Chapter 1

On my first day inside this tragic novel, the system handed me a job: win the true heart of Reuben Simmons, the original heroine's boyfriend, or earn a full hundred million.

But before I could even make a choice, Reuben's first love sent him a message.

"Reuben, I've given up on him and left. Does your promise still stand — that you'd marry me at thirty?"

I stared at him, thinking: when the author writes a devoted second male lead, do they never spare a thought for what happens to the current girlfriend?

Sure enough, that same night he laid it all out.

"Bianca Whitfield, I'm sorry. I still can't let her go."

The original heroine's memories and feelings crashed into me all at once, and my eyes burned, my whole body trembling and I couldn't stop it.

But then I remembered how she tried to keep him with five years of love, only for him to drive her to public ruin, to depression, to jumping off a building.

I quickly set the key card on the table myself.

"It's okay. Five years with you is more than enough for me. As long as she can love you the way I do, that's all that matters!"

He froze, his mouth opening and closing, all the soothing words he'd prepared stuck in his throat.

After a long moment, he pushed a bank card across to me. "Don't say any more. This apartment is yours. There's five million on the card. Take it."

I shook my head through my tears. "That's not what I care about."

He clenched his jaw and transferred over another five million. "Don't sell yourself short. I owe you this."

The door closed, and I slid down against it until I was sitting on the floor.

I let this body cry as hard as it wanted, until even I could feel the heartbreak in it.

I told myself, "He isn't coming back. I'll take you away another way."

⋯⋯

I pulled out my phone right away and messaged the agent. "The Uptown Court penthouse, urgent sale, drop another five hundred thousand for a full cash offer. I'm in a hurry."

At two in the morning, Reuben pushed open the door to the apartment.

"You're that short on money? Slashing the price overnight to sell the place — is this you throwing a tantrum at me?"

He tossed a screenshot of the agent's post onto the coffee table, his tie half loosened, lounging back against the sofa as he studied me.

He'd decided this was just me playing hard to get, a stunt to force him to hold on.

I kept my head down, looking at the words on the screen, tears hitting the back of my hand.

This time I didn't stop them.

"I'm not throwing a tantrum."

I bit my lower lip, my voice shaking.

"This whole apartment is nothing but five years of our memories. The second I close my eyes, I see you here, cooking with me, ringing in the New Year with me."

I lifted my head and looked at him.

"Reuben, I don't dare keep it. I'm afraid if I look at all this every day, I won't be able to hold on."

Every word was true.

That was the most ironic part of it. I didn't need to act. I only needed to take out the original heroine's heart and lay it in front of him.

The mockery Reuben had ready caught in his throat.

He looked at my pale face, his brow furrowing, a flicker of irritation in his eyes.

I lowered my gaze.

The original heroine's memories kept surfacing. Reuben had been good to her — as long as no one touched his first love.

Two years ago, to go to the airport and pick up Jasmine Swanson, freshly back in the country, he'd left the original heroine alone on a street in a downpour.

She'd broken down crying, asking him why.

What she got in return was half a month of icing her out.

He'd even laughed lazily over drinks with his buddies. "Women are nothing but trouble. Give them an inch and they climb all over you."

For those two weeks, she became the laughingstock of the whole city's elite circle.

And what hurt me most wasn't the memory itself.

It was that, all through those two weeks, she scrolled his call logs until dawn every night, telling herself the whole time, "He's probably just too busy." That small, groveling hope was still running in my veins right now.

Reuben was quiet for a long time before he finally sighed.

He leaned in and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear with his fingers.

On reflex I wanted to press into his palm.

I clenched my jaw, turned my face away, and dodged him.

His hand paused for a beat, but his tone stayed exactly as entitled as ever.

"Be good. Don't make this hard for me."

He drew his hand back, took a black card from his suit pocket, and set it in front of me.

"That trip to Iceland next week to see the northern lights — I had my assistant cancel it. Jasmine just got back, she's emotionally unstable, and I need to stay in the country to be with her."

Our fifth-anniversary trip. He'd spent a full six months planning it, and now he'd wiped it out in a single sentence.

For that trip the original heroine had studied Icelandic for three months. Her notebook was still tucked in the nightstand drawer, and on the last page she'd written, "I want to see the northern lights with him, just once."

I looked at the black card and didn't reach for it. I only nodded.

"All right. Spend more time with her. The northern lights will always be there another time."

As I finished, I heard something give way somewhere in my chest, faint, as if something had snapped.

My refusal to fight, to cling, only deepened the irritation in Reuben's eyes.

He was used to me clinging to him, and now that I was letting him go on my own, he didn't know what to do with it.

"The PIN is your birthday. Buy whatever you want. Don't sell yourself short."

"I'm going back to the old estate to sleep tonight. Tomorrow I'll have my assistant send you another sum."

The moment the door shut, I stood where I was for a long time before I wiped every trace of expression off my face, bit by bit.

This body was still shaking.

I picked up the black card and linked it to my account.

"Ding. Black card successfully linked, estimated available limit ten million. Current progress twenty percent."

I watched the numbers flickering on the panel and told myself: the money is mine, the tears are hers.

I was going to collect this debt for her, down to the last cent.