Chapter 2: The Villainess Remembers

I’m the villain of this story, and it’s been three years since I faked my death. It’s also the twenty-first year since I landed in this world.

After working my butt off for nineteen years, I flawlessly completed every single task the system gave me. I played the role of the wicked supporting sister, always pushing the plot forward. All these years, I had to stir up trouble for the main characters in public, while secretly racking my brains to help them fend off all sorts of enemies. Sometimes, I even had to be ruthless with myself. Sometimes I caught myself rooting for them—Caleb, Rachel, even Derek. But I always shut it down. Villains don’t get to hope.

After all, I was the number one villain in this story—the senator’s daughter who held power in Maple Heights, Natalie Foster.

My name—Natalie Foster—showed up in more headlines than the mayor’s. That old southern mansion on Magnolia Street, the one with the wraparound porch and peeling white paint? That was mine. I grew up in power and privilege, the sort of girl folks around here gossiped about over sweet tea.

Thankfully, my hard work paid off. After the grand finale, the system kept its word and rewarded me with enough money to last several lifetimes.

The current mayor—my former stepbrother and the male lead—runs the city with care, values talent, and the city council is full of capable, honest people. Thanks to them, Maple Heights has been peaceful for the past two years, and folks live happily.

Which means I’ve been free to wander the streets every day, teasing neighborhood cats and dogs or flirting with cute guys and girls. Life was truly carefree.

It really seemed like everything had settled down, and those wild, bloody, love-hate, knife-filled plotlines had finally ended.

There were afternoons spent people-watching on the town square, iced coffee in hand, and evenings where laughter echoed from open bar windows on Main Street. Even the air smelled safer, tinged with barbecue smoke and honeysuckle instead of gunpowder and fear. If I’d had a guardian angel, I’d have thanked them—except I knew better. My luck was always borrowed, never given.