The moment I became aware of my role as the story’s villainess, the male lead—my childhood friend whom I had imprisoned and tortured—was kneeling at my feet, his body trembling with pain. My own hands were shaking as I tried to unfasten his chains. He let out a cold, chilling laugh. "Weren't you going to kill me, Princess?" My hands froze. In the story's script, I imprison the male lead, Asher Kane, subjecting him to a relentless campaign of physical and psychological torment. My reward for this is being thrown into a mental asylum by him, where I eventually commit suicide by jumping from a window. Tears of pure terror welled in my eyes. I fumbled in my pocket and pulled out a crumpled, worn piece of paper. I held it out to him. It was something he had written for me when we were seven. "A Coupon for Forgiving Ellie for Anything She Does." 1 When the plot flooded my consciousness, I was holding a blood-stained whip. I just stood there, frozen. The... the villainess? My hand trembled as I pointed a shaky finger at myself. Me? A low groan pulled me back to reality. Before me, a dark-haired young man was half-kneeling on the stone floor. His messy black hair fell across his forehead, his sharp jawline lost in the damp shadows of the basement. His arms were suspended by iron chains, his hands hanging limp and powerless. His breathing was shallow, ragged. Asher. The male lead of this redemption novel. And the boy I grew up with. According to the plot, I'd been secretly in love with Asher for a decade. I was supposed to be the pretty, innocent girl who quietly followed him around. But the moment the female lead appeared, my 'villainy meter' skyrocketed. I didn't just frame the heroine time and time again; I kidnapped the hero, imprisoned him, and subjected him to every humiliation I could imagine, one idiotic atrocity after another. Asher’s love for me curdled into absolute disgust. He was the one who personally committed me. Not long after, I lost my mind and threw myself from a high window. And right now, Asher—not yet the all-powerful tycoon he would become—was kneeling at my feet. The collar of his white shirt was torn open, revealing horrifying, crimson welts across his chest. His pale face was slick with cold sweat, his lips trembling. The moment our eyes met, I knew. My life was probably over. His eyes, like those of a cornered animal, were locked on me, looking as if they might crack from the sheer intensity of his gaze. A storm of pure, unadulterated hatred brewed within them. I was about to cry. My name is Eleanor Franklin—Ellie—and I've spent my entire life trying to be a good person. I'm a coward. I don't know the first thing about being a villainess. It’s not too late to fix this, I told myself. It's not too late. My hands trembled as I worked on the iron shackles around his wrists. My gaze fell on the raw, red abrasions on his skin. A memory flashed through my mind, unbidden. When I had first locked him in these chains, I had touched every inch of his skin with a sick, possessive reverence. My sharp nails had raked across his pale face, leaving red tracks. "Asher," my other self had whispered, "I'm going to lock you away by my side forever." "You'll only ever look at me." A shiver ran down my spine. The Franklin and Kane families were old friends, our estates practically next to each other. Our parents had even made a half-joking childhood pact about us getting married one day. Asher was a year older than me. My earliest memories were of trailing behind him, calling his name in a sweet, soft voice. Asher had always been cool and reserved, but he treated me like a little sister, spoiling me endlessly. But then, my heart had grown gKennedyy. I was no longer content with being his pseudo-sister. When the male and female leads started growing closer, a venomous jealousy took root in me. And that's why I'd kidnapped him for this twisted 'forced love' scenario. Clink. The shackle fell open, the chain clattering onto the floor. The sound echoed sharply in the vast, empty basement. I forced a placating smile, though I was on the verge of sobbing. "Ash-Asher," I stammered. "If I told you I was possessed... would you believe me?" 2 A sharp, derisive snort. The corner of his lip curled up. His handsome, almond-shaped eyes were glacial and merciless. His voice was a raw, grating rasp. "Weren't you going to kill me, Princess?" My body went rigid. He truly hated me. He used to call me Ellie. Asher narrowed his eyes, a dangerous fury simmering within them. He pushed himself to his feet and stalked toward me. His shadow fell over me, a crushing, suffocating weight. "Eleanor Franklin, what new game are you playing now?" More memories flooded my mind. Three days ago. I had lightly tapped his cheek with the whip. Smiled. I told him we were going to play a game. I'd unlocked his chains and tossed him a key. I told him the basement was a maze with seven sealed rooms. Only one path led to the single door to the outside. If he could find it, I'd let him go. He'd stumbled through every corridor, tried every single door, until he collapsed from exhaustion. Only then did I appear before him. My eyes had been bloodshot. I'd screamed at him like a madwoman. "You're that desperate to leave? Isn't being with me forever good enough for you?" "Are you trying to get back to Rosalie Kennedy?" "Why?! Why do you only have eyes for her now?" "Asher, you're mine! You can only look at me!" "If you try to run again, I'll kill you." Rosalie Kennedy. The heroine of this story. After a falling out with his family in high school, Asher had stayed in the country for college. In his junior year, he co-founded a startup with Rosalie, his intellectual equal. They were inseparable—in the lab, at competitions, building their company. Their bond deepened, and after overcoming countless obstacles, they were destined for a perfect ending. And I... I was the biggest obstacle they had to overcome. Not only had I targeted Rosalie at every turn, but I had kidnapped Asher right before he was supposed to lead his team in a pivotal, career-making competition. I closed my eyes, wanting to weep but having no tears left. Ellie, oh Ellie, you really outdid yourself. You dared to treat the male lead like a dog. This kind of bold, reckless life... how did it end up being mine? When the hero is offended, there are no happy endings for the villain. Noticing I was lost in thought, Asher's patience finally snapped. He grabbed my shoulders, his grip so tight I thought I heard bone crack. "Eleanor, answer me. What are you planning?" "When are you letting me go?!" His face was a terrifying mask of fury. He looked like he wanted to tear me to pieces, chew me up, and swallow me whole. I was on the verge of a complete breakdown. I stared at him for two seconds, resigned to my fate, then took a deep breath. And buried my face in his chest. I let out a wail that could curdle milk. "Asher!" I sobbed. "I was wrong! I was so, so wrong! The devil made me do it!" Sincerity. It's the ultimate weapon. If I apologize fast enough, maybe the villainess's fate can't catch up to me. I sniffled, looking up at him through a blur of tears, my expression as pitiful as I could make it. "Asher, I'm only twenty. You have to let me make a few mistakes." 3 The air went still. For a moment, his body tensed. Then, he let out a low gasp of pain as I must have bumped against one of his injuries. He shoved me away, hard. "Eleanor, do you think a simple 'sorry' erases everything?" he snarled, his eyes blazing. "Who the hell do you think you are?" He looked like he wanted to flay me alive. It's over. He's still going to kill me. Tears streamed down my face. I fumbled frantically inside my pocket and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper. I carefully smoothed it out and held it up to him. He'd written it for me when we were seven. So many years had passed that the paper had gone soft and fuzzy. The pencil writing was faded, but you could still just make out the words: "A Coupon for Forgiving Ellie for Anything She Does." It had been over something stupid. He'd spilled my milk. But I, a spoiled little princess, had thrown an epic tantrum. Asher, who always acted like a miniature adult, had panicked for the first time. To calm me down, he'd written the note. In my previous life—the one in the story—I had used it, too. Right before he sent me to the asylum. But by then, I had done too many unforgivable things. It was useless. Honestly, I didn't hate him for that ending. The things the original "me" did were monstrous. But now, this was my last lifeline. Asher stared at the note, stunned. He probably never imagined I'd kept it. A childish promise, now being cashed in for real. His lips, usually so expressive, were pressed into a thin, hard line. I couldn't stop crying. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the ice in his eyes began to thaw. He released his grip on my shoulders. He turned and walked away without another word. At the door, he stopped and gave me one last, deep look. "Eleanor Franklin," he said, his voice flat. "Don't ever do anything that disgusts me again." Disgusts. Yes. This twisted, possessive emotion... it was disgusting. I collapsed onto the floor, weak with relief. Tears still clung to my eyelashes, but I was already scrambling for my phone. My voice hit a near-supersonic pitch. "Mom!" "Get me into a study abroad program! Now!" "Germany! I want to go to Germany!" Asher belonged to Rosalie. They were a match made in heaven. I'd have to be insane to try and fight for him again, to get myself killed in the process. I was sure of it. Three years of undergraduate study in Germany would be the most unforgettable seven years of my life. And in seven years, Asher and Rosalie would be long settled. And I would be safe from my own terrible fate. Asher's return was like a shot of adrenaline for his leaderless team. The competition was a high-stakes affair, with countless venture capitalists watching. Every rising star in the tech world was desperate to make a name for themselves and secure funding. The day of the semi-finals, a news alert popped up on my phone. I glanced at it. There was Asher, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, his posture ramrod straight. His features were sharp, his rimless glasses giving him an air of calm, formidable intelligence. He was a world away from the battered, broken man in my basement. In the photo, his eyes met Rosalie's across the crowded room. It was a look completely different from the hatred he'd directed at me. With her, his gaze was confident, steady. It was a silent promise: I've got this. He was a man in his element, indomitable. I shut off the screen. In the novel, the basement was just the appetizer. Later, I would take that proud, brilliant young man and torture him until he became a dark, twisted shell of himself. I would break his spirit, strip him of everything he had, until he was forced to grovel in the gutter, clinging to me for survival. In the end, my love would twist into a hatred so profound that I'd try to kill him and his family in a car crash. I rubbed my throbbing temples. That wasn't love. That was pure, sadistic cruelty. No wonder he hated me. I clutched the study abroad application, stamped and approved by the dean's office, and hurried my steps. Asher, I thought, Berlin is 5,300 miles away from our hometown. There's a seven-hour time difference. It's the furthest I can get from you. 4 The past few days had been a frantic blur of paperwork for my transfer. I was walking across campus, my eyes glued to my phone as I texted my department head, when I slammed right into someone. I rubbed my forehead, about to apologize, when a mocking laugh came from in front of me. "Well, well, if it isn't Asher's little shadow." "Fancy meeting our Asher here. What a coincidence." I looked up and met Asher's cold, wary gaze. His brow was furrowed, the hand at his side clenched into a fist. He studied me for a long moment, his eyes filled with a mixture of aversion and some other, unreadable emotion. His voice was stiff. "What are you doing here?" My heart sank. I opened my mouth, but the name "Asher" wouldn't come out. The people with him, his teammates, were oblivious. "What do you mean, coincidence?" one of them teased. "The way Ellie sticks to Asher, she's probably got a GPS tracker on him. Wherever he goes, she follows." They all laughed, thinking it was a joke. I felt like I was being pierced by a thousand needles. The phone in my hand suddenly felt like a hot coal. I nearly dropped it. Because it was true. There was a tracking app on my phone linked to his. Ever since Rosalie had appeared in his life, they had become partners, equals, sharing a world I could never enter. It was like an invisible barrier pushing me out. My insecurity had festered, and under the influence of that sick, possessive urge, I had installed the tracker. I had engineered every "chance encounter," keeping him trapped within my line of sight, even basking in the teasing from our mutual friends, deliberately creating a false sense of intimacy in front of Rosalie. It wasn't just Asher who was suffocating. I was suffocating, too. "So, Ellie, how come you didn't come to watch the competition?" another teammate asked, his eyes still dancing mischievously between us. "You two have a fight or something? Didn't think you guys ever stayed mad at each other." A fight? It was closer to attempted murder. Asher's expression grew darker by the second. I was panicking, my eyes instinctively flicking to the heroine. Rosalie Kennedy was as her name suggested: cool and composed. The teasing didn't seem to faze her. She even looked at me with a flicker of amusement. As expected of the female lead. Cool, confident, and completely above engaging with a petty villainess like me. But me? The real Ellie? I was just a coward. As I was desperately trying to think of an escape, a loud, arrogant voice cut through the air. "Where's Rosalie Kennedy?" 5 I turned toward the voice and was nearly blinded by the sheer amount of gold-dyed hair. The guy's wild, handsome face had a dangerous edge. He was holding an iron pipe, the veins on his hand popping. With that hair and that attitude, he was the spitting image of a high-school bully. A shame. I shook my head. Anyone who goes up against the main characters is doomed to be cannon fodder. Wait. He looked... familiar. Asher moved subtly, positioning himself in front of Rosalie. His eyes were cold as he challenged the newcomer. "What do you want with her?" The bully, Cole, raised a sharp eyebrow, not backing down an inch. "Someone paid me to deliver a message." He tapped the pipe against the ground meaningfully. A smirk played on his lips. "Rosalie, watch your back when you're walking alone. Be careful, or..." Before he could finish, I sprang into action like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. It was him! I shot up on my toes, reached around his neck, and clamped my hand over his mouth, hard. "Sorry!" I chirped, my voice shaking slightly. "This is my friend. He got the wrong person! We're just going to... catch up." I was trying to drag him away when Asher's hand shot out and clamped around my wrist. His dark eyes lingered for a second on my arm wrapped around Cole's neck before returning to my face. He did not look pleased. "I didn't know you had a friend like him." What was wrong with him? After what I did, shouldn't he hate my guts? Why was he suddenly concerned about who I was friends with? I lied through my teeth. "We just met. While you guys were at the competition. I haven't been following you around lately, so you wouldn't know." I looked at him, my expression pleading. "Asher, you always told me to make new friends. I made a new friend. Aren't you happy?" Even Asher, with his infinite patience, would get fed up with my clinging. Whenever he couldn't take it anymore, he would rub his temples and gently persuade me. "Ellie, don't you think you should have other friends besides me?" I was leaving. In these last few moments with him, I just wanted him to be happy. But Asher didn't look happy. He didn't look angry, either. He just released my wrist. His hand fell to his side, clenching into a fist. His dark eyes stared at me, deep and unreadable. Then, in silence, he watched me go. 6 We were a good distance away before Cole finally broke free from my grip. He ruffled his messy hair, his voice cold. "Hey, what was that all about?" I tried to sound casual. "Asher was right there. I was just afraid you'd blow our cover." That's right. The bully threatening the heroine was named Cole. And I had hired him. I paid, he did the work. He shot me a look full of scorn. "Relax. I have professional ethics. I took your money, I'm not going to rat you out." He leaned in close, his sharp eyes scrutinizing me. "What's wrong, Princess? Getting scared?" I knew he was provoking me. The tense line of his brow betrayed his own anxiety. He needed the money. Cole's parents had died when he was young, and his grandmother, who had raised him, was now in the hospital. The medical bills were crushing him. In the original story, I had exploited this. I'd turned him into my sharpest weapon. And as the villainess's enforcer, his end was just as tragic. He died on a rainy night after kidnapping the heroine. During a standoff with the police, he tried to take her with him and was shot dead. "I" had bought his morals, his future, and ultimately, his life. And in the end, "I" didn't even use the money to save his grandmother. A sharp pain lanced through my chest. It felt like waking from a nightmare, my body weak and trembling. I was terrified of that other "me." I pulled a debit card from my bag. "Here's a hundred thousand dollars." Cole's expression shifted, a flicker of mockery in his eyes. But then they darkened, a storm of desperation and madness swirling within them. His voice was a low rasp. "A hundred thousand. That's enough to buy her life." I frowned and held up two fingers. "No," I said seriously. "Two lives." His frown deepened. I continued, "From now on, I want you to protect Rosalie Kennedy. Don't let anything happen to her." As the heroine, Rosalie came with the standard tragic backstory: a gambling-addicted father, a mother who favored her son, a sick younger brother. It was a mess. Consider this money a down payment on a bodyguard for her. And an apology for all the times I'd bullied her. I tucked the card into the pocket of his shirt. I stared him down, my voice fierce. "As for you, from now on, you're going to be a good person. Every day, I want you to do one good deed. Or else—" "I'll tell your grandma you were caught keying the principal's car! We'll see how long you can keep up that 'good student' act then!" I watched his tough-guy face turn from pale to red, then back to pale again. It felt good. Being a good person felt so much better. Why would anyone choose to do so many terrible things? I rubbed my chest, which still ached, my eyes stinging.
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