In a twist of fate, I found myself cast as the villainess in a novel. Yet, I cleverly navigated each impending doom, orchestrated my own demise, and slipped away into the shadows.
In an act of selflessness, I saved a poor child destined for tragedy, sacrificing my own safety to ensure the protagonists could enjoy their lives. I settled into obscurity, hoping for my own happy ending.
My heart soared when I learned that the original leads were finally getting married—but that joy was short-lived.
Upon receiving the news of my mother’s passing, I returned to my hometown, only to be confronted by my childhood friend and fiancé, the male lead. With an unsettling gaze, he remarked, “If I had known you’d be affected by something as trivial as a funeral notice, I would have sent it sooner.”
What happened to him? I had believed he married someone else, yet here he was, looking at me with an intensity I couldn’t comprehend.
“Now, you can’t go anywhere.”
