I was diagnosed with a terminal illness and died, only to be resurrected by a system. The catch? I had to become the evil stepmother of a future villain in a novel. The rule? Don't break character. I looked down at the five-year-old munchkin at my feet, snatched his milk, and replaced it with a glass of bitter melon juice. From that day on, I made his life hell. He wasn't allowed to be picky with his food. If he wanted a pet, he had to clean up its poop. Years later, when he was applying for college, I even secretly changed his application choices. I thought I was creating a monster. I thought when he became successful, he'd come for my head. Instead, he stood in front of the media, cameras flashing, and said: "The person I'm most grateful for is my mom. Her love guided me through my childhood and showed me the right path in life." Wait a minute... did I do something wrong? 1 After dying from my illness, the System told me I could keep living if I transmigrated into a book as the villain's wicked stepmother. The only condition: I had to maintain the "evil stepmother" persona. No OOC (Out Of Character) allowed. This was a male-centric urban novel. The five-year-old kid in front of me, Julian, was destined to become the Big Bad who would destroy the protagonist's life. And the main reason for his twisted psyche? Me. His wicked stepmother. I thought about it for a second. I didn't have much experience being evil. So I simplified it: Just don't let him be comfortable. I looked at the little boy sitting quietly at the table, drinking his milk. I snatched the glass from his hand and handed it to the nanny. "Change this to bitter melon juice. The more bitter, the better." The kid looked confused for a second, a milk mustache still on his upper lip. He glared at me angrily but didn't dare to speak. When I arrived in this body, she had already been married into the Vance family for six months. According to the plot, once I realized Julian's father, Arthur Vance, was rarely home, I tore off my mask of kindness. I started tormenting and framing little Julian. At first, he fought back. But a kid is no match for an adult. Whenever he tattled, I'd twist the truth and punish him harder. After months of psychological abuse, he learned to suffer in silence. Now, my job was to keep that momentum going. Maybe add a little personal flair. Julian had probably never tasted bitter melon juice before. His face scrunched up like a wrinkled sheet, and he instinctively stuck out his tongue. My heart melted a little—he was kinda cute. But I kept my voice cold. "Drink it all!" Making a kid eat bitter melon is basically torture. This definitely counts as abuse, right? I'm nailing this evil stepmom gig. I couldn't help but chuckle to myself. 2 After breakfast, the nanny was getting Julian ready for school. I frowned when I saw him dressed in cheap, slightly worn-out clothes. "Why is he dressed like that?" "Didn't you say we shouldn't encourage vanity in children? You said keeping a low profile is better." Wow, the original owner of this body was insidious. She wanted to crush his self-esteem by making him look poor. But she miscalculated. Kindergarteners don't understand wealth. They understand fitting in. What they fear most is being ostracized. I immediately ordered the nanny to change Julian into a little tuxedo. Complete with a cute bowtie. Then I told the driver to bring out the most expensive, flashy car in the garage. I was going to make sure he was the most extra kid at that preschool. Let them hate the rich! Let the envy flow! Maybe because this was different from my usual cruelty, Julian looked uneasy. Before leaving, he pursed his lips and whispered, "Why are you doing this?" I squatted down and let out a villainous cackle. "Because I'm bad!" Julian took a step back in fear. I took the opportunity to lunge forward and plant a big kiss on his chubby cheek. He covered his face in horror. I threatened him, "Say goodbye to Mommy, or I'll come pick you up from school personally this afternoon." After six months of torment, he probably hated my guts. Kissing him and making him call me "Mommy" was definitely crossing his boundaries. But he had to submit. Watching him run out the door with his mouth shut tight, I felt like the queen of mean. 3 After Julian left for school, I wandered around the villa, bored out of my mind. In the original story, Arthur was a workaholic who traveled constantly. He'd often be gone for weeks at a time. I was basically a trophy wife hired to babysit Julian. He wired me $500,000 a month for living expenses. He probably thought the money would motivate me to be nice to the kid. Instead, it just fueled the original owner's greed. I sighed and asked the System, "How long do I have to keep this up?" The System replied that I had a crucial scene where I secretly changed Julian's college application, forcing him to go abroad and face even darker trauma. So, I had to stay in character until Julian graduated high school. Rough calculation: at least thirteen years. Living as a rich wife was a sweet deal, but playing the villain 24/7 was exhausting. I decided to go on a shopping spree to comfort myself. 4 At dusk, the driver pulled up to the kindergarten right on time. Julian hadn't said goodbye to me that morning. I said I'd pick him up, and I meant it. I had to establish my authority. Let him know the terror of his stepmother. This private kindergarten looked like a literal castle. Soon, the teacher led a gaggle of tiny humans out the door. They waddled toward their parents. I sat in the car for a bit. I planned to wait until Julian was panicking that no one came for him, then pop out and scare him. But as soon as the teacher left, a group of kids surrounded Julian. I could faintly hear them chanting something about "Mommy... pick up." Julian looked down, silent. The kids started clapping and jumping around him. Me: ??? Wait, were they bullying him? As a qualified evil stepmother, I immediately jumped out to ruin their fun. "Hey! You little brats! Why aren't you going home? Did your parents abandon you? Huh? Did they?" I grabbed Julian, pulling him out of the circle, and glared at the kids. Exactly. I was going to offend all his friends. Isolate him further. "Who are you? Are you the Liar's sister?" one kid asked. Being called "sister" was flattering, not gonna lie. But I snapped back, "What liar? Who's a liar? Didn't your teacher teach you manners? I'm Julian's mother! Julian doesn't like you, so don't play with him anymore!" "Julian's mom? His mom is the nanny! I saw her! She doesn't look like you! He lied and said she wasn't his mom. He's a vain liar! We don't want to play with him!" What kind of messy drama was this? "I am Julian's mother!" I raised a fist threateningly. The brats giggled and ran away. Julian, who had been standing behind me, tugged on my shirt. He looked up at me with big, watery eyes. "Thank you for coming to get me today." Wait... something feels wrong. Why is he thanking me? 5 My power move must have worked. When we got home, Julian was exceptionally obedient. He followed me around like a puppy. At dinner, he even peeled shrimp for me. He carefully placed a peeled shrimp in my bowl. Seeing I didn't move, he added, "I washed my hands." I picked up my chopsticks. Delicious. "Good job. Peel me a few more as a reward." Julian pursed his lips and started peeling shrimp seriously. Eventually, I was too full, and he ate the leftovers. After dinner, I was stuffed. Time for some exercise. And for an evil stepmother, what better exercise than tormenting a child? I dragged eighteen shopping bags into the living room. I beckoned to Julian, who was playing with a puzzle. "Come here. Try on these clothes." Julian's clothes were usually custom-ordered and delivered. He probably never tried things on for fun. At first, he was excited. He even showed a little toothy smile. Until later. He choked out, "Please... I can't try any more..." "But we still have the bumblebee, the penguin, the duck, and the monster costumes!" Julian went silent. He stood there in a green dinosaur onesie, looking at me with tear-filled eyes. Me: ... Fine. Plan B. 6 At bedtime, I decided to inflict one final torture. I forced him to stay in my room. After he changed into his pajamas, I handed him a storybook. "Read me a story. Put Mommy to sleep." Julian froze, as if he couldn't comprehend how an adult could be so shameless. But he took the book. "Once upon a... a... there was a q... queen sitting by the... open... win... window..." Me: ... I forgot he was five. He couldn't read much. But this gave me an idea. Most kids love playing and hate studying. A truly evil plan formed in my mind. Julian was still stumbling through the story. He knew he was struggling. Seeing me stare at him, his face turned red, and his voice got quieter. "I... I... can I read it tomorrow?" I let out my signature villain laugh and snatched the book. "Lie down. Mommy will tell you a story. Tonight's story is called Snow White and Her Seven Stepmothers." Maximum horror. I don't know if Julian fell asleep, but I definitely bored myself to sleep. In my haze, I felt something soft brush against my cheek. A small voice whispered, "Mommy." 7 The next morning, after Julian went to school, I launched my "Tiger Mom" project. Math, English, piano, coding—I signed him up for everything. I hired the strictest tutors. I assigned the heaviest workload. I thought Julian would be devastated when he came home. Instead, he adapted perfectly. Especially with reading. He was trying so hard. A few days later, as I walked past the study, he poked his head out and read loudly: "Once upon a time, a queen sat by an open window, sewing!" He looked at me, face full of expectation. To encourage this (and my evil plan), I decided to let him read me a bedtime story every night as a "reward."
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