Chapter 2: Breaking the Script

I didn’t calm down until I stumbled into my dorm room, collapsed into my chair, and gulped down water to steady my pounding heart.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. My hands were still shaking as I set the glass down, trying to breathe through the humiliation. On the way back, I’d pieced together everything from the barrage of comments. Turns out, my world was a campus romance novel. Carter Winslow was the male lead, Natalie Flores was the heroine—also the poor scholarship student his family had sponsored since she was a kid. Their dynamic was the noble rich boy and the delicate, resilient flower.

And me? I was the villainous supporting character, just here to give Carter dating experience and push the plot forward.

No wonder. Three years of dating, and he always kept me at arm’s length. Everyone teased me for being lucky—after all, Carter Winslow was the cold, unattainable campus heartthrob, with admirers lined up from our school to the next. Yet he chose me. So even though our relationship was cold for three years, I never thought much of it. I thought he was just reserved, responsible. Turns out, he was saving himself for another woman.

It hit me then, hard as a slap. All those times I’d blamed myself for not being enough, for pushing too hard, for wanting too much—none of it mattered. I was just a plot device in someone else’s love story.

[A guy who truly loves you would never resist touching you. Ever heard of physical attraction?]

[Right, I remember he slept with the heroine the day they got together—and even started her period!]

...

And according to the plot, I’d soon become jealous and use my power to mess with the heroine, digging my own grave. In the end, my family would be ruined, and I’d lose everything. I’d end up wandering back to our old place, begging Carter to show mercy for old times’ sake. But the heroine would say, "Carter, I… I get scared whenever I see her. Can you keep her away?"

I’d be dragged straight to a psychiatric hospital, tortured until I broke down, sobbing and begging for forgiveness. Carter would just hold Natalie and look at me like I was dirt.

"Take it. You owe Natalie all of this."

I’d lose all hope, and finally hang myself on our anniversary.

The thought made me shiver. Forget it—whoever wants this relationship can have it. I’m not signing up to be the ultimate sucker!

I pulled out my phone, opened Carter’s Messenger chat, wanting to curse him out, but chickened out. In the end, I just angrily typed three words:

"Let’s break up."

Sent. Blocked.

Maybe it was childish. Still, it felt good to hit send.

The next day, I woke up to my phone blowing up from a strange number.

1:13 a.m.—

"Madison, pick up."

"Why do you want to break up?"

"Is it because of another guy?"

"Who is he?"

"Don’t let me find him, or I’ll kill him!"

"When did it start?"

"Did I make you lose interest?"

"I’m downstairs at your dorm now."

"I’ll wait here all night. I want to see which jerk is trying to steal you."

His messages stacked up, one after another. A digital wall of frustration. And disbelief. For a guy who was always so cold, he sure knew how to blow up my phone.

8:30—

"Are you awake?"

"I thought about it. If you want to do it, it’s not impossible."

"Come downstairs, let’s talk."

"I brought your favorite breakfast."

9:00—

"I need to go to the hospital for something urgent. I’ll find you when I’m back."

Was I dreaming? This couldn't be real.

The messages felt surreal, like someone else’s drama had spilled into my life. I stared at the screen, not sure whether to laugh or throw my phone across the room.

[I don’t get it—what’s the male lead doing? The supporting character dumps him, but he seems furious.]

[Guys are possessive. Even if they don’t like you, they can’t stand being cheated on.]

[Exactly, he’s here to settle the score. The male lead’s so proud—no way he’d let himself be dumped. His words are so sharp, I’m worried the supporting character won’t survive it.]

[His gentleness is reserved for the heroine only!]

I knew it. Carter was always lukewarm with me. I had to chase him for any affection. But for the breakup, he still needed to show up and scold me in person?

I angrily typed back:

"No need. I really don’t think we have anything left to say. Let’s just delete each other!"

I know, it’s childish. But honestly, it felt good to hit send.

[Breaking news! The male lead went to the hospital to see the heroine—she just posted about it! So sweet.]

My hand shook as I opened Instagram.

Ten minutes ago:

Natalie Flores: "Rough morning at the hospital—thanks, Carter, for coming to help!"

The photo showed Carter standing in the busy hospital lobby, hair a little messy, listening intently to a man in a baseball cap. His black trench coat made him look tall and striking.

He looked like a model in a Calvin Klein ad—cool, collected, and completely out of my league. Figures.

[The heroine accidentally bumped into a former patient at the hospital, who tried to extort her for $15,000.]

[Damn, that guy’s shameless. Poor heroine, barely scraping by with scholarships and part-time jobs. If the male lead hadn’t shown up, what would she have done?]

[Perfect timing—the male lead’s the heir to Winslow Holdings. Money’s the last thing he lacks!]

Great. I closed Instagram and, feeling oh-so calm, added another line:

"Fine, since you insist on knowing why, I’ll tell you. Honestly, once the clothes came off, it was just so-so. You know Mac, right? Yeah… not that impressive."

Sent. Blocked again!

My hands shook. But I grinned. If I was going down, I’d go down swinging.