The moment the sweet, girl-next-door heroine broke up with the main hero and ran to my man, sobbing, I just popped in my earplugs. “Your son is crying,” I said, my voice ice. “If you don’t comfort him, I’m throwing him out.” Without a word, he gently pushed the heroine away and scooped up our child. “Shh, baby, it’s okay. Daddy’s here.” But no matter what I did, my progress in winning him over was stuck at 99%. In a fit of rage, I abandoned him and our son, returning to my own world. Three years later, my System exploded in my ear. [THE VILLAIN HAS GONE INSANE! HE’S IMPRISONED THE HERO AND CLAIMED THE HEROINE FOR HIMSELF! THE ENTIRE PLOT IS IN SHAMBLES!] [You’re the only one who can fix this! You have to stop him from marrying her!] 1 The System’s frantic voice was a relentless buzz in my head, detailing how the villain, Vincent, had systematically dismantled its carefully crafted world. [Stella, I’m begging you! We’re both just cogs in the machine here, have a little sympathy! Please, just stop the wedding.] [Succeed, and that five-million-dollar reward we promised you? I’ll double it. Ten million. Cash.] My eyes lit up. “The money’s not important,” I said, with all the sincerity I could muster. “I just want to help a friend in need. Send me back.” A wave of dizziness washed over me, and the world dissolved into a blur. When I opened my eyes again, the familiar scent of rain-slicked pavement filled the air. [Your son, Ross, gets out of school any minute now,] the System chirped. [A touching mother-child reunion should be enough to soften Vincent’s heart, at least a little.] School wasn’t out just yet. I scanned the crowd of parents, and my eyes landed on him instantly. Vincent. He was leaning against a sleek black sedan, hands shoved into the pockets of his custom-tailored suit. His dark eyes were as cold and distant as I remembered, carving out a space of icy solitude around him. Three years, and he hadn't changed a bit. Still the same walking storm cloud, daring anyone to get close. Suddenly, a tidal wave of children burst through the school gates. I searched the sea of tiny faces for Ross, my son with Vincent. But the last time I saw him, he was barely a year old. Now, trying to pick him out from a crowd of nearly identical toddlers felt like an impossible task. What am I supposed to do? Steeling myself, I scanned the crowd again. My gaze locked onto a little boy with a stubborn set to his jaw that looked vaguely familiar. He had my eyes. It had to be him. Making sure Vincent was watching, I put on my best performance. I knelt, reaching out to gently stroke the boy’s hair. “Ross,” I cooed, my voice thick with emotion. “It’s Mommy. Do you remember me?” The boy flinched, his eyes wide with alarm. Before I could react, a woman snatched him up, her voice screeching through the quiet afternoon. “KIDNAPPER! SOMEONE’S TRYING TO TAKE MY SON! HELP!” Panic seized me. I’d gotten the wrong kid. My head whipped around just in time to see Vincent, holding a small, silent boy in the crook of one arm. Ross. They were both just staring at me. Father and son. 2 Vincent’s gaze was terrifying. A chilling frost emanated from his dark eyes, a look that promised to skin me alive. Ross, on the other hand, just stared with wide, curious eyes, as if I were some strange creature at the zoo. If a hole could have opened up in the ground right then, I would have gladly jumped in. A circle of angry parents closed in around me. “She looks so normal, too. Disgusting, preying on children.” “Don’t let her get away! Somebody call the cops!” Through a gap in the crowd, I shot Vincent a desperate, pleading look. He just gave me one last, glacial stare before turning, strapping Ross into the car, and shutting the door. He was leaving me here. My heart sank. “It was a mistake!” I tried to explain to the mob. “I just recognized the wrong child! I’m not a kidnapper!” They weren’t buying it. Then, silence fell. The chattering crowd went quiet, their angry faces turning to ones of fear as they looked past me. I turned. Vincent was standing there, his expression unreadable. A path had been cleared through the crowd by two imposing men in dark suits. So, he hadn’t left. My voice was a sheepish whisper. “I was just trying to pick up Ross.” A humorless smile touched his lips. “You can’t even recognize your own son,” he said, his voice a low, cold thing laced with fury. He spun on his heel and strode back to the car. I scrambled to follow. Inside the car, the silence was suffocating. He sat beside me, while Ross was buckled into his car seat in the back. A small head popped up between our seats. “Mommy doesn't remember Ross,” our son mumbled, his lower lip trembling. “You thought that other boy was Ross.” I was surprised he even knew who I was. “Ross, sweetie, how did you know I was your mommy?” “Daddy told me…” Vincent’s hand shot out, pulling me back against the seat. He turned to our son. “Ross, play with your toys. No more talking.” Ross’s lip jutted out. “But why can’t I talk?” “Because I said so,” Vincent snapped, his voice sharp. Ross huffed. “Bad Daddy!” “Yeah,” I muttered under my breath, “bad Daddy.” Vincent’s eyes, burning with an emotion I couldn’t decipher, flickered to me. I immediately shut my mouth. “You abandoned him without a word,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “You think you’re in any position to call someone a bad parent, Stella?” I lowered my head, the silence my only answer. 3 The ringing of Vincent’s phone shattered the tension. He answered, and a woman’s melodic voice floated through the car’s speakers. I knew that voice. It was Shailene, the heroine of this world. “Vincent, darling,” she chirped, “I’ve picked out a few wedding dresses. I’m sending you the pictures now. Tell me which one you like best.” “Okay,” Vincent’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “Send them over.” A wave of bitter memories washed over me. He and Shailene were childhood sweethearts, inseparable until she chose the story’s hero, Aiden, instead. It was that rejection, that unrequited love, that twisted Vincent into the brooding, shadowy villain he became. When I was first sent here to win him over, Shailene and Aiden were already a couple. I tried everything—flirting, grand romantic gestures, you name it. He remained a block of ice. Finally, out of sheer desperation, I spiked his drink. It was the only way I managed to get through to him. After that one night, I clung to him, insisting he had to take responsibility. He did, reluctantly at first. But then… it was like he’d awakened a hunger he never knew he had. Once he got a taste, he couldn’t get enough. His stamina was unreal. But I endured it all, for the mission. And still, the progress bar stalled at 99%. It wouldn’t budge, no matter what I did. I felt like I was losing my mind, my body, everything. Just as I was about to give up, I found out I was pregnant. I cashed in all my points with the System for a painless childbirth package. A baby, I thought. A baby will surely get me that final 1%. The day Vincent found out I was pregnant, he was so ecstatic he didn’t sleep a wink. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Is the pillow comfortable? Do you think it’ll be a boy or a girl? We should start buying clothes. If it’s a girl…” The relentless stream of questions, combined with a surge of pregnancy hormones, made something in me snap. I slapped him. Hard. The second my palm made contact, regret flooded me. This was the volatile, unpredictable villain of the story. No one crossed him. He’d ruined men for lesser offenses. A baby might not be enough to save me if I’d pushed him too far. As I opened my mouth to apologize, he did something I never expected. He slapped himself. “I’m sorry, Stella,” he whispered, his voice raw. “I shouldn’t have bothered you. You and the baby need to rest. I was just… so happy. Please, forgive me?” I just stared, speechless. From that day on, I took full advantage. I used the baby as a shield and a weapon, ordering him around like a king. This continued until three months after Ross was born. The progress bar was still stuck. 99%. I summoned the System. “Is this thing bugged? It hasn’t moved an inch!” [The progress bar is functioning perfectly, Host.] I’d given him a child. A whole human being. And it still wasn’t enough. The truth hit me with sickening certainty. That last 1%… it was for Shailene. It was the space in his heart he would always keep for her. Rage, pure and blinding, consumed me. “I’m done!” I screamed. “Get me out of here! Send me back to my world. Now!” 4 Ross was asleep by the time we reached the mansion. Vincent carried him upstairs, his movements gentle. I stood in the foyer, looking around. The house was exactly as I’d left it three years ago, a perfect, sterile time capsule. That’s when I heard it. A faint, muffled scream. It came from the basement. As I crept towards the door, the System popped into my head. [My poor hero is locked in there! Aiden! Vincent’s been starving him for three days. He’s going to lose his mind! If this continues, it’s game over for this whole world!] [You have to do something. The key to the basement is in Vincent’s study. Find a way to get it and let Aiden out.] I froze. Aiden, the hero of this world, was a man who could move mountains. How had he ended up imprisoned in Vincent’s basement? Footsteps echoed from the staircase. I darted back into the living room, pretending to casually admire a painting. Vincent appeared, having changed into a simple grey sweatshirt and sweatpants. He walked towards me, his familiar scent of sandalwood and old books wrapping around me. He stopped, towering over me. “Why did you come back, Stella?” I looked up into his unreadable eyes. “I missed you,” I lied. “And Ross.” A ghost of a smile played on his lips, but it never reached his eyes. “You really think I’d believe that?” His gaze was so intense it felt like a physical weight. “It’s true,” I insisted, my voice sounding weak even to my own ears. “I was wrong to leave. I regret it. I came back for you. Please… don’t marry Shailene.” Instinctively, I reached out and clutched the sleeve of his sweatshirt, looking up at him with the most pathetic expression I could manage, just like I used to. He said nothing, just continued to stare, dissecting me with his eyes. The silence was unnerving. “I… I have to use the restroom,” I stammered, pulling away and fleeing. I hid in the bathroom for what felt like an eternity. When I finally emerged, the living room was empty. Tiptoeing upstairs, I peeked into the master bedroom. The door was ajar. Vincent was lying on the bed, the collar of his sleep shirt open, revealing the hard planes of his chest. One arm was flung over his eyes, as if shielding them from the light. He seemed to be asleep. My mind flashed back to Aiden, starving in the basement. Now was my chance. I slipped into the study across the hall and began searching the desk drawers. In the bottom one, beneath a stack of old files, I found it: a single, black, ornate key. Just as I stood up, key in hand, I heard footsteps in the hall. Panicked, I dove under the massive mahogany desk. Through the gap, I saw Vincent walk in and sink into the leather armchair opposite the desk. His voice, lazy yet laced with steel, echoed in the quiet room. “Come out.” 5 My heart stopped. For a second, I was paralyzed, hidden in the shadows. “I’m not going to say it again,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. Slowly, I crawled out from under the desk. He gestured to the chair opposite him. I sat, my hand clenching the key in my pocket, trying to look as innocent as possible. His face was a handsome, emotionless mask. “What were you looking for?” he asked, his dark eyes boring into me. “I… got lost,” I said, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth. “I thought this was the bathroom.” A dry, humorless laugh escaped his lips. “Do you take me for a fool, Stella? Is this some kind of game to you?” “It’s not a game! I just took a wrong turn!” I insisted, my voice a little too loud. His smile vanished. “What did you take? Give it to me now, and we can pretend this never happened.” My pulse hammered against my ribs. “Take what? I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you don’t believe me, search me.” I’d already slipped the key between the sofa cushions. It was a risky move, but my only one. He rose from his chair and advanced on me, his large frame casting a long shadow over me. He leaned in, planting one hand on the back of the sofa, trapping me. With his other hand, he tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. “A search, you say?” he murmured, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I don’t even have pockets,” I shot back. “Where could I possibly hide anything?” His gaze drifted downwards, his eyes darkening with a raw, undisguised hunger as they settled on the neckline of my t-shirt. I glanced down. The soft cotton dipped low, revealing the swell of my chest. I instinctively crossed my arms. “It’s not in there.” “You never know.” “You’re just looking for an excuse to touch me, you pervert!” I snapped. He raised an eyebrow. “Call it what you want. Either you take it off and let me look, or I’ll reach in and check for myself.” Shoving him back, I gave in. He’s seen it all before, anyway. I pulled the shirt over my head in one swift, angry motion. “Satisfied?” I spat, standing before him in just my bra. He paused, his eyes lingering for a beat too long. “They’ve gotten bigger.” I nearly choked on my indignation, quickly turning my back to pull my shirt back on. 6 “Stella,” Vincent’s voice was low and steady, cutting through my anger. “I don’t like being lied to. Do you have any idea how many times you’ve lied to me? How many of the things you said were actually true?” I froze, my back still to him. “Maybe one or two things were… embellished,” I mumbled, my voice thin with guilt. “But most of it was real.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “Only one or two? Tell me which ones. I’m curious.” I couldn’t speak. “Can’t think of any?” he pressed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Should I help you remember? Do you recall what you told me, three years ago?” He paused, letting the silence hang heavy in the air. “You said you would never leave me and Ross.” He let out a dry, broken sound that was almost a sob. “And the stupid thing is… I actually believed you.” He stood and walked towards the door, stopping in the doorway. “I hope you’re not lying this time,” he said without turning around. “I hope you really did come back because you missed us.” I sat there, stunned, long after he was gone. [Host,] the System’s voice broke the silence. [Don’t forget about Aiden. You have to get him out tonight.] I hesitated for a moment before whispering, “Okay.” In the dead of night, I crept back to the study, retrieved the key, and made my way to the basement. The lock clicked open with a heavy thud. The air inside was thick with the smell of mildew and something metallic, like old blood. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw a single chair in the center of the room. A man sat on it, his head bowed, idly turning a wedding band on his finger. Even slumped in defeat, his broad shoulders spoke of a power that was now contained. He looked lonely. Desolate. “Aiden?” I whispered into the gloom. The man chuckled softly, a low, familiar sound that made the hair on my arms stand up. It wasn’t Aiden. He lifted his head, his eyes a pair of black holes in the dim light, utterly devoid of hope. It was Vincent. His voice was a ragged, heartbroken whisper, each word a shard of glass. “You lied to me. Again.”
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