1 My best friend and I found ourselves transported into a novel. She became the obsessively devoted fiancée of the aloof male lead, while I was the "canary in a gilded cage," kept within a luxurious mansion by a disturbingly obsessive villain. Then, the male lead’s first love returned from abroad. My best friend found me, tears streaming down her face, claiming that her wretched fiancé hadn’t slept with her in three days. She wanted a divorce. As for me, my wifely duties these past few years had been upheld solely by my lack of funds. But then my best friend showed me her secret savings. "You divorce, I divorce too!" I declared. Life after divorce was surprisingly freeing. My best friend and I found ourselves with more "husbands" than we could count. Until one day, I received a text message. “I’ve prepared a gift for you. Your best friend’s husband and his first love – only one can live. Who do you choose?” … It was midday when I woke in the sprawling eight-foot bed, my body still carrying a faint, lingering ache. The sound of water running in the bathroom signaled that Alexander hadn’t left for work yet. I scrambled out of bed, quickly dressed, and, forgoing my morning routine, hurried to his study. That man had already showered three times today. I certainly didn’t want him showering a fourth. Stepping out of the bedroom, a maid approached me. "Madam, Mrs. Hayes from next door has been waiting for you downstairs for an hour." I quickly rushed downstairs. The moment my best friend saw me, fresh tears welled in her already swollen eyes. "Anna, I'm getting a divorce, boohoohoo…" This year marked our third year since transmigrating into the novel. She had become the obsessively devoted fiancée of the domineering CEO next door. And I had become the "canary in a gilded cage," held captive in a lavish mansion by a possessive villain. On the surface, she had lowered her noble status and shamelessly moved into Eddy Hayes’s house, ostensibly to relentlessly pursue him. In reality, it was to be my neighbor and to indulge her own little eccentricity. You see, she had a peculiar condition, and so did I. In our previous lives, we were fellow "patients." She suffered from an obsessive devotion that found pleasure in giving and seeking approval. I, on the other hand, had severe social anxiety, disliking any interaction or communication with anyone other than my best friend. So, for these three years, we had both lived quite pleasantly. Watching my best friend sob uncontrollably, I carefully chose my words, asking gently, "Did he die an early death or become paralyzed in a car accident?" I couldn't imagine a third reason. My best friend pouted, her voice brimming with grievance. "His first love, Eleanor, came back…" "Eddy hasn't been home for three days, saying he was busy with work. Then this morning, he came back, and he didn't even kiss or cuddle me. He just collapsed into bed and fell asleep." She sniffled. "It was so out of character. So I secretly looked at his phone, and that's when I found out Eleanor came back three days ago, and they even had dinner together, boohoohoo…" A husband who didn't come home for three days? How wonderful that would be. If Alexander stayed away for three days, I'd wake up laughing in my dreams. But people were different, and their conditions were different. I handed my best friend a tissue to wipe her tears, asking, "Are you sure you want to divorce? If you do, will you be able to adjust to being someone else's 'devoted admirer'?" My best friend showed me her bank balance. "I've saved enough to support many men. I'll try out a few; surely one of them will make me happy." Seeing all those zeros in her balance, my heart fluttered. "Then you can support one more: me!" "You divorce, I divorce too!" The moment the words left my lips, I heard a soft chuckle behind me. "Hmph." My best friend saw the person behind me first. Her face went white with fright, and without another word, she dropped me and bolted. "Divorce what?" The sofa beside me dipped. A warm, familiar hand easily settled on my waist. The man's voice, though tinged with amusement, carried no hint of genuine happiness, sending a chill down my spine. When I didn't answer, he pressed on, "What did Mrs. Hayes from next door say to you? Is she complaining about his front gate again, thinking it’s time for another replacement?" … When I first transmigrated, I was terrified of Alexander, this stranger, and his overly intimate behavior made my life a living hell. My best friend, feeling sorry for me, tried to help me escape eight times. Each time, I was caught and dragged back. And each time, Alexander had his men smash the front gate of her husband's house. Even our two families' companies had been constantly at loggerheads, so it was no wonder my best friend bolted at the sight of Alexander. "Nothing. You should go to work." I subtly shifted sideways, evading Alexander's hand. The next second, his entire body pressed against mine. His arm, unrestrained, wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me firmly into his embrace. "If they divorce, I can help her find ten, twenty other men. But if you dare to run…" The subtle scent of his elegant shower gel, the warmth of his body, no longer terrified me as they had three years ago. Yet, his words made my heart pound erratically. "You might have to suffer a little." I looked up. Alexander's handsome face was expressionless, but his gaze, full of deep meaning, rested on my hand. I remembered the iron chain I’d found in the corner of his study a few days ago. I had a chilling suspicion Alexander was about to lose his mind. 2 My social anxiety had been with me for over a decade. I loathed talking to people, and I detested eating, shopping, or working with anyone else. When I first transmigrated into this world, I was an employee at Alexander Thorne's company. Even if I barely spoke a word for three days, my looks still attracted unwanted attention from colleagues. Mustering all my courage, I went to Alexander to resign. To my astonishment, he suddenly asked me, "Would you consider marrying me? No work, no in-laws, no social obligations. You just wouldn't be able to leave the Thorne estate, ever." The words "no social obligations" hit me hard. In this strange new world, that lifestyle seemed to be the only one that would offer me some peace. So, I married him. It only required dedicating two or three hours each evening. I figured I could endure it. It wasn't until I discovered that the obsessively devoted fiancée of the domineering CEO next door was my best friend that my world finally brightened. She told me Alexander was deranged. She said I didn't just dislike socializing; I needed to socialize. She argued that he shouldn't restrict my freedom. So, my best friend helped me escape eight times. Alexander chased me down eight times, and each time he became more unhinged. The last time I was brought back, he had all the windows in the house sealed, threatening to burn down the entire neighborhood if I ever tried to escape again. I was terrified. I told my best friend I didn't want to run anymore; the Thorne estate was a good place. But now that my best friend wanted a divorce, what was the point of me staying here? That night, Alexander called, saying he’d be home around midnight due to work. I immediately packed a bag, climbed out a window, scaled the wall, and made my way to my best friend’s house. "You two never officially tied the knot, so there’s no need for divorce papers. Tonight, the stars are aligned, the timing is perfect. Are you ready to go?" My best friend deftly stuffed jewelry and valuables into a large bag. "Yes! Absolutely! If your husband heard us talking about this during the day, and we didn't leave tonight, he'd flay me alive anyway!" As I helped my best friend pack, I pondered thoughtfully. "He only threatened arson. Flaying someone alive is life-threatening; I don't think he'd dare commit such a crime." My best friend stared at me. "As if arson isn't a crime he'd dare to commit!" We quickly finished packing. My best friend instructed me to drive to the airport, while she busied herself in the passenger seat, booking the earliest possible flights. Near the airport, I stepped on the brake and told my best friend to get out. "Are you backing out?" she complained, pouting. "Anna, you said today was perfect! If we go back now, after I divorce, we won't be neighbors anymore…" Despite her grumbling, my best friend didn't stop moving, dutifully following behind me. It wasn't until I led her to another car and started driving away from home that she realized what was happening. "Huh! You're not going back, are you? Where did you get this car?" I explained calmly, "I bought the car online and arranged for a valet to park it here. Flying would be too easy for them to track us with the real names on tickets. We'd be intercepted by the Hayes and Thorne people before we even boarded. Even if we flew abroad, they could still follow the trail. We need to go somewhere absolutely safe first." My best friend's eyes gleamed as she looked at me. Then, her voice turned syrupy sweet. "Anna, you're so smart~! I love you so much~! Thank goodness I have you on this trip! Mwah!" Even as a woman, I couldn't resist the emotional validation offered by another beautiful woman. My lips curved into a delighted smile. However, before I could bask in my pride, my best friend continued, "I always thought you were just a useless homebody. When I first started thinking about divorce, I even searched online for 'adult child care guides.'" She paused. "Oh, by the way, where is this 'absolutely safe' place you mentioned?" The words "useless homebody" stung me deeply. I shot a side-eye at my best friend. "Your husband's house," I replied. My best friend froze. "…" 3 Our car pulled up in front of a grand mansion in the suburbs. My best friend, still bewildered, began pummeling my shoulder with her little fists, the blows more amusing than painful. "You scared me to death! This is my husband's grandfather's house! How could you trick me and say it was my husband's house?" I asked her, "Is this house not your husband's?" Hayes Enterprises was once the wealthiest corporation in the city. Mr. Hayes Sr.'s only son, Eddy Hayes’s father, had died in a car accident over a decade ago. Mr. Hayes Sr. himself wasn't in good health, so now the vast family fortune was entirely managed by Eddy. My saying this was her husband's house was technically correct. My best friend huffed. "Well, then it's your husband's house too!" I chuckled. "While Alexander is Mr. Hayes Sr.'s illegitimate son, he's never been acknowledged by the Hayes family. So, nothing of the Hayes estate concerns him, and therefore, nothing concerns me." This was also the reason Alexander and Eddy were constantly at odds, and why Alexander became the novel's antagonist. "Alright, alright," my best friend conceded, unable to argue with me. She quickly changed the subject. She looked anxious. "But why are we here? If Grandpa Hayes finds out about the divorce, it'll be disastrous. Eddy really cares about his grandfather…" "It's not about divorce," I interrupted my best friend. "You're here to prepare a birthday surprise for Eddy. You want to secretly go abroad to buy him a gift, so you're asking Mr. Hayes Sr. for help to use his private jet. And you're asking him to instruct his people to keep your whereabouts a complete secret from Eddy." My best friend's eyes widened in sudden realization. "Ah! With Grandpa helping us, no one will be able to track us! And Eddy, for his grandfather's sake, definitely won't dare to make a fuss about my disappearance or our divorce here…" A quick learner, she was. Mr. Hayes Sr. quickly arranged for us to be flown abroad, thoughtfully booking us a hotel in a bustling downtown area. After checking in, my best friend eagerly rushed out to shop and enjoy herself. I, on the other hand, felt a wave of relief wash over me. I wrapped myself in the duvet and sank into a deep, uninterrupted sleep. It had been so long since I'd left the house; the journey seemed to have drained all my energy. Perhaps it was the exhaustion, but I found myself dreaming of my previous life. Back then, my best friend and I would read novels together in the hospital. She'd say she loved how the male lead, Eddy Hayes, was so deeply devoted to Eleanor, his first love, even divorcing the wealthy female lead and remaining a widower for Eleanor his entire life. Such a good man was impossible to find. I, on the other hand, said I liked the obsessive villain, Alexander Thorne. His background as an illegitimate child was pitiable, and he'd clawed his way up to become the city's richest man, even taking down the Hayes family. It was just a shame he was such a simp for love. He'd kidnapped Eddy's first love for revenge, but then fell for her himself, and in the end, actually handed over his entire fortune to the male lead for love. I also dreamed of when I first transmigrated and married Alexander. The Thorne estate was empty and desolate, like a prison, without even a single servant. I would sleep until the afternoon, my stomach growling with hunger, only to find the refrigerator bare. But I was unwilling to leave the house. The result was that I fainted during our intimate moments with Alexander one evening. When I groggily woke up, my best friend had returned and was posing in front of the mirror, admiring her new clothes. Seeing me awake, she asked with a mischievous grin, "Why is your face so red? Quick, tell me, what did you dream about?" I answered truthfully, "I dreamed that Alexander and I were… exercising, and then I fainted." My best friend burst into peals of laughter. Between giggles, she asked, "Do you want me to find you some high-class room service, or should I take you to a bar on the next street to blow off some steam? Hahahaha!" I rubbed my aching head and continued, "The dream was real. When I woke up that time, Alexander even told me… that if I ever left him, I wouldn't survive seven days." My best friend stopped laughing. In these three years, whether through Alexander's actions or Eddy's words, she had witnessed Alexander's chilling aura and ruthless methods. She quickly sat on the edge of the bed, her face serious. "How about we go to the hospital for a check-up? See if Alexander put any poison or hex on you. Otherwise, how could he come up with such a precise number as seven days?" I accused my best friend of reading too many novels. But she insisted on taking me to the hospital. Knowing I disliked contact with strangers, she simply booked two appointments, saying she could accompany me for both check-ups that way. An hour later, we both stared at the papers in our hands, dumbfounded. I was pregnant. And so was she.
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