postpone graduation.
Brittany giggled. “And that time he folded her game design, the one she’d slaved over for three nights straight, into a paper airplane. She was like a stray dog, picking up the pieces all night.”
“So, what’s the plan for this one?” Ethan asked.
“Tell her he’s in the hospital, tell her to rush over, then we all go party and leave her hanging!”
My phone buzzed. Ethan: “City Hospital, ER. Come quickly.”
I slipped away before they heard me.
Two minutes later, he retracted the message. A pang of guilt, perhaps?
I played along, pretending I never saw it.
I already knew.
I’d accidentally found a hidden folder on his phone labeled “Game Progress,” filled with 96 videos.
One for each prank.
The password? Brittany’s birthday, 12/24.
The day he claimed he first met me.
The day I waited for him in the snow for three hours on Christmas Eve while he was at Brittany’s birthday party, putting a crown on her head.
He’d wrapped a scarf around my neck that night, so tender, so caring.
A wave of nausea washed over me. I opened his meticulously kept chat log with Brittany.
“Told her I was working late. Took you to Disneyland. She waited until 3 am.”
“Told her her competition time was two hours later. She ran out in her pajamas. Hilarious!”
The last entry? The night of our class reunion. Brittany “accidentally” spilled scalding coffee on me. Ethan shielded me instantly.
But the chat log read: “Disgusted even to touch her. Used three bottles of sanitizer.”
I called my dad. Told him I wanted to join him in Paris.
He’d moved there five years ago, after Mom died. He wanted me to come, to study abroad. I refused, stayed for Ethan.
I’d thought I could melt his icy heart. I forgot that melted ice leaves only bone-chilling cold.
“My sweet girl,” Dad said, his voice filled with relief. “You finally figured it out.”
“Yeah,” I choked out, tears welling.
“Dad,” I said, “when I leave, I need you to stage a plane crash.”
He didn’t understand, but he agreed.
A plane crash. My final gift to Ethan Parker.
I deleted every photo of us. Packing, I found a leather-bound journal that slipped from Ethan’s safe. Embossed on the cover was the phoenix logo from my game, Ashes of the Realm – the initial design I’d spent 36 sleepless nights perfecting.
Ethan had printed it, filled the book with my design drafts, meticulously collected, wishing me success.
Page seven. A photo of me, glasses perched on my nose, coding. A sticky note beside it: “She called the developers ‘frazzled cats’ today. Her revised plan is ten times better. Such an adorable genius.”
He’d been there, those nights I pulled all-nighters. Massaging my shoulders, cooking me ramen. He’d run out at 3 am for cake because I’d mentioned craving it. He’d remembered my period, always having hot ginger tea and heating pads ready.
This “love prank”? He was falling for it, too.
The last page held a crumpled plane ticket stub from last Valentine’s Day. His handwriting filled the margins: “If I had to choose again, I’d still pretend to lose this ticket, trick her into staying up all night with me to revise the proposal. Brittany wanted this. Prank 72.”
Rain lashed against the windowpane. All that love, built on a lie. He might have cared, but he cared more for Brittany. I was just a tool.
I scheduled an abortion.
That night, Ethan came home, the scent of winter clinging to him. I pretended to sleep.
He paused. I hadn’t reacted to the prank. He must’ve lost face in front of Brittany and his friends. Why wasn’t he pushing it?
The mattress dipped. Strong arms wrapped around me.
He nuzzled his face against my neck, his breath warm against my skin. “We’re having a baby, Livvy Moon.”
Livvy Moon. His nickname for me. Like the moon, shining only for him. Close to my real name, Olivia. But I knew he called me “pretentious” behind my back. Livvy Moon was a joke. Another way to make a fool of me. To watch me fall, to watch my carefully constructed world crumble into lovesick mush.
I stayed silent. He didn’t know about the abortion.
He pulled out my pregnancy test, three little hearts drawn on it in pen. My pen. The Montblanc I’d bought him with my first paycheck. The one he carried everywhere.
I didn’t respond. He hugged me tighter, whispering sweet nothings. My heart remained frozen.
“I’m tired. Let’s sleep.”
He went quiet, obedient. “Tomorrow, we’re going to Brittany’s birthday party,” he murmured before drifting off.
I lay awake all night.
He built a game of amnesia; I gave him three years of my heart.
I’d stage a death, and he’d spend the rest of his life regretting it.
At the party, Ethan’s friends surrounded me, shoving the biggest slice of cake in my face. “Ethan says he loves watching you eat sweets.”
Ethan looked away, feigning disinterest.
The cake tasted bitter. My stomach churned.
Brittany pushed the cake closer. “Olivia, don’t be rude. It’s my birthday! Unless…you’re nauseated by me?”
A sharp pain ripped through my abdomen.
They laughed, reveling in my discomfort.
I stumbled to the bathroom, violently ill. Their laughter echoed through the door. Another successful prank.
“Still have that stomach bug?” Ethan offered me a glass of water with mint leaves, an old remedy he’d taught me when we first met.
I couldn’t answer. The pain intensified, needles stabbing at my insides.
I looked down. Blood. So much blood.
“Take me to the hospital,” I whispered, clutching his arm.
Brittany blocked the door, giggling. “It’s just spotting. Totally normal. Don’t overreact, Ethan.”
“Get out of the way!” Ethan roared.
The first time he’d ever challenged her.
I woke up to Brittany’s whiny voice outside the room. “Too much of the…you know…stuff? Wasn’t it just supposed to be embarrassing?”
One of the guys laughed. “Getting rid of that little bastard’s a bonus. Ethan should be thanking us.”
“Yeah. Three years is enough. What if she’d kept it? How would he ditch her then?”
Ethan’s voice, low and strained. “Pranks are pranks. You don’t mess with her health.”
Brittany’s voice, shocked, then angry. “Who was it that said he’d help me ‘teach that nerd a lesson’? Who wanted to humiliate her as my birthday gift? Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for her?”
A long silence. Then, “Never. You know I love you.”
Laughter erupted again.
Prank 98: Complete. They were already plotting number 99.
I touched my now-flat stomach. The dull ache lingered. We were just part of their sick game, a birthday present for Brittany.
I cancelled the abortion. There was no need. The baby’s father had already made the decision.
I was about to call my dad when Ethan walked in. I feigned sleep.
His voice, thick with guilt, brushed against my ear. “Olivia, I’m so sorry…”
The reason went unspoken.
When I was discharged, Ethan said his friends and Brittany wanted to apologize. They invited me to hike up Cheaha Mountain. There was a temple at the top, a place to pray for our lost child.
I knew it was probably another prank. But the thought of the baby…
This would be my goodbye.
They fawned over Brittany, ignoring me.
At the prayer tree, Ethan bought a wooden plaque. We wrote a message for the baby together.
Brittany smiled sweetly. “You’re such a good mom, Olivia.”
I ignored her fake sympathy.
The tree was crowded. I had to lean over the railing to hang the plaque. Someone shoved me hard from behind.
“Aaah!”
I tumbled down the steep slope, pain exploding through me. My leg…I couldn’t move.
Darkness.
Then, Ethan’s arms, lifting me, his eyes red-rimmed.
“Livvy Moon, don’t worry. I’ll get you to a hospital.”
“Why?” I whispered, tears blurring my vision. “Why are you doing this to me?”
The wound was external, but my heart felt shattered.
His voice trembled. “I didn’t know they’d do that, Olivia. I swear…”
Then, nothing.
I woke up with my leg encased in plaster. The doctor said the damage might be permanent. Tears rolled down my cheeks.
Ethan sat beside me, his face etched with worry.
He drew a tiny moon on the cast. “Livvy Moon,” he whispered. “I’ll be here until you’re better.”
I closed my eyes, and he tucked the blanket around me, tiptoeing around as if I were made of glass. He fussed over me, fetching everything I needed, running back and forth for almost an hour before finally sitting down. The perfect, attentive boyfriend.
The one who orchestrated my downfall.
I pretended to sleep, my heart pounding a painful rhythm. Ethan stayed up all night, watching over me.
He kept kissing the little moon on the cast, tears streaming down his face. He held my hand tight, as if I might disappear.
“I’m so sorry, Livvy Moon. It’s all my fault. I should’ve never listened to them. I should’ve never hurt you.”
“I’m glad I still have a chance. I won’t ever hurt you again. You’re my everything, Livvy Moon.”
“I almost lost you. I’m so sorry.”
He kept whispering, his voice choked with emotion. He watched me all night.
He was hurting because I was hurt.
He’d told them not to “mess with my health.”
I almost softened. Then I remembered how ridiculous I was being.
Ethan’s guiding principle? Brittany.
Prank 99. I was still a toy in their game. Ethan had let it happen again.
Who’s to say he wouldn’t be complicit in prank 100?
While he was getting breakfast, I called my dad. The bodyguards were on their way. Time to execute the “plane crash.”
Brittany arrived. Smug, triumphant.
“Olivia, breaking your leg? That was my idea. Prank 99.”
I glared at her, my breath catching in my throat.
She looked me up and down, adjusting her designer shawl.
“Prank 100? The ‘Realm’ competition. You’ll be accused of plagiarism. Ethan gave me all your Ashes of the Realm levels. He’s bribed the committee. Your submission time will always be three minutes after mine. Enjoy the public humiliation.”
Realm. The most prestigious game design competition in the country. Two years of work. All the levels were on my laptop.
I slapped her. “Stealing my work, lusting after my boyfriend. You’ll always be a second-rate, secondhand Brittany.”
Her eyes narrowed. She grabbed my wrist, her hand raised to strike back. “You’re the one using secondhand goods now!”
The slap never landed.
“Brittany, what the hell are you doing!” Ethan stood in the doorway, my dad’s bodyguards behind him.
He was furious with her.
Brittany, thinking he was still playing the loving boyfriend role for the final prank, backed down. She mumbled something and left.
Ethan started to explain, but the bodyguards wheeled me away.
He stopped the wheelchair, his eyes filled with panic. “Livvy Moon, where are you going?”
“To France, to recover,” I said quietly. “Dad’s worried.”
He protested, said he wouldn’t let me go alone.
The man who’d orchestrated my broken leg wouldn’t let me go? I insisted, said my parents wanted me home. He relented.
He booked my flight immediately, eager to prove his devotion. He asked for my flight number.
I hesitated, then said, “UA 5882.”
He was about to offer to take me to the airport when his phone rang.
It was his friend, Mark. “Ethan, get down here! Olivia fell down the stairs!”
Without a word of explanation, without a goodbye, he ran.
I gave a bitter laugh. “Let’s go,” I told the bodyguards.
At the airport.
“Miss, the flight path is secured. Mr. Jones assures me the crash site will be…convincing.”
The departure board flashed: AA 1621.
I nodded, boarding the plane to France.
12:24.
The day Ethan said we met.
True or false, I chose this moment. He would remember me.
Remember that I died because of his cruel game.
The plane shuddered. I sent Ethan one last text: “Ethan Parker, your hundredth prank – I played it with my life.”
My phone exploded with calls and messages.
UA 5882 crashed.
