Who Wrote 'They Said I Wouldn'T Make It' And Why?

After I was caught in a dockside explosion, I was bound to a Survival Program. It gave me twenty-five years and four designated targets. If even one target’s Love Score or bond score reached 100%, I could wake up in my real world. But I failed all four. Because every target I tried to reach eventually turned toward Sophia Lane, the heroine of this world. They called my pain a performance. They called my tears manipulation. They said I was only pretending to break down so they would choose me over Sophia. But if they never loved me, why did they lose control when my mission failed and I chose to leave this world for good?

My girlfriend's so-called guy best friend found out I had epilepsy. He deliberately spiked my drink with stimulants. The moment I drank it, my nervous system was overstimulated. My heart rate surged. My chest tightened. Then the familiar warning signs hit–blurred vision, fragmented awareness, the onset of a seizure. The next second, I lost control of my body and collapsed onto the floor. My muscles convulsed violently. My jaw locked tight. My breathing turned uneven. I struggled to pull out the emergency medication I always carried with me, trying to stop the seizure from worsening. However, just as I was about to take it, I realized the hot water in my bottle had been replaced with highly concentrated coffee. The extra caffeine intensified the neurological stimulation. My convulsions worsened. My thoughts became more chaotic. My fingers stiffened to the point where I could barely move. Aaron Stone looked down at me on the floor and laughed. "Not bad. You're pretty convincing. "I've seen plenty of seizure patients before. Never seen anyone act this well." Gasping for air, I forced myself onto my knees in front of Mia, my jaw tightening from the spasms. "Mia... call an ambulance... I'm having a seizure..." Mia frowned at my obvious condition, but there was only impatience on her face. "Enough already. "If you keep acting like this, it's honestly too much. Since when can people having seizures still talk? "Aaron's a doctor. With him here, what could possibly happen to you?" I stopped trying to explain. Because I was already entering the next stage of neurological collapse. Even speaking had become difficult. Using the last of my strength, I pulled out my phone and sent an emergency distress message.

Mom said I needed to toughen up, so she made me walk home alone. "You're ten. Everyone else can do it. Why can't you? If you were even half as capable as your cousin, I wouldn't have to worry so much." I shook my head and signed, [I can't hear. Crossing streets isn't safe.] She gave me that look. Total disappointment. Then she walked off with my cousin, Sadie. What Mom didn't know was that before school let out, Sadie had stopped me. Said she was helping Mom make me independent. Then she snatched my hearing aid. Now the whole world was silent. I followed the crowd down the sidewalk. At a small intersection, a car spun out, horn blaring. Everyone scattered. Everyone but me. I couldn't hear it. My spirit rose above the street. Below, my body lay in a pool of blood. Mom... Sorry. I couldn't do this independence thing.

The doctors said it was over—stage four, nothing left to fight. I had three days, max. I signed the organ donor papers myself. If I was gonna die, at least someone else could get a second shot. Told my family I was sick. But my so-called sister—the doctor—shrugged it off like I was making it up. She convinced them I was losing it, not dying. My parents and fiancé fell for it. Handed me over like she was some hero. She wasn't. She pushed me closer to the end. And when I finally died, the same people who wouldn't listen cried like they hadn't let it happen.

When I was nine, I was hit by the blast of an explosion while saving Simone Scott. From that day onward, I have to rely on hearing aids to get by. Overwhelmed with guilt, she suggests we get engaged and swears to me with teary eyes, "Justin, I'll take care of you for the rest of my life." But at 18 years old, to satisfy a dare from the school heartthrob, she rips off my hearing aid and humiliates me in front of him and our classmates. Disgust fills her voice as she says, "You're nothing but a burden. I've been sick of you for a long time. I wish you'd died back then instead of being saved." I clutch the hearing recovery report in my hand and say nothing. After that, I quietly change my college applications, bring my parents with me, and formally call off the engagement. Simone, this is where our paths split. There is no reason for us to ever see each other again.

I worked in bottle service at a nightclub for four years just to support my boyfriend. His startup business failed. He told me he owed a fortune to loan sharks, saying that they would cut off his fingers if he failed to pay up. I gave him every dollar I had saved just to help him clear off his debt. I even gave him the emerald bracelet my mother had left me before she passed away. That night, I unintentionally overheard a conversation from one of the private rooms while I was working. "Preston, your girlfriend never would have given you that bracelet she had been hiding if Mia hadn't suggested we pretend to be debt collectors and assist you with this little show." Preston Hale laughed smugly before draining the drink in his glass. "It's just an old bracelet. Mia liked it, so I gave it to her." Then, he leaned back and added, "Now, help me think of another way to test Nora." So that was the truth. The love I dedicated for four years was just a test to him. The loan sharks, debt, fear, and desperation—he had orchestrated it all. I turned, walking out on him and out of the nightclub. Then, I reached out to my older brother, Adrian Whitmore, with whom I had been fighting for years. "Adrian," I told him, "I lost. I'll marry the man you arranged for me to meet."