Chapter 3: Betrayed and Cornered

I cringed at the memory. I’d pushed him so hard, never giving him a chance to breathe. No wonder he looked at me like that.

I was supposed to be a background character, but I ended up acting like the villainous side chick…

The irony wasn’t lost on me. I’d spent so long trying to be the heroine, I’d turned myself into the antagonist.

So when we first met, Carter glared at me, red-eyed, and said he hated me.

…He really did hate me.

The memory flashed in my mind—his eyes cold, his words sharp. I’d laughed it off. But he’d meant every word.

What happens to the villainous side character? I didn’t even want to think about it.

I’d read enough stories to know how it ended. The villain gets her comeuppance, the heroine gets her happy ending. I was just waiting for the axe to fall.

All I knew was, when the male lead made it big, I’d be the first one he’d get back at.

It was just a matter of time. I could almost see the headlines: Local Girl Gets Dumped by Self-Made Millionaire. My stomach churned.

With a click, the door unlocked.

The sound jolted me out of my thoughts. I froze, heart pounding, as Carter stepped inside.

Carter shrugged off his dirty jacket, wearing only a black tank top underneath.

He looked tired, sweat glistening on his skin. The tank top clung to him, showing off muscles I didn’t even know he had. I swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how small the apartment felt.

Broad shoulders, narrow waist, a strong back, and smooth muscle lines on his arms.

He looked like he belonged on the cover of a fitness magazine, not in this dingy apartment with me. I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

He caught me staring, his dark eyes locking on mine.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air was thick with unspoken words, tension crackling between us.

Staring at his muscles, I thought:

Maybe I won’t even have to wait for him to take revenge… With that build, he could knock out ten of me with one punch.

The thought was half-joke, half-truth. I hugged my arms around myself, suddenly feeling very small.

The next second, a fresh, soapy scent mixed with his cologne washed over me.

He’d showered at work, the scent of soap and cedarwood cologne drifting over as he stepped closer. It was oddly comforting—and a little dangerous.

Carter stopped in front of me, hooked his hand behind my neck, and leaned down to kiss me.

His grip was possessive, his lips rough against mine. I barely had time to think before I was swept up in the intensity, my knees going weak.

The kiss was so deep and rough, I didn’t even have time to react.

I gasped, caught off guard by the hunger in his touch. For a split second, I let myself melt into it—then panic surged up, and I pushed him away.

His other hand gripped my waist, wanting more. I finally snapped out of it, pushed him away hard, and scrambled back.

I stumbled, breathless, putting as much distance between us as I could. My heart hammered in my chest, equal parts fear and longing.

The heated air snapped cold.

The mood shifted in an instant. Carter’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. The silence between us was deafening.

Carter slowly looked up, his voice still rough: “Why are you dodging me? Didn’t you say we have to kiss every day when I get home?”

His words stung, and I could hear the accusation underneath. My cheeks burned, and I looked away.

His tone softened: “C’mere, we’re not done yet.”

He held out a hand, trying to bridge the gap. I hesitated, uncertainty gnawing at me.

I was sweating, stammering:

“T-today, let’s skip it.”

My voice shook, barely audible. I could feel his eyes on me, searching for answers I didn’t have.

He noticed my resistance, and his voice turned cold: “No kiss?”

His words were sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. I flinched, guilt washing over me.

“Savannah, you kiss me when you want, toss me aside when you don’t—am I your dog?”

His voice was tight, wounded. I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing came out.

I scrambled for an excuse: “I have a canker sore, so maybe not—”

It was a weak lie, and we both knew it. I tried to back away, but he was faster.

Before I could finish, he leaned over, grabbed my face, and tried to pry my mouth open with his fingers.

His touch was rough, insistent. I jerked my head away, panic flaring in my chest.

“Where? Let me see.”

He sounded more concerned than angry, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t want him to see what I was really feeling.

I didn’t expect him to be so blunt and quickly turned my head away.

My hair fell over my eyes, giving me a moment to collect myself. I could feel the tension radiating off him.

His hand froze in midair, his expression turning ice cold, jaw tight:

“Great, so now you’re lying to me. Savannah, you’re really something.”

His words stung more than I expected. I bit my lip, blinking back tears.

The book promised a gentle, considerate husband.

I’d pictured lazy Sunday mornings, breakfast in bed, soft kisses on my forehead. Instead, I got this—a mess of anger and confusion.

But now, seeing the anger in his eyes, I finally understood.

His gentleness was always meant for the real group-pampered heroine.

He was never meant to be mine. I was just a placeholder, a mistake the universe would eventually correct.

And I was just a fake who stole her place.

The guilt pressed down on me, heavier than ever. I wondered if I’d ever really belonged here.

I really am both bad and cowardly.

I couldn’t stand myself for it, but I couldn’t change who I was. I just wanted to survive, even if it meant running away.

Ever since I landed in this novel, all I wanted was to survive.

I never dreamed of stealing the spotlight. I just wanted a safe place to land, a way to make it through each day.

So, when I realized I might be the first one the male lead would get revenge on, my first reaction was to run.

Fight or flight, and I’d always been a runner. I started making plans before I even realized it.

As long as I ran fast enough and hid somewhere Carter couldn’t find me.

I pictured hopping on a Greyhound bus, disappearing into some city where no one knew my name. Terrifying, but maybe a little freeing, too.

Once Carter met the real heroine, he’d probably forget about getting even.