I loved Isabella fiercely, my childhood sweetheart, the sunshine of my life.
Our families were bound, our futures intertwined.
I thought we were destined.
Then came the betrayal.
She shattered my family's legacy, my parents' health, and finally, my very life.
As I lay dying, brutally tortured, I saw her, cold and triumphant, with Daniel Chen-the man she loved, whose 'death' she believed I orchestrated.
My last, agonizing thought: This was never my story.
I was just the villain, a disposable pawn for their destined romance.
My parents ruined, my loyal dog, Max, cruelly taken on her orders-all for their 'happy ending.'
The cosmic injustice hit harder than any physical torment.
How could my entire existence be nothing more than a manipulated plot device?
A tragic footnote in someone else's grand love story?
The sheer absurdity, the profound unfairness, was suffocating.
But then, I gasped.
I wasn't dying.
I was back.
Years before my horrific end.
I remembered this exact moment: the breaking point.
This time, I knew the script.
And I would burn it all down before it burned me again.
My life, my rules.