Chapter 1"I think I have a problem. A mental one."
I straightened my posture in the chair, my expression serious. A flicker of nervousness made my fingers, pale and delicate, tighten unconsciously around the armrests.
Campbelln Miller, a therapist with years of experience, had seen it all. He remained calm. "Mrs. Sinclair, please try to relax. Can you elaborate on why you've come to this conclusion?"
"There are… hallucinations. In my head. I keep hearing someone… no, not someone, a thing… talking to me. I looked it up online. It's schizophrenia."
Dr. Miller opened his notepad, made a brief note, and set his pen down. "Mrs. Sinclair, hallucinations can occur under many circumstances. You seem exhausted. Perhaps what you really need is a good night's sleep."
I shook my head, shooting him an irritated glare. "Are you even a doctor? I come here for help and you tell me to sleep?! If you don't want to treat me, have your director send someone else."
"…" Tactical silence. After a hesitant moment, he picked up his pen again, his demeanor turning professional.
"My apologies, that was unprofessional. Please continue, Mrs. Sinclair. Could you describe these hallucinations in more detail?"
That's more like it.
My expression softened slightly, but my tone grew grave. "There's this… voice. In my head. It's annoying. It constantly eggs me on, tries to get me to do bad things. And if I don't listen… it takes over my body."
Dr. Miller's pen hovered. "What does it look like?"
I tried to recall. "It doesn't have a shape. Sometimes it's like a fog. Sometimes a ball of light."
The doctor didn't seem too concerned. He pressed on. "You said it takes control. Can you describe how?"
I frowned. "I don't know. It's like it hijacks my consciousness. Every time it forces its way in, my memories get scrambled. I forget a lot of old things. I only remember the most recent event."
"Please describe it."
"A few days ago, Florence came to bother me again." My voice tightened. "She was insulting, tried to hit me. I just wanted Mrs. Dawson to show her out, but… it… egged me on. Told me to hit her with the vase on the table." I swallowed.
"I don't like Florence, but I never wanted to kill her. When I came to… she was on the floor in a pool of blood. And I was holding the vase. It controlled me."
The doctor's pen stopped. He looked up at me, startled.
Florence was a cousin from the Sinclair family's third branch. The top-tier private hospital where Dr. Miller worked was largely owned by the Sinclairs. The day of the incident, the entire upper management had been in an uproar, flying in cranial experts from around the globe to Portland overnight. Everyone had wondered who would dare raise a hand against someone under the Sinclair umbrella.
Perfect. Now he saw the culprit—yes, it was me. The secrets of wealthy families were tangled webs, especially for an old-money dynasty like the Sinclairs. To him, my story sounded less like schizophrenia and more like a convenient excuse—a plea of insanity after the fact. He probably thought I’d watched too many TV dramas, believing a “mental illness” label could get me off the hook. But sorry, Doc—with the strange voices playing in my head, I’m the real deal.
He fell silent, his expression caught somewhere between unease and calculation. Finally, his tone turned gravely professional: “Are there any other hallucinations?”
I nodded. "Yes. Besides the voice… there's a book. In my head."
"A book?"
"Mhm. The voice tells me I'm not really a person. I'm just a vicious cannon fodder character in a book. And that book… is the world we're living in right now." My voice dropped. "It's like the serpent in Eden. Always trying to tempt me to open that book."
Dr. Miller's eyebrows shot up—a look of pure, startled disbelief flashing across his face—before he swiftly clamped down, tightening his expression into one of strained professionalism.
"Well," he began, his voice careLopezlly measured, "did you open this book? And… do you even believe it exists?"
I shot him a look. "Of course not. Being written as vicious and stupid is bad enough, but a cannon fodder? With my looks, I should be the female lead anywhere." I reconsidered, indignation rising. "The main female lead!"
"…" Dr. Miller was at a loss for words.
But I believe he recognized my point.After all, even if I was known for my outrageous behavior and less-than-stellar reputation, in Portland, I was still the envy of countless young women.
Adopted by the Sinclair family at ten. Married to the eldest Sinclair heir at twenty.
My life was practically a Cinderella fairytale script! If someone like me was just cannon fodder, then what did that make everyone else? Background extras who only got one scene?
My throat felt dry after all that talking. I tapped the desk impatiently. "So? Do you understand my condition now?"
"…" Dr. Miller nodded.
I let out a long sigh of relief. "Good. Prescribe the meds, then."
So lucid. Doesn't seem crazy at all.
Dr. Miller’s expression turned thoughtLopezl. Suddenly, his eyes drifted toward the gossip rag lying on the side table—there it was, a photograph.
Mr. Sinclair—Liam Sinclair—had been caught on camera leaving the upscale Barron Hotel in the early morning hours with the newly crowned nation’s sweetheart, Sienna Vance.
His brows knitted even tighter, and then he glanced at me with fresh understanding.
“What? Is it hard to treat?”
I asked. Honestly, nothing else concerned me right now—only whether this mental condition of mine could be cured.
Otherwise, Liam Sinclair’s head would be just as much at risk as Florence’s.
Dr. Miller snapped back to reality, quickly shaking his head.
"N-no, not hard to treat at all. I'll write the prescription right now. You can wait in the VIP lounge. A nurse will bring your medication when it's ready."
I nodded and stood up, leaving the consultation room.
I'd only taken a few steps when I remembered I'd forgotten to tell him to keep this confidential. Liam already disliked me.
If he found out something was wrong with my head, he'd definitely use it as an excuse to divorce me. I didn't care about him anymore, but I couldn't leave the Sinclair family just yet.
No. I couldn't give Liam that kind of leverage.
I turned back. Just as I was about to push the door open, I heard him talking to someone inside.
"Yes, that's right, Mr. Walsh. The young Mrs. Sinclair has left."
"From the symptoms, there doesn't seem to be any major issue. The lady is likely just sleep-deprived and overthinking. I've prescribed some sleep aids. Yes, alright. I'll compile a copy of her file and send it over right away."
"Of course, of course. No trouble at all. You're too kind, Mr. Walsh. Goodbye."
The man was practically bowing into his phone, all professional decorum gone.
Mr. Walsh. Gabriel Walsh. Liam's attack dog.
A cold smile tugged at my lips. In three years of marriage, Liam had never once called me. And now he had his hound tracking my movements. How… flattering.
Chapter 2
I left the hospital and went straight back to Morningwood Estate.
The sprawling property was a wedding gift from Grandfather Sinclair when I married Liam.
The old man had even joked with me back then: If that boy Liam ever treats you poorly or makes you unhappy, you come back here. Ignore him. Let him stew.
Grandfather overestimated me. I’d been living here for three years now, and Liam wasn't stewing at all.
Most of the estate staff was gone. Only Mrs. Dawson, a driver, and a few gardeners remained.
"Ma'am, you're back?" Mrs. Dawson hurried out from the kitchen, where the smell of simmering soup lingered.
"Yeah." My voice was flat, my energy spent.
She took my purse, her face etched with concern. "Well? What did the doctor say?"
"That quack said there's nothing wrong with me."
Mrs. Dawson only knew I'd gone for a check-up, not that it was with a psychiatrist. Relief washed over her. "Nothing wrong is good! That's wonderLopezl. I heard Miss Florence is at Harmony General too. Did you see her? Run into Young Master Liam?"
I frowned, irritation prickling. I'd noticed it by now. No matter what I did, nobody believed me. They all thought it was just another ploy to get Liam's attention.
Seeing my dark expression, Mrs. Dawson quickly clammed up. She gave an awkward smile and knelt to help me with my shoes. When she saw the champagne-colored, diamond-studded heels on my feet, her expression faltered for a second.
I looked down at the woman at my feet, a wave of exhaustion hitting me. "Mrs. Dawson. You should leave too."
She froze, looking up at me, bewildered. "Ma'am? Did I do something wrong? I—"
I shook my head. My tone was matter-of-fact. "No. You didn't do anything wrong. It's just… I'm tired of this world. I might die soon. Keeping you here would be a waste of your time." I added, "Don't worry. I'll give you money. A lot of it. Enough that you'll never have to work again."
"Ma'am…" Her eyes had begun to well up, but now she just looked conLopezsed. "Ma'am, should I… should I call Mr. Walsh right now? Tell him you might be planning to die?!"
I stared at her.
Wait, no. Mrs. Dawson scratched her head, then seemed to have a lightbulb moment. She looked hesitant. "Ma'am, it's not that I don't want to help. It's just… I don't have the Young Master's private number."
I pinched the bridge of my nose, sidestepping her with what little strength I had left, muttering under my breath, "What kind of deadbeat writer came up with this character setup…"
The back gardens of Morningwood were a sea of flowers.
Three years ago, this place had been filled with rare, expensive roses from around the world. After Grandfather Sinclair passed, they were all replaced with peonies.
It was April. A light drizzle fell. Peak bloom season.
The garden was a riot of color, blossoms and leaves stretching as far as the eye could see.
I walked into the glass conservatory, kicked off my heels, and sank into the wicker chaise lounge.
This was my favorite thing to do now. Rocking gently, watching the peonies sway in the spring breeze, forming that endless, tranquil sea. In these moments, I felt truly relaxed. A strange, peaceLopezl looseness, like I could just… fade away here.
Buzz-buzz-buzz—
The phone on the side table lit up, shattering the silence with a rapid series of notifications.
I frowned. I hardly used my phone anymore. I'd only turned it on and charged it before leaving the house today. I'd forgotten to shut it off after the hospital.
I picked it up, thumb hovering over the power button. Then I paused.
Three headlines glared from the screen.
#BOMBSHELL! Sinclair Heir's Secret Affair Exposed!!! Spotted leaving The Barron Hotel with rising starlet Sienna Vance after an obviously intimate all-nighter!
#Rising Star Sienna Vance Labeled Homewrecker, Trends Overnight!
#Hotel Scandal Tears Veil Off Sinclair Empire! Stocks Plunge 10%, Family Fortune Shrinks by 130 Billion Overnight.
Sienna?
I tapped the main article. There was only one photo—a blurry shot of a man and woman leaning into each other, backs to the camera. Anyone with eyes could see it was more than friendly. The light in my eyes dimmed a little. I focused on the other figure in the shot, zooming in with my fingers.
The woman had long, flowing hair and wore a jade-green cheongsam. A classic silhouette, slender shoulders, a narrow waist. Even zooming in with a critical eye, I couldn't find a single flaw.
"Sienna Vance… Since when did someone like her enter their circle?"
Ding! New character unlocked. Sienna Vance. Legitimate daughter of the prestigious Vance family. Character Tags: Stunning Beauty. Kind but not a pushover. Intelligent and strategic. Liam Sinclair's Official Love Interest.
I closed my eyes, tapping my temple lightly. "Did I ask for your commentary?"
"……"
I thought for a second, tapped my temple again. "If she's his 'official love interest,' then what am I?"
You are Liam Sinclair's cannon fodder ex-wife. You are more beautiLopezl than anyone, yet he remains unmoved, holding onto his principles… until the female lead, Sienna Vance, appears. Then the unattainable flower descends from his high peak. As the female lead's foil, your role is to highlight Liam's duality. Your character traits of foolishness, viciousness, and pettiness are crucial for driving the main couple's romantic development.
"……" A cold laugh escaped me. No wonder. Back when we got married, no matter how I tried to please or seduce him, Liam never touched me. So I was just the clown in someone else's love story all along.
Buzz—
Another notification.
#【TRENDING】Liam Sinclair's Wife, Lily Johnson, Suspected of Mental Breakdown? Attached was a grainy photo of me leaving the VIP psychiatric suite.
The picture was out-of-focus and blurry, but the kind of unreal, unearthly beauty was still recognizable.
Ugh. Since when did Harmony General's privacy suck this badly?
#【TRENDING】Young Mrs. Sinclair's Obsession with Her Husband: No True Love in the Lap of Luxury. A Beauty Fades Even Before the Love Does.
Another photo of my back as I left the hospital. The paparazzo had zoomed in for a close-up of my feet.
Caption: Mrs. Sinclair wears her WEDDING SHOES to a doctor's appointment! The weight of unrequited love! Her desperate ploys for attention never end!
"……"
What brain-dead tabloid writer came up with that headline?!
My brows knitted together. I shot a look of pure disgust at the heels I'd tossed carelessly by the chaise.
Mrs. Dawson was busy this morning, so I'd grabbed a pair from the closet myself. What were the odds? They were the shoes I'd worn to marry Liam.
No wonder Mrs. Dawson had looked at me so strangely earlier. She thought the same as everyone else—that I was still hopelessly, pathetically obsessed with Liam Sinclair.
How could I explain to them that the obsession was in the past? From the moment I moved to Morningwood, from the moment I started hearing more and more of those voices… I'd let that obsession go.
I thought for a moment, then downloaded a popular second-hand selling app. I listed the wedding shoes for sale.
Price: One cent.
If I'm worthless in your world, then get out of mine.
…
Chapter 3
"Nothing you do matters. This world's plot is set. Even if you sell the shoes you married Liam in, they'll still think the same thing about you."
Buzz—
The moment the thought-voice finished, another trending notification hit my phone.
#BREAKING From Love to Spite?! Mrs. Sinclair's Alleged Secret Account Sells Wedding Shoes Online — A Final, Desperate Gambit?
"……"
"You see? Your character tags are locked in. Nothing you do changes the narrative. No one knows your true intentions."
"Doesn't matter," I said, the words landing without emotion. "I know." I went to power off the phone.
Just then, the screen lit up. An incoming call.
The contact name: Hubby.
My finger froze. The dull weariness in my eyes solidified into something hard. This was the first time Liam had contacted me on his own since Grandfather died…
Hold on. Was my brain also mush back then? What kind of disgusting contact name is that?!
After a moment's hesitation, I slowly pressed answer.
I didn't speak. Silence from the other end, too.
Still so distant. So cold. A wave of pure boredom washed over me. "Liam. Speak."
The person on the other end seemed startled. Then came that voice, low and frosty. "Delete the account. Stop causing a scene."
Causing a scene? My eyebrow arched. "Liam, me going to a doctor is 'causing a scene'? What do you call checking into a hotel with another woman? Trying to start a hurricane?"
Silence. He clearly hadn't expected that retort. After a long pause, a thread of displeasure entered his tone. "Lily. Drop the cheap theatrics. You know exactly what our marriage is. If it weren't for Grandfather…"
I was done with his lecture. I cut him off, impatience sharpening my voice. "Sorry, Mr. Sinclair. I'm mentally ill now! I can't control myself! So I can't 'drop' a damn thing." The book-voice said the tags were fixed. Nothing could change that.
"……" Another stretch of silence from Liam. Finally, his voice came through, colder than before. "It seems there really is something wrong with your mind."
Finally, someone believes me! Annoyance gave way to a perverse sense of satisfaction. My tone actually softened a notch. "Exactly! Liam, not only is my mind messed up, my actions are out of my control too. So don't tell me what to do. I won't listen. Got it?"
"……" His voice dropped several degrees. "So this is about deflecting blame for what happened to Florence? Lily, Grandfather has been gone for three years. How long do you think I'll keep tolerating this? You'd better behave. Otherwise…"
The mention of Grandfather Sinclair froze the faint, mocking smile on my face. My voice turned to ice. "Liam. I said, don't tell me what to do."
Having made my position clear, I hung up immediately. I was about to shut down the phone for good when another explosive headline popped up.
#【BREAKING】Governor Silas Kane of South Bay Arrives in Portland for Congressional Campaign. New Policy Proposals Win Widespread Public Praise. Following 'Most Outstanding Governor' Award, Silas Kane Poised to Become Portland's Youngest Congressman in History.
Silas Kane was back in the country?
A quiet ripple moved through the stillness in my eyes.
No wonder Liam couldn't help but call.
Who would have thought? The overlooked, illegitimate son from the Sinclair family manor had climbed this high.
I wondered what Grandfather would have felt if he knew?
Probably happy. They were all children he'd raised with care.
Ding! The book-voice intruded again. "The narrative world you inhabit is titled 'A Legacy of Power.' It chronicles the loves, hatreds, and rivalries of the two heirs to the Sinclair dynasty, Apex Nation's top elite family. Silas Kane is the other Chosen Male Lead in this narrative. Unlike Liam Sinclair, who was born at the pinnacle, Silas follows the 'Rags-to-Riches King' storyline."
"What does that have to do with me?" My interest was exactly zero.
"……"
I powered off the phone, resting my head on my arms. If effort was useless, then better to lie back and embrace the slump. All that fighting and scheming wasn't suited for a beauty like me anyway.
The moment the thought formed, a flicker of light passed behind my eyes. That book, covered in green, sprouting vines, appeared again in the darkness of my mind. It was thick, emitting a weak green glow. The vines were just budding, the leaves tender and young.
Book-Voice: "Lily Johnson, you are a character within the book. You only have value if you Lopezlfill the purpose assigned to you by the narrative."
I kept my eyes closed, feigning rest. "Do you ever have new material? Doesn't your system get updates?"
"…… I told you, I'm not a system. I am the Narrative Spirit, tasked with guiding characters back to their assigned roles."
"Shut up," I said, eyes still closed. " 'Back to their roles'? Sounds nice. Did you forget what my 'role' is? Vicious. Stupid. Selfish. Cowardly. Since when do we encourage people to be evil? You're not a 'Narrative Spirit.' You're a malevolent spirit."
This level of verbal jab didn't faze it. It continued its guidance.
"Haven't you noticed your physical condition deteriorating over these past three years? A book character who does not serve the plot has no reason to exist. You will soon be erased by the narrative rules."
I shrugged, completely indifferent. "Great. I stopped wanting to live a long time ago. Erasure sounds perfect. Make it snappy."
"……"
The ultimate weapon of the committed slacker: utter, unresisting apathy. My answer finally rendered the Book-Voice completely, and utterly, silent.
