Chapter 1: Sidelined

That’s right—here I am, stuck in a jaw-dropping lakeside mansion north of Chicago, surrounded by gleaming marble counters and a dining table that could seat the entire Bears starting lineup. Yet, I’m perched on a barstool by the window, not even allowed a spot at the table. The aroma of rosemary chicken fills the air, but I know better than to reach for a fork.

The system chimes in, issuing a task: act like a total kiss-up and win the leading lady’s heart.

It pops up in my mind like a spam text from a number you can’t block: [Mission: Win the CEO’s affection by being her perfect yes-man. Failure is not an option.]

But in the book, the original guy never stood a chance against the main man. In the end, he’s sent to a psych ward and lives out a miserable life.

Apparently, even in fiction, the nice guy finishes last—and badly. After the real male lead swoops in, the poor sap winds up stashed in some bleak psychiatric hospital on the city outskirts, forgotten by everyone.

So, I decide to take the massive breakup settlement and make a run for it.

Let’s be real: if life hands you lemons and a golden parachute, it’s time to book that one-way flight south. Palm trees, here I come.

When the male lead comes back from overseas, ready to come at me, I immediately throw in the towel.

This guy looks like he just stepped off a GQ cover—tall, brooding, that luxury watch flashing in the hallway light. I don’t even try to fake it. As soon as he walks through customs, I mentally submit my resignation.

I lay it on thick, my voice syrupy-sweet—if I have to play the clown, I might as well go full send. “Bro, you’re finally back. My wife’s been missing you like crazy, you know?”

I put on my best winning smile, channeling every sitcom sidekick. “Bro, welcome home. She’s been talking about you nonstop.”

The female lead mocks me for being shameless and living off a woman. I pull out the pen and wait for her to sign.

She’s in those killer designer heels, eyebrows arched so high it’s a miracle they don’t scrape the chandelier. “How does it feel, living on my dime?” I slide the divorce papers across the marble, uncapping the pen for her.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. If you put off the divorce until tomorrow, that’s a different price.

I grin, tapping the signature line. “Prices go up after business hours, ma’am.”

……

The system crashes for half a day, then pops up with a question mark.

For real—just a spinning hourglass in my head, like Windows 98 in a death spiral. Finally, it pings: [?]

[The task requires you to successfully win over the female lead. If you fail, you can’t return to your original world.]

“Gee, thanks,” I mutter, scrolling through my phone while the system nags me. “Couldn’t you just let me retire in peace?”

Looking at all the zeros in my bank account, I get excited.

That’s more zeroes than I’ve ever seen outside a Powerball drawing. I could buy a Tesla in cash and still have enough left over for Cubs season tickets.

Go back? Who the hell wants to go back?

Seriously, what’s waiting for me there—a dead-end job, crummy apartment, and those neighbors who hoard my Amazon packages?

I’m young and capable, fit and healthy, single and rich, with everything I want—why would I want to leave?

Maybe I should buy a boat. Or finally get that dog I always wanted. Who says you need to chase after someone who doesn’t even know you exist?