On the day the bandages were removed from my eyes, I didn’t see him. Instead, I received a message from his childhood best friend: "You might have saved Sebastian’s life, but don't think you can use that to guilt-trip him. He’s too busy to pick you up. Find your own way home." I called him. The phone rang once before he hung up on me. When I finally saw him three days later, he didn't ask how I was. He demanded to know why I was "spreading lies" to ruin his best friend’s reputation. I looked at the golden aura above his head—the literal manifestation of his luck and destiny. It was flickering and fading fast. Suddenly, accepting that I was the tragic female lead in a "heartbreak novel" didn't seem so hard after all. 01 The day I realized I was the protagonist of a tragic romance novel, I was in a hospital bed having my bandages removed. The moment the gauze fell away, a flood of information surged into my mind like a tidal wave. I saw my future: I was a mobile blood bank and organ farm for his "Golden Girl" first love. I was the designated scapegoat for his manipulative childhood friend. My entire family was destined to die because of him. Eventually, I would take my own life, and only then would he realize he loved me, holding my ashes in a state of eternal, pathetic regret. I sat there, frozen, unable to process it for a long time. One thing kept bothering me. If I was already dead in the end, what was the point of his regret? Did he think his tears were a legal pardon? The young nurse thought I was just devastated that Sebastian Reed hadn't shown up. She tried to cover for him, her voice small and hesitant. "Mr. Reed should be here soon. He said he was coming today. He always keeps his word." I looked at her young, fresh face. Her concern was genuine. I forced a smile. "It’s okay. I’ll wait." But seconds later, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Seraphina Miller: "You might have saved Sebastian’s life, but don't think you can use that to guilt-trip him. He’s too busy to pick you up. Find your own way home." Seraphina was the "childhood sweetheart" trope. In the original plot, half of the torment Sebastian put me through was her doing. She knew she couldn't compete with Sebastian’s "Golden Girl," so she stepped back. But she couldn't stand a "nobody" like me being the one to actually date him. She spent every waking hour trying to make me miserable so I would quit. She was an expert at picking on the weak. I waited for an hour, then dialed Sebastian’s number. He declined the call instantly. The nurse looked at me with a pity she tried hard to hide. I felt bad for her. Honestly, everyone could see how badly Sebastian treated me. I was the person who had literally saved his life. He had put me in the best hospital and hired the best staff. He did everything except actually show up. That isn't how you treat a savior. That’s how you maintain a piece of equipment. I checked myself out of the hospital. The nurse hovered around me, treating me like I was made of glass. I took an Uber back to Sebastian’s estate, packed my essentials in ten minutes, and left. By the time the sun set, I had rented a small, clean apartment across town. I needed to sit down and think. Why would a rational, educated woman like me ever allow someone to harvest her organs and ruin her life for "love"? 02 I realized it was the "Sunk Cost Fallacy." I had invested so much time, emotion, and literal blood into Sebastian that I had let him push my boundaries back inch by inch. Leaving felt impossible because I kept waiting for a return on my investment. Originally, I couldn't accept that he had a "Golden Girl" tucked away in his heart. I fought him. I screamed. But every time I tried to leave, something would go wrong—a family crisis, a freak accident—and Sebastian would "casually" save me. I felt obligated to stay. And Seraphina? Her provocations weren't new. He just called her "spirited" or "immature." He expected me to be the bigger person. He expected me to be a saint. Everyone was the same age, yet I was the only one denied the right to have feelings. His double standards had always been there; I just chose to be blind to them. Not anymore. I sent a text to Sebastian: "We’re over. Don't contact me." Three years of devotion, ended in six words. Then, I texted Seraphina: "There was once a fox who couldn't reach the grapes, so he called them sour. Then someone else got the grapes, and the fox turned into a rabid dog. Well, I’ve tasted them. They are sour. I’ve thrown them in the dirt. You can have them now." Three days later, Sebastian found me. He was outside my door, his voice cold and commanding. "Open the door, Quinn. I know you’re in there." He was always efficient. I wasn't surprised he found me so fast. I opened the door. He stood in the hallway, I stood in the frame. We stared at each other. Sebastian was a beautiful man. He had eyes that looked like they were made for poetry. Even standing in a dingy hallway, he looked like a masterpiece. Some people are just born with a narrative. He brushed past me, sat on my small sofa, and said coldly, "Why did you send that message to Seraphina? Go and apologize to her." I leaned against the doorframe, watching him. I saw it clearly then. The moment those words left his mouth, a wave of tangible malice radiated from him toward me. But as it hit me, it bounced back. It slammed into him, and I watched the shimmering purple aura around him—his "Main Character Energy"—shatter and bleed away. Did his cruelty toward me actually damage his own destiny? I stayed silent for too long. Sebastian lost his patience. His eyes were dark with suppressed rage. "Quinn Avery, are you even listening to me?" I blinked. "What year is it, Sebastian?" He looked confused for a second, then sneered. "What kind of game is this now?" That word—"now." It showed how little he trusted me. He was so certain I was just playing a trick to get attention. I lost all interest in talking to him. "It’s 2023," I said calmly. "The 1950s are over. We are broken up. I owe you nothing, and I certainly don't owe that girl an apology. She isn't worth my time. Please leave." Sebastian’s confident mask slipped. He looked at me as if seeing a stranger. "Is this because I didn't pick you up from the hospital? Are you really throwing a tantrum over that?" I pointed at the door. I didn't say a word. Sebastian had too much pride to beg. He stood up, his face turning into a mask of ice. "You have one hour to apologize to Seraphina. I’m giving you one last chance." He talked tough, but his aura was leaking like a punctured tire. I slammed the door, locking him out. I thought that because I knew my "destiny," I wouldn't be sad. I was wrong. My heart still ached with every breath. An hour later, my phone rang. It was him. I turned the phone off and slept for fourteen hours. The next morning, I was flooded with notifications. The most urgent was an email from HR at Sebastian’s firm, where I worked as a lead designer. "Ms. Avery, your recent medical leave has caused significant delays. The company has filled your position. Please come in to sign your voluntary resignation papers." I had saved Sebastian’s life, and this was his thanks? He was too cheap to even fire me properly; he wanted me to quit so he didn't have to pay severance. I replied: "Is the company firing me?" HR: "The position is no longer a fit. We suggest you resign voluntarily." Me: "My recent designs just won a national award for this firm. If you want me gone, send an official termination notice. Otherwise, I will show up for my shift. If you attempt to withhold my legal compensation, I will file a complaint with the Labor Board." The reply was a long string of dots, followed by: "You offended the wrong person. Don't make this hard on us. You and Mr. Reed are close—why don't you just talk to him?" I stared at the screen. This was his plan. Force me into a corner so I’d crawl back to him. But things bought with "pity" are never as strong as things protected by the law. If the Billionaire CEO wanted to be a legal illiterate, I was happy to give him a crash course. I went to the office. The receptionist’s jaw dropped. She scrambled for the phone to report my arrival. My desk was covered in junk—random boxes and old files piled high, clearly moved there that morning. I saw a couple of interns whispering and ducking away when I looked at them. I took a photo of the desk, then began swiping the junk onto the floor, piece by piece. I was about to log into my computer when a hand stopped me. "Quinn, you don't work here anymore. You shouldn't be touching company property." The voice was sugary sweet, designed to trigger an immediate temper flare. I looked up. It was Seraphina. And standing right behind her was Sebastian. He stood there with his usual cold indifference, as if the world was beneath him. I remembered the book’s description of him: "Amidst the chaos of the world, he stands alone, untouched by the dust of mortality. Nothing is worthy of his heart." I used to find that poetic. Now, experiencing it firsthand, I realized the truth: Sebastian was just a garden-variety sociopath. He wasn't worth my life. I ignored Seraphina and looked at Sebastian. "Mr. Reed, are you firing me?" Before he could speak, Seraphina chirped, "You've been let go. Can't you take a hint?" "Ms. Miller, this company belongs to the Reed family. Until you're wearing a wedding ring, you don't make the calls here." Seraphina paled and looked at Sebastian for support. Sebastian looked at me, giving me one of his "tests." 03 I knew what he wanted. He wanted me to bow. He wanted me to apologize to Seraphina. I wouldn't open my mouth. Sebastian’s patience snapped. "Sign the resignation, Quinn," he said, his voice like dry ice. "Resignation? No. Fire me." I wasn't going to let him off the hook. "Quinn Avery, have some dignity," Seraphina hissed. "You're being fired." "Firing someone is an administrative action. If I violated company policy, provide the written notice and specify which clause I broke." "You missed days of work!" "Saving the CEO’s life counts as an on-the-job injury, doesn't it? If it does, I expect workers' comp. If it doesn't, Mr. Reed should be handing me a plaque and a bonus for saving his life, not trying to frame me for absenteeism." The office went silent. Most of the staff didn't know I was the one who had taken a hit for Sebastian. They just knew we were "involved." In the past, I never talked about it. My parents taught me to be humble. But humility only works with good people. With predators, humility is just an invitation to eat you. You have to peel back their skin and show the world the monster underneath. Seraphina turned bright red. She tried to speak, but Sebastian cut her off. "Quinn, the company is officially terminating you. Go to HR and finish the paperwork." He turned and walked away, his posture rigid and arrogant. Seraphina hurried after him. "Sebastian, wait for me!" I watched them go, pushing down the last ember of grief in my chest. I used to love that arrogant strength of his. But now, watching his aura fade from gold to a dull, dusty yellow... I felt nothing. He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew this would hurt me. He just wanted to see me break. He wanted to see me lose myself so he could feel in control. The book said his childhood was traumatic, leaving him with a desperate need to dominate his surroundings. So he tormented the female lead. He watched her give up everything until she died. And in the story, after she died, he lived on with the "satisfaction" of knowing she had loved him unconditionally. Tragic leads usually have a martyr complex. I didn't. The moment those bandages came off, my "Love Brain" was discarded in the hospital trash. 04 I went to HR. The manager, a woman who lived to please Sebastian and Seraphina, pushed a "Voluntary Resignation" form toward me. Resignation means I get nothing. Termination means the company owes me severance, unused vacation days, and overtime pay. The difference was about fifty thousand dollars. I flicked the paper back at her. "I've changed my mind. I like working here. I think I'll stay." I stood up to leave. She panicked. "Quinn, what are you doing?" "Heh." I walked back to my desk and started backing up my portfolio and gathering evidence of my awards. The manager followed me, her voice softening. "Quinn, let's just talk this through." I ignored her. Sebastian sent a message on the office Slack: "?" I deleted it and blocked him. A few minutes later, the manager's phone rang. She answered with a fawning, terrified tone. "Yes, Mr. Reed. I understand. Right away." She hung up, glared at me, and went back into her office. When she came out, she handed me three documents: an Official Termination Notice, a Final Paycheck Calculation, and a Severance Agreement. "It’s all here. Sign it." "I just got out of the hospital. My vision is blurry. I need to take these home and review them slowly." The manager looked like she was about to explode. Then, her phone rang again. Her face smoothed into a sugary smile. "Miss Miller! Yes, of course. I'm working on it right now. Don't worry." She hung up and told me I had to finish by the end of the day. I watched her walk away. We'll see about that. I felt like making her stay late today. I ran the numbers. She had left out my accrued vacation time—sixteen days. According to labor laws, unused vacation must be paid out at three times the daily rate upon termination. That was nearly a month's salary right there. And the severance? She calculated it based on my base pay, not my average total compensation (including bonuses). In the book, I left without a cent because I was "too heartbroken" to care about money. I ended up living in a tiny basement, got sick, and Sebastian "rescued" me. Only to find out his Golden Girl needed blood. I was a rare Rh-negative type. So was she. I was her personal tap. And because I was the "tragic lead," my body was magically able to survive constant blood draws while being mistreated. I wasn't going to be anyone's tap. I was going to be Sebastian’s legal nightmare. I waited until five minutes before the end of the day. The manager had been chewed out by both Sebastian and Seraphina at least three times by then. I pointed to the forms. "These two calculations are wrong. Redo them." "What's wrong with them?" "I'm off the clock now. I'll tell you tomorrow." "Quinn! You're doing this on purpose!" "Yes. I am." I smiled, grabbed my purse, and walked out. I was fired—why would I work overtime? "Quinn, please! Just help me out. You don't want to see Mr. Reed and Miss Miller again, do you?" I stopped and looked behind her. Sebastian and Seraphina were standing there. Their cold gazes swept over me and landed on the manager. She was trembling, her previous arrogance completely gone. I laughed softly. "You're right. I really don't want to see them. Fine, I'll help you." The manager looked like she wanted to cry and kiss my feet at the same time. She fixed the numbers in record time, her hands shaking. "Ms. Avery, it's all correct now. Please sign." I looked it over and pushed it back again. "You forgot my overtime for today. Add it in." The manager’s face went purple. She looked like she wanted to kill me, but she had no choice. She reprinted the forms, and I finally signed. As I finished, she hissed under her breath, "I hope I never see your face again." "The feeling is mutual. By the way, the way you slave away to save a billionaire a few pennies... you look like a ghost guarding someone else's gold. It's pathetic." 05 I walked out of the building. I had secured nearly eighty thousand dollars in the settlement. With that, I could take my time finding a new job. I wouldn't end up dying in a basement like the book predicted. "Are you satisfied now?" Sebastian was standing in the shadows of the parking garage, smoking. The light caught his jawline. He was still a beautiful man. Even knowing the truth, my heart still gave a treacherous little flutter. But that was just biology. I looked at him and hit the button for the elevator. "Company policy says this entire floor is a smoke-free zone. That’s a two-hundred-dollar fine. Remember to pay it tomorrow. Being the CEO doesn't mean you're above the rules." Sebastian froze. He crushed the cigarette out and stormed off toward his car. Over the next few weeks, I followed my doctor’s orders. Every time my stomach ached from the meds or my eyes stung from the drops, I felt a wave of regret. I should have let Sebastian get hit by that car. Health is worth more than a man. I started mapping out the timeline from the book to see where I could change my fate. Sebastian’s "Golden Girl," Natalia Vance, was a famous prima ballerina. She was the "White Moonlight"—pure, beautiful, and kind. In the book, she was innocent. She didn't know about the suffering Sebastian caused me. But she was the primary beneficiary. Her health was built on the slow destruction of mine. So, when the news broke that Natalia had fallen during a performance and was hospitalized, I didn't wait. I booked a flight to Thailand. I turned my phone on after landing in Bangkok and was immediately hit by a barrage of missed calls. I answered Sebastian’s call. He was hysterical. "Where the hell are you? You have thirty minutes to get to the hospital—" I cut him off. "Who is this?" "Quinn, this isn't a game. Natalia needs a transfusion. Stop being petty. I'll compensate you for whatever you want later, but get here now." "Mr. Reed, the National Blood Services Act states that donation is voluntary. Furthermore, a donor must be in good health and cannot have had major surgery in the last six months. I was discharged less than a month ago after saving your life. Do you even see me as a human being? Or just a spare part for your ballerina?" The line went silent. I hung up. Facing the tropical sun, I tried to smile. It was hard. But it felt better than bleeding out in a sterile room. I stayed in Thailand for two weeks until the news confirmed Natalia was out of danger. Then, I flew home. The trip had been expensive, so I needed a job. I sent out my resume and got several interviews. I made it to the final round for three positions, only to have the companies suddenly stop responding. I called one of the recruiters I had a good rapport with. "Ms. Avery, you're brilliant. We wanted to hire you, but a 'higher power' suggested we shouldn't. I'm telling you this off the record because your portfolio is amazing. You might want to check if you've upset someone powerful." I thanked her. A few minutes later, I got a text from Seraphina: "I let you run away to Thailand because I was busy. But don't think you can just come back and work in this city. If you're smart, you'll know what to do." She wanted to starve me out. But I wasn't going to let her. I applied to Sebastian’s biggest rival, Thorne Industries. I aced the interview. Three months later, I entered a national design competition under the Thorne banner. I won. When I stood on that stage in a designer gown, lifting the trophy, the sense of achievement was better than anything Sebastian had ever given me. Validation from yourself is much more addictive than validation from a man. At the gala following the awards, I was networking with my new boss, Harrison Thorne. We walked past Sebastian. Harrison smiled, his eyes sharp. "Sebastian, thanks for letting Quinn go. She’s the best asset I’ve acquired this year. You're very generous." Sebastian didn't look at Harrison. He was staring at me. "Ms. Avery, did you forget your non-compete clause? Joining a direct rival within a year is a breach of contract. I can sue you." I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "You should thank your HR manager. She was so focused on saving you fifty grand that she never had me sign a non-compete. Why do you think I was able to leave so easily?" Harrison burst out laughing. "Eighty grand! For eighty grand you lost a national award winner! Sebastian, your staff is incredible. Quinn, I think I'll give you a raise tomorrow." I raised my glass to Sebastian and walked away. Harrison spent the rest of the night telling everyone the story of how Sebastian lost me over a cheap severance package. The room was filled with muffled laughter. Sebastian’s reputation as a "genius" was taking a hit. I noticed his aura was no longer yellow. It was turning a muddy, bruised red. But that wasn't my problem. That night, as I got out of the elevator at my apartment, I saw a figure leaning against the wall. Sebastian was there, a cigarette in his hand. He looked disheveled and tired, which somehow made him look even more attractive. "Does it have to be like this?" he asked. "It shouldn't be anything. We're strangers. Please leave." "You never used to be like this." "And you used to be a human being. I guess we both changed. Goodnight, Mr. Reed." He didn't move. "I made a mistake!" He practically ran to the stairs, unable to even wait for the elevator, fleeing like a ghost.
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