Chapter 3: The Villainess Awakens

Yesterday was our two-year anniversary.

Two years. A lifetime and a blink, all at once. I’d planned something special, something just for us.

But my relationship with Chase had never gone past kissing and holding hands.

People joked about us, called us innocent, but they didn’t know how much I craved more. I wanted to be close to him, to know every part of him.

He was the school’s aloof genius, everyone’s golden boy. Just getting together with him had been hard enough.

He was the kind of guy who made heads turn in the hallway, who never seemed to need anyone. I was proud to be the one he chose, even if it felt like I was always chasing him.

Even after we started dating, he never really let me close.

He’d always find some excuse to keep his distance—a sudden phone call, a project due, a headache. I tried not to take it personally, but it hurt.

He’d drop my hand so fast. Most of the time, he’d just hold my wrist—through my sleeve.

I started wearing long sleeves just so he’d have something to grab. It was a small thing, but it mattered to me.

Our kisses—always quick, always light. Never more.

Sometimes I wondered if he even liked kissing me, or if it was just another obligation.

Sometimes, when things got heated, he’d cover my eyes during a deep kiss, then vanish. Like he was hiding from me. Or from himself.

It was almost like he was hiding—not just from me, but from himself. I told myself it was endearing, but it left me feeling empty.

I always thought it was just his cold nature hiding a shy, innocent side.

I spun stories in my head about a secret soft side, a hidden vulnerability that only I could reach.

So I wanted even more to get closer, to discover his hidden self.

I made plans. Bought new clothes. Rehearsed what I’d say. I wanted to be the one to break through.

After a few drinks, I told him I’d prepared a surprise for him in the bedroom.

I was nervous, my cheeks flushed from the alcohol. I tried to play it cool, but my heart was pounding.

He walked in, eyes covered by a tie. I pounced—carefully chosen, silky pajamas and all.

The tie slipped a little, and he grinned at me, looking both amused and nervous. I did my best to look seductive, even though my hands were shaking.

“Hey, handsome, I’m your present. Do you like it?”

I tried to sound playful, but my voice was breathless. God, I hoped he couldn’t tell how much this meant to me.

“Baby, don’t tempt me.” Chase’s eyes were red with arousal, but he still tried to leave.

He swallowed hard, jaw clenched. I could see it—the struggle in his eyes, the war inside him.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him.

He hesitated. Then kissed me back, hands gripping my waist like I might vanish.

I fumbled with his shirt, and soon his cheeks were flushed, his whole chest tinged pink.

His skin was hot under my fingers. I felt a rush of triumph—finally, he was letting me in.

I kissed his throat. “You look so cute when you’re shy.”

I nipped at his jaw, smiling against his skin. He shivered, and for a moment, I thought I’d finally broken through.

His hand tightened around my waist, his breathing ragged.

He pulled me closer, almost crushing me. I could feel his heart racing.

“Baby… get off me… just wait a little longer.”

His voice was strained, almost pained. I didn’t understand why he was resisting.

I pressed him down, annoyed. “We’ve been together two years. I don’t want to wait anymore.”

“Tonight, you’re mine.”

I leaned in, determined. I wanted to prove something—to him, to myself.

I kept going, but he stopped me again.

He pushed gently at my shoulders, shaking his head. His eyes were pleading.

“Baby, please.”

He tried to push me off, tried to get out of bed. But the next second, he collapsed. Gone.

The bottom dropped out of my world.

“Chase!”

I was terrified, only then noticing the red rash spreading on his skin.

I scrambled to his side, my hands useless and shaking. The rash was angry and fast, crawling up his neck and arms.

It wasn’t shyness—it was an allergic reaction.

The realization hit—hard, unforgiving. I’d been so blind.

Panicked, I searched for my phone and dialed 911.

My fingers slipped on the screen. I barely managed to give the dispatcher our address, my voice trembling.

Then, out of nowhere, glowing comments scrolled across my vision:

[Can the side character just get lost already? She almost killed the male lead. If she’s that desperate, she should go hug a tree!]

[Relax, the side character is just here to push the leads together. The male lead is about to meet his destined girl thanks to this disaster.]

[Love this trope where the hero can only touch his soulmate and breaks out in hives around anyone else.]

[Thinking about all the times the side character threw herself at him is hilarious. Did she really think he liked her? He was just hiding his allergy, using her as a cover.]

[Male lead’s real inner thoughts: Don’t come near me!]

[Haha, just waiting for the heroine to show up so Mr. Abstinent turns wild.]

The words flickered, taunting. It was like the universe was mocking me, spelling out my role in someone else’s story.

I stood there, stunned. Male lead? Did they mean Chase?

I blinked, trying to process. It felt like I’d been cast in a play I didn’t remember auditioning for.

He’s allergic to women? Seriously?

It sounded impossible, but the evidence was right in front of me. My mind raced, searching for any other explanation.

To test it, I reached out and touched his forehead.

My hand hovered, then made contact. I watched in horror as the rash spread faster.

Instantly, the rash spread even more. I jerked my hand back.

I stumbled backward, knocking over a lamp. My heart was pounding out of my chest.

At the hospital, I couldn’t stop thinking about the look on the doctors’ faces when I told them Chase was allergic to women. Shocked. Like I’d just told them he was allergic to air.

One doctor even laughed, thinking I was joking, until he saw the test results. The whole thing was so absurd, I wanted to scream.

The whole thing was ridiculous.

I replayed the scene in my head, over and over, trying to make sense of it. The world felt off-kilter, like I was living in a fever dream.

But if this was a novel? Suddenly, it all made sense.

I’d always joked about being the main character in my own story, but now it felt like someone else was writing the script.

According to the plot, I’m just the villainess. A tool. Just there to hide the hero’s allergy.

The realization stung. I was just a prop, a means to an end. It was humiliating.

The heroine is a freshman who works part-time as a hospital aide. She accidentally meets the hero there.

I could picture her—fresh-faced, kind, exactly the type the universe would hand-pick for him.

That’s how he discovers he’s not allergic to her, and they start dating.

It was like some cruel cosmic joke. All she had to do was exist, and she got what I’d fought so hard for.

In this setup, no matter how hard I chase the hero or try to win him over, it never works. All the heroine has to do is show up, and Chase will fall for her.

I could see it play out in my mind, scene by scene. I was just a footnote in their love story.

Everything I do—trying to win his love, going after the heroine—just makes him hate me more. Until he snaps. Until my whole family is ruined.

The thought sent a chill through me. Was I really doomed to be the villain in someone else’s story?

Would Chase really be so cruel to me for someone else?

I wanted to believe he wouldn’t. But the doubt? It gnawed at me.

I didn’t want to believe it.

I clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, I mattered to him.

But when I clung to a bit of hope and went to see him at the hospital again, the scrolling comments appeared once more:

[Ahhh!!! The leads have finally met!]

[The heroine tripped and fell into the hero’s arms and kissed his face. It’s like a scene from a drama.]

[The hero just realized he’s not allergic to the heroine!]

[Just wait, the side character’s about to act up and bully the heroine.]

It was like watching my own heartbreak play out in real time, with a peanut gallery narrating every beat.

When I opened the door, I saw Chase holding a girl’s hand.

There she was—Savannah Lin. She looked like she’d stepped out of a romance movie, all wide eyes and soft smiles. And Chase? He looked… happy. Relaxed in a way I’d never seen before.

It was her—and sure enough, no allergy.

I watched, numb, as he touched her hand without flinching. No rash, no panic. Just quiet contentment.

Seeing that made me ache with jealousy and resentment.

It was like a knife twisting in my gut. I wanted to scream, to demand an explanation, but all I could do was watch.

Why should the boyfriend I fought so hard for be destined for her?

It wasn’t fair. I’d given everything, and it still wasn’t enough.

It’s not fair. Chase should be mine. God, I hated how desperate I sounded, even in my own head.

I was startled by my own thoughts.

The bitterness scared me. I didn’t want to become the villain in anyone’s story—not even my own.

If I hadn’t seen the comments, maybe I really would have become the villainess. Scheming, fighting, ending up with nothing.

The realization sobered me. I could see the path ahead, and I didn’t want to go down it.

I snapped out of it immediately. I refuse to be a tool or a villainess!

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to let go. I wouldn’t let a stupid story—or anyone else—define me.

Love? You can find it again. But you only get one life.

I deserved better than to be someone’s plot device. I deserved my own happy ending.

So I broke up with Chase.

It was the hardest thing I’d ever done. But it was right. I had to save myself—even if it broke my heart.

It hurt so much to say it, but the scrolling text was still cursing me:

[Can the side character just die already! Where does she get the nerve to break up?]

[Now the hero is being so mean to the heroine because of her.]

[The heroine is going to misunderstand and think the hero is still in love with the side character.]

[Don’t worry, the more the side character acts up, the deeper the misunderstanding, and the more exciting the hero’s pursuit will be.]

[It’s not sweet enough yet. They’re still at odds. I hope the hero finally tells the heroine he never loved the side character.]

[I want to see them kiss until their lips are swollen!]

The comments stung, but I tried to tune them out. I was done playing by someone else’s script.