I died in my world and woke up in a novel. Not as the heroine, but as the quintessential "mean girl" villainess. In the original plot, my character, Chloe, was destined to spend her life tormenting the female lead, only to be destroyed by the two powerful men who loved her. But when I arrived, the story hadn't started yet. I chose a different path. I became best friends with the heroine, cheered on her romance, and eventually married the "gentle" second lead—the man who was supposed to pine for her forever. For thirteen years, I thought I had rewritten my fate. I thought I was loved. Until I found the journal. 1 I stared at the positive pregnancy test in my hand, my heart swelling with a peace I’d never known. Thirteen years in this world, and for the first time, I felt like I truly belonged. I wasn't just a soul occupying a character's body anymore; I had a real anchor. I had transmigrated after my death into this novel, taking over the life of Chloe, a girl who shared my name but was infamous for her cruelty. But I felt lucky. I arrived before the plot kicked off. I never did a single thing to hurt the leads. In fact, because Sarah was so bright and kind, we became inseparable. I was her ultimate wingwoman, encouraging her to chase the male lead, watching them fall in love, and eventually standing by her side as her maid of honor. Sarah was the second person I wanted to tell the news to. The first, of course, was my husband, Julian. Julian was originally the "nice guy" second lead who was supposed to silently pine for Sarah. But because of the butterfly effect of my changes, he stopped chasing her. He turned all his focus and devotion toward me. After thirteen years together, I truly felt cherished. I had married for love, or so I thought. Now, with our little family about to grow, I couldn't wait to share the news with him. 2 I decided to be a little playful. Instead of just telling him, I wanted him to find the test himself. I slipped into his home office and sat at his desk. Rifling through a drawer, a weathered, old leather journal caught my eye. It looked out of place among his sleek, organized files. It was tucked at the very bottom, only visible because he must have been in a rush and left it slightly crooked. I picked it up, smiling. It looked like a vintage notebook from our college days. The edges were frayed, the pages yellowed. We never had secrets, so I didn't hesitate to open it. The inside cover had a large, elegant script: Forever Love. My heart fluttered. Is this a collection of love letters to me? I thought. I took the pregnancy test, ready to tuck it inside as my own "love letter" to him. But when I turned to the first page, my world stopped. To my eternal soulmate, Sarah. Sarah. The heroine. The blood drained from my face. My throat felt like it was stuffed with dry cotton, making every breath a struggle. My hands shook, but I couldn't stop. I read every single entry with a sort of masochistic obsession. It wasn't a diary. It was a decade-long confession of unrequited love. It could be summarized in one sentence: Julian loved Sarah, and he could never have her. The realization hit me: Julian was a regressor. He had lived the original timeline. He was still deeply in love with Sarah. And every ounce of affection he had shown me was a performance. He stayed close to keep me under surveillance. He married me to ensure I would never be a threat to his true love again. The joy of the pregnancy vanished, replaced by a bitterness that tasted like ash. I never wanted to hurt Sarah, but in that moment, I hated her. I envied the fact that a tiny spark of kindness she showed him years ago was enough to make a man dedicate thirteen years to "playing house" with a villainess just to keep her safe. I don't know how long I cried. The world around me turned into a terrifying hallucination. 3 I passed out on the sofa and didn't wake up until I heard the door. Julian was home, smelling of bourbon and stumbling slightly. "Babe, I’m home..." he slurred, smiling at me. "Sorry, the networking event went late." I forced a smile that didn't reach my eyes and played the part of the dutiful wife. I helped him with his tie and unbuttoned his collar. "Thanks, honey. You’re the best." I looked at him and realized how hollow his gratitude was. If he had looked at me for even a second, he would have seen my swollen eyes. But he wasn't looking. He was just reciting lines he’d practiced for years. I helped him into bed. As the alcohol lowered his guard, his mask finally slipped. "Sarah..." I froze. I thought I was hearing things. My nails dug into my palms. "Sarah," he whispered again, a soft, longing sigh. I felt a cruel urge to test him. I lowered my voice, imitating Sarah’s soft, airy tone. "Julian?" He suddenly grabbed my hand, his eyes bleary but filled with a tenderness I now knew wasn't meant for me. "Sarah... as long as you're happy, everything I’ve done... it was worth it." The cage of his lies slammed shut around me. I couldn't breathe. I bolted from the room, fleeing into the hallway. My "happily ever after" was nothing more than a well-staged joke. 4 My sleep was haunted by flashes of the original Chloe’s life. In the book, Chloe bullied Sarah, hired thugs to harass her, and used her family's wealth to crush her. In the dream, the "villainess" turned around. She had my face. It was twisted, monstrous, and terrifying. Then the dream shifted. The hero and Julian grew powerful. They came for me. Julian looked at me with cold, dead eyes, as if looking at a piece of trash. "Since you love destroying lives so much," he whispered, "let's see how you like it." In the nightmare, I was stripped of everything and left to die in a cold, dark alley. "No!" I screamed, jolting upright. I found myself staring into Julian’s worried eyes. The transition from the monster in my dream to the "caring" husband in front of me made me physically recoil. He was trying to tuck a blanket around me. "Babe? What’s wrong? Why are you sleeping on the couch? You’ll catch a cold." "Babe, are you mad that I drank too much last night? I’m sorry, the client was very important." I shook my head, too exhausted to speak. We didn't have a guest room. When we bought the house, Julian insisted we didn't need one. He said he’d never let an argument get so bad that he’d be kicked out; he’d rather sleep on the floor by my side. Now I realized the truth: he just wanted to keep me under constant surveillance. He didn't notice my silence. He just rubbed his temples. "Honey, that meeting was brutal. My head is killing me. Where’s the hangover smoothie?" "I didn't make it," I said flatly. Julian’s family hadn't been wealthy, while I was a typical "rich kid." He always said he wanted to earn my father’s respect on his own. He worked himself to the bone, refusing help from my family to start his own firm. I had spent years taking care of him, staying up all night when he was sick. I thought I was supporting my partner. But I had read his journal. I knew the truth now. [Chloe uses her family's power to hurt Sarah. I cannot let that happen. I must build my own empire, gain enough leverage to rival her father. If they try to hurt Sarah like they did before, I will burn the Chloe's family legacy to the ground.] His hard work wasn't for us. It was to build a weapon against me, to protect his true love.
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