The system’s piercing alarm exploded in my ears at the exact moment Declan walked into the penthouse living room, a young woman trailing hesitantly behind him. She had my eyes. Or rather, she had the eyes I used to have—stubborn, entirely unyielding, anchoring her to the center of the vast, marble-floored room. Looking at her was like staring at a ghost of my own youth, back before I learned how to lose. “Host! He’s cheating! Your days of suffering are finally coming to an end!” the System shrieked in my mind, its robotic voice vibrating with electric glee. I bit the inside of my cheek hard to kill the smile threatening to break across my face. Taking a shallow breath, I arranged my features into a mask of pure, devastated disbelief and rushed down the sweeping glass staircase. Declan’s gaze washed over me. It was cold, clinical, entirely devoid of the man I used to know. Without so much as a shift in his posture, he announced that the girl would be moving into the master suite. "What about me? Declan..." I forced blood to my eyes, letting my voice splinter into a pathetic, weeping tremble. He didn’t even blink. "Take the guest room." I nearly laughed out loud right then and there. The guest room was right next to the service elevator. Escaping this gilded cage had just gotten infinitely easier. 1 This was my fifth year trapped by Declan’s side since my rebirth. In this life, I was bound to a "Tragic Heroine Survival System." Its mandate was chillingly simple: Make the male lead despise you. Accumulate Disgust Points. Break free from his control. Save yourself. That was when I learned the horrifying truth. My reality was nothing more than a dark romance novel, and the man I had grown up with—my fiancé, my husband—was the obsessive, psychopathic male lead. In my previous life, I hadn't known any of this. I only knew that the man I married had morphed into a monster. Desperate to escape his suffocating control, I crushed sleeping pills into his scotch, hoping to steal my passport from his biometric safe while he was unconscious. The drugs hadn't affected him at all. Instead, he cornered me against the glass railing of our balcony. With the icy wind of the East River whipping my hair, he took me right there against the cold glass, forcing me to watch the glittering city skyline until dawn broke. His lips had brushed the shell of my ear, his voice a lethal whisper. "Try anything like that again, Mrs. Crawford, and I will ruin your brother. I will tear him apart piece by piece." Paralyzed by the threat to my family, I abandoned all thoughts of rebellion. I pivoted, playing the role of a fragile, helpless socialite. I became entirely dependent on him, hoping he would tire of the burden. But I had miscalculated. The more helpless I acted, the more I wept, the more it ignited some dark, twisted excitement within him. Declan was deeply, fundamentally sick. Pushed past the brink of sanity, I eventually fought back. I caused scenes. I screamed. I tried to make him hate me. At a high-society gala, I threw a glass of hot tea directly into his face in front of New York’s elite. He didn't yell. He didn't flinch. He just pulled a silk square from his pocket, slowly wiped his jaw, and smiled at the stunned crowd. "My wife is incredibly spirited," he had murmured. That night, he locked me away. He systematically dismantled my family’s empire, cutting off all their business ties. Isolated, terrified for my parents and brother, and swallowed by a depression so heavy it felt like lead in my veins, I simply gave up. I starved myself to death in that beautiful, silent room. When I opened my eyes and found myself reborn, the pieces clicked into place. Declan was a textbook psychopath. He didn't want a partner; he wanted the thrill of the break. He relished the slow, agonizing process of domesticating a wild thing, watching a fierce woman lose her edges against his iron will. But what happens if the wild thing rolls over and begs for the leash from day one? With the System as my guide, I decided to find out. I transformed into Manhattan's most cloying, artificial, nauseatingly desperate trophy wife. 2 “Host, the light is at the end of the tunnel. He has someone else!” Five years. Five agonizing years of playing the fool, and the day had finally come. For half a decade, I had been his shadow. A cloying, suffocating perfume he couldn’t wash off. I smothered him with manufactured affection, suffocating him with I love yous until the words lost all meaning. Watching his interest in me slowly curdle into apathy, I had managed to push his Disgust Meter to a meager 15%. Then, the System delivered the miracle: Declan had taken an unusual interest in a new intern. Her name was Paige. She was a scholarship student funded by Crawford Industries, now working on the bottom rung of his corporate ladder. She had made a critical error, and when Declan reprimanded her, she had stared back at him with a fierce, unyielding defiance. That rebellious spark had caught his eye. She was exactly who I used to be in my past life. A new, brilliant plan bloomed in my mind. I hired a corporate spy for an exorbitant sum to permanently delete a crucial proposal Paige was responsible for, giving fate a little shove. When the time came, Paige faced termination. Before Declan could unleash his wrath, I stormed into his sprawling, glass-walled office and slapped Paige squarely across the cheek. "How could you be so utterly useless?" I screeched, fully leaning into the role of the venomous, jealous wife. "My husband and his executives spent weeks on that project! A cheap, pathetic little charity case like you couldn't pay for this damage if you sold your own organs!" Paige clutched her red cheek, a fire igniting in her eyes. She glared at me, then shifted her gaze to the silent man behind the mahogany desk. Her voice was crystal clear, though it shook with raw adrenaline. "Mr. Crawford, the mistake is mine, and I will take full responsibility. But what gives your wife the right to strip me of my dignity?" Declan’s long fingers tapped rhythmically against the polished wood. His gaze bypassed me entirely, locking onto Paige. I knew that look. I knew it intimately. It was the gaze of a predator discovering a fascinating new prey. "Valerie," he said, his voice quiet. "Apologize to her." I gasped, pressing a hand to my chest in exaggerated betrayal. "You want me to apologize to an intern? We grew up together, Declan! You’re taking her side over your own wife?" "Apologize." The word was a gavel striking wood. “Congratulations, Host. The psychopathic male lead’s Disgust Meter has risen to 19%!” The System’s chime was the sweetest music I’d ever heard. I was on the right track. "I'm sorry!" I wailed, throwing my hands over my face as if my world had shattered, and bolted from the office. Just before the heavy doors clicked shut, I stole a glance over my shoulder. Declan had stepped around his desk. He was standing in front of Paige, gently smoothing the collar of her blouse that I had rumpled. He didn't come home that night. The System gleefully informed me he had taken Paige out to get her cheek treated. 3 The next day, Declan returned at his usual hour. I immediately arranged a silver tray and marched into his study, a saccharine smile plastered across my face. "Darling, I had the chef brew your favorite espresso roast. It’s the perfect temperature." Declan was staring at his monitors, a crease between his brows. He didn’t look up, merely waving a hand. "Leave it. Get out." "I can't do that. You've been working so hard, you need a break." I slipped behind his leather chair, resting my hands on his broad shoulders, and began to massage the tense muscles. "Are you still mad about yesterday? I'm so sorry, sweetie. I promise I won't hit anyone ever again~" I cooed, fighting the urge to gag on my own dialogue. Declan froze. His eyes drifted from the screen to my face, heavy with a calculating scrutiny. In my past life, that look would have sent ice water through my veins. I always felt like he was dissecting my soul. But right now, all I was thinking about was the fact that I had pumped six shots of vanilla syrup into that espresso. I hoped the sugar shock would make his teeth ache. "Valerie." "Hmm?" I blinked, the picture of innocence. "You know I drink my coffee black. Is this your idea of an apology?" I shrank back, letting my eyes well up with instant, manufactured tears. "I just love you so much, Declan. I wanted to give you something sweet. I wanted to share the best things with you." Declan let out a low, derisive scoff. "You're overstepping. I don't want anyone wandering in and out of my study. Understood?" Understood. You son of a bitch, I thought. Before Paige showed up, I practically lived in this room. Now he was drawing boundaries. I let out a pathetic little whimper. Before I could layer on another apology, he reached up and shoved my hands off his shoulders. "Get out. Don't make me ask a third time." The second the study door clicked shut behind me, I wiped the fake tears away, practically buzzing with adrenaline. “System! Did the bar move? That sneer was absolute peak disgust!” “Hold steady, Host! Disgust Meter is at 25%. Keep up the good work!” 4 Over the next few weeks, Declan didn't just spare Paige from being fired; he began taking her everywhere. To high-level meetings, to elite dinners. I didn't slack off either. I fully embodied the unhinged, love-crazed wife. My relentless antics drove his Disgust Meter straight to 52%. But tonight, he delivered a masterpiece of a surprise. He brought Paige back to our Hamptons estate. I listened from the top of the stairs as he coolly instructed the estate manager. "Her landlord evicted her. She has nowhere to go. Prepare the master suite for her." He paused, adding with deliberate cruelty, "Make sure my wife and I are in separate rooms moving forward." Yes! No more sleeping next to the enemy! I stood in the hallway, looking down at the staff carrying her cheap bags, my heart throwing a literal parade. “Host, whatever you do, don’t smile. He’s right behind you!” I instantly dropped my shoulders, twisting my face into a portrait of absolute devastation as I turned to meet his glacial stare. "Declan, I'm used to the mattress in the master bedroom. I won't be able to sleep anywhere else." I bit my lower lip, letting my voice crack under the weight of feigned heartbreak. His eyes swept over my face. "Since when did you become so high-maintenance?" I lowered my head, the picture of defeat. "I'm just so terrified you're going to leave me. Having Miss Paige move into our bedroom... it makes me so scared..." A sharp, mocking laugh echoed from behind him. Paige crossed her arms and stepped into the light. "It's just a bedroom, Mrs. Crawford. Is it really worth the tears?" She tilted her chin up. "Or is crying the only trick you've learned from being a trophy wife?" I paused. The little intern has claws. She was definitely still holding a grudge over that slap. Perfect. I let the tears fall harder, thick and fast. "This is my home! You steal my room, and you have the nerve to insult me?" Contempt flashed in Paige’s eyes, paired with that familiar, reckless defiance. "Steal? If Mr. Crawford hadn't practically dragged me here, I would never have set foot in this mausoleum. If it's such a tragedy, I'll go sleep on a park bench. I wouldn't want to ruin the view." I peeked at Declan through my wet lashes. His eyes were entirely fixed on Paige. There was a dark, possessive hunger pooling in his irises. "You're staying in the master suite. Do not test my patience, Paige," Declan said, his voice low, vibrating with an authority that left no room for argument. Paige let out a sharp breath, her face tight with frustration, but she didn't argue. She just turned her head, staring out the massive bay windows into the night. I mentally applauded. Classic enemies-to-lovers tension. She knew exactly how to play the game without crossing the line. "As for you, Valerie," Declan's voice snapped like a whip as he turned back to me. "She was evicted because you sent your private investigators to harass her landlord. You owe her this. Keep your head down, and stay away from her." I reached out, trembling fingers grabbing the cuff of his suit jacket. "I can compromise. But I just want to see your face when I wake up. Can we please not sleep in separate rooms?" He stepped back. My fingers closed around empty air. "Go to your room. Stop being a nuisance." "I only do these things because I love you!" I cried. "Enough," he warned. "I... I understand." I looked like a widow mourning at a gravesite. “System, he’s treating me like radioactive waste. Give me the numbers.” “Report! Disgust Meter is at 55%. Host, your future is looking bright!” Psychopaths really hated being smothered. As long as I was a suffocating, pathetic mess, he would do the heavy lifting of pushing me away. Strike while the iron is hot. 5 To max out the meter as fast as possible, I escalated my campaign against Paige. One afternoon, perfectly timing it with Declan’s arrival, I "accidentally" knocked Paige’s freshly printed master’s thesis into the estate’s massive reflecting pool. "Oh, my! My hand just slipped. You can just print another one, right?" I offered a dazzlingly hollow apology. Paige didn't even yell. She looked at the sinking pages, kicked off her heels, and plunged straight into the freezing water. "Valerie! What the hell is wrong with you?" Declan strode across the terrace, shoving me aside. I threw myself onto the manicured lawn with a dramatic shriek, holding my wrist as if it were shattered. He didn't even spare me a glance. He hauled a shivering, soaked Paige out of the water, immediately stripping off his cashmere coat to wrap it around her trembling shoulders. "When does this end?" He looked down at me, and for the first time, the icy indifference in his eyes had melted into pure, unadulterated revulsion. "I won't stop!" I screamed, tilting my face to the sky, letting the tears stream down my cheeks. "I'm sick of this! Don't you think she's taking up too much of your time? You used to only look at me! Now you don't even see me! I hate her! I wish she would just disappear from the face of the earth!" "The only one who needs to disappear is you." Leaving the words hanging in the air like an executioner's axe, Declan picked Paige up in his arms, ignoring her weak protests, and carried her inside. At that exact moment, the System chimed its heavenly bell: “Disgust Meter surges to 70%! Host, that hysterical breakdown was Oscar-worthy. 10/10.” Declan’s tolerance for me had finally breached its limit. He stopped coming home altogether. When he wasn't at the corporate headquarters, he was traveling. Paige was always by his side. Her status elevated by the day. Even the estate staff started whispering, placing bets on how long it would take for the "crazy wife" to be tossed out onto the street. I couldn't wait. “Host, only 30% left,” the System urged. “Just pull off one more massive stunt. Break him. Make him demand the divorce.” I nodded silently in my dark bedroom. It was time for the grand finale. I had to strike before he grew numb to my hysteria. 6 Crawford Industries was hosting its grand anniversary gala at The Plaza. It was the event of the season. Board members, Wall Street titans, and New York’s most vicious gossip columnists would all be there. If I caused an irredeemable, catastrophic scene on that stage... A wicked smile stretched across my face. The night of the gala, I didn't arrive with Declan. I showed up two hours late. When I pushed open the gilded double doors of the grand ballroom, Declan was at the podium, delivering his keynote address. Paige stood just a few feet away from him, clutching a clipboard, looking every inch the indispensable right-hand woman. I took a deep breath, hyped myself up into a state of absolute mania, and sprinted down the center aisle. "Declan! Crawford!" My shrill, weeping scream tore through the room. The acoustics of the ballroom picked it up, shattering the elegant silence. Hundreds of heads snapped toward me. Ignoring the horrified gasps of the city's elite, I stormed up the stairs and snatched the microphone right out of the MC's hand. "How long are you going to keep lying to me?! Today is my birthday, and you didn't just forget—you brought this homewrecker here to flaunt her in my face!" Tears streaming, mascara running, I pointed a shaking finger at Paige. I let my face twist into a grotesque mask of pure, unhinged jealousy. Declan’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek. He stepped forward to grab the mic. "Have you lost your mind? Look at where you are. Get off the stage!" "No!" I dodged his grasp and lunged at Paige. Right behind her stood a ten-tier champagne tower. Acting completely feral, I raised my hand to strike her. Paige instinctively stepped back. I grabbed her arm—making it look like a struggle—and shoved her backward with all my might. CRASH. With the deafening roar of shattering crystal, the twenty-thousand-dollar champagne tower collapsed. Glass and vintage Dom Pérignon exploded everywhere. Declan grabbed Paige’s waist, yanking her out of the worst of it so she wasn't cut, but she was drenched. Her designer gown and heels were ruined, her hair plastered to her face. The ballroom erupted into chaos. The blinding flash of paparazzi cameras strobed like lightning, immortalizing my psychotic breakdown. Sensing the climax had arrived, I reached into my clutch and pulled out a thick stack of photographs. I had hired a PI to tail them all week. The shots were blurry but damning—Paige entering our Hamptons estate, Declan opening the car door for her, late-night dinners. I threw the photos into the air like confetti. "Look at him! Look at the great CEO of Crawford Industries! He leaves his lawful wife to rot while he plays house with a college girl! He moved her into my bedroom! He forced me into the guest room!" The room dissolved into a roaring frenzy of whispers and gasps. Declan’s face had drained of all color, his eyes dark as pitch. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the centerpiece of the stage—a 1920s vintage Victrola phonograph. Declan had won it at an auction in London. He prized the damn thing. I grabbed an unbroken bottle of champagne by the neck and swung it like a baseball bat directly into the antique wood. "If I can't be happy, none of you get to be happy!" CRACK. The heavy wood splintered and caved in with a sickening crunch. The brass horn bent, groaning under the impact. I looked at Declan. His hands were trembling. "Valerie." He said my name so quietly, yet it was infinitely more terrifying than a scream. "As of tonight, you no longer exist in this city." His voice was a razor blade. "Get out. Don't ever let me see your face again. If you do, I will show you what a living hell truly is." He didn't threaten to lock me up like in my past life. He looked at me as if even laying eyes on me made him feel diseased. I collapsed into the puddle of champagne and glass, sobbing hysterically, gasping for air as if my heart had been ripped from my chest. Two massive security guards hooked their arms under my armpits and dragged me out of the ballroom. As the doors slammed shut behind me, the most beautiful sound in the universe rang in my ears: “80%... 95%... 99%... 100%!” “Ding! The psychopathic male lead’s Disgust Meter has reached its maximum capacity. He has initiated the termination of the marriage. The System decrees: Survival Mission Accomplished!” I lay sprawled on the cold marble floor of the hotel lobby, my shoulders shaking violently. To the terrified hotel staff watching, I was a broken woman weeping in sheer agony. In reality, holding back my laughter was causing me physical pain. I was finally free!!!
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