One day, outta nowhere, I started seeing numbers floating above everyone’s heads at Redwood Prep.

My fiancé, Mason Stone—the guy who treats me like I’m gum on his shoe—had a [99].

My cold-as-ice deskmate, Ethan Shaw, had a [99+] blinking above his smug little head.

Given that I’m basically the “mean girl” side character in every rich kid’s story, I figured those numbers were their hatred levels for me.

Then that sweet-little-charity-case Zara Chase—the real heroine type—found out I was secretly helping her out with money.

Suddenly, the number above her head turned blazing red: [100+].

And then… the damn floating livestream comments exploded in front of my eyes.

[Wifey’s so damn pretty, her skin’s glowing—bite her and she’ll be blushing for a week.]
[LMAO, Laurie thinks her fiancé’s into the poor girl? Honey, Mason’s already her whipped little lapdog. Wanna test it? Just touch his face and watch him melt.]

I blinked. No way. Just to prove a point, I reached out and poked Mason’s face.

The guy had been ranting about something, but he froze on the spot. The number over his head started ticking like a slot machine. Then—boom—settled on [∞].

[Hehe, you know what that symbol means, babe? My love for you is literally infinite.]

What the actual hell?

Chapter 1

The first time the numbers showed up, I was begging Ethan to help me with my AP Chem homework.

Even though Redwood Prep is supposed to be all posh and elite, the curriculum is brutal. Some students had already started prepping their early college apps by sophomore year. And those sticking with the traditional path were burning through senior-level courses already.

Me? I was the newly-rich daughter of a gas station mogul, shoved into this hellhole by my dad’s wallet. I was dumb, slow, and drowning in equations.

Ethan Shaw, on the other hand, was the golden boy. Born rich. Smart as hell. Handsome. His dad ran half the city, his mom sat on the board of a pharmaceutical empire, and he was already working on his own startup—with patents pending.

He was flipping through some science journal when I interrupted. He sighed like I’d kicked his puppy, grabbed my mangled worksheet, and started explaining each question—like he was being forced to read to a toddler.

Meanwhile, whispers swirled behind me.

Couldn’t hear specifics, but I knew the vibe: spoiled bimbo, tryhard loser, just another daddy’s money girl.

I wasn’t even trying to hit on Ethan. I’d actually offered to sponsor a few low-income students at school—pay their tuition, groceries, tutoring, whatever. All I asked in return was a few hours of help each week.

But someone leaked the deal. The school forum roasted me alive.

Said I was throwing money around to buy friends. That when Ethan ignored me, I jumped on the scholarship kids. That I thought I was better than them.

Rich kids sneered that I was “insulting” them by offering pocket change. One even posted, “Who the fuck needs her charity? My dog’s chew toys cost more.”

So I dropped the program publicly.

Privately, though—I still helped one girl. Someone like me. Just with less backup.

Chapter 2

The class buzzed with noise, and I could feel eyes burning holes in my back. Like I was being licked by fire, spine first.

My ears were hot. Jesus, how many people here were obsessed with Ethan?

It was like I was about to combust under the weight of everyone’s stares.

Feeling awkward, I mumbled, “You know what? Maybe I should just study on my own…”

I figured I’d wait till the crowd cleared before asking again.

But right as the words left my mouth, Ethan’s number blinked into view: [98].

I blinked, rubbed my eyes.

“You’ve got something above your head,” I whispered.

He scowled. “If you don’t wanna learn, just say it. Don’t make shit up.”

He ran a hand through his perfect hair, exposing a forehead smooth enough to model skincare ads. His profile could cut glass.

“No, it’s not that—”

I grabbed his wrist, trying to explain I wasn’t blowing him off. Dude might be cold, but he’d actually explained the same question three times already.

Then he went red. Like, full-on tomato.

Yanked his hand back. Puppy-dog eyes wide with betrayal.

His number jittered between [98] and [99].

“If you wanna ask someone else, go do that. Don’t mess with me.”

Jesus. Was I that unbearable?

I looked around. Everyone else had numbers too—some in the 50s, 80s, one dude even had a [95].

I swallowed hard. Okay. So those were probably dislike meters.

And yeah, not shocking. People didn’t exactly line up to be Team Lauren.

Just then, a voice boomed through the noise.

Mason Stone was surrounded by his posse, lounging like a lazy prince on his desk. His uniform unbuttoned, his expression pure boredom.

Thank God he wasn’t looking this way.

My dad made some shady business deal that landed me engaged to this guy.

Mason Stone might have a pretty-boy name, but he was all explosives underneath. Dangerous. Volatile. A human fire hazard.

He’d always ignored me—made it real clear he thought I was beneath him.

When I first transferred, I was slurping cup noodles in the stairwell when I overheard it.

“Yo, Stone. That fiancée of yours transferred in. Should we roll out the red carpet?”

Through the door, I saw Mason leaning on the railing. His face was angelic. His voice, not so much.

“Why the fuck would I ‘take care’ of her?” he snapped. “Her daddy bought me as a babysitter. I scare her just by revving my car. This whole engagement? I’m blowing it up soon.”

“If you’re into charity work, she’s all yours.”

I leaned too hard. The door creaked.

Boom—our eyes met. His were obsidian. Cold. Dangerous.

He froze.

I bolted.

Someone laughed behind me.

“Who was that?”

“Your fiancée, genius.”

“Oh.”

He flicked the half-burnt cigarette into the trash like it personally offended him.

“Not smoking anymore,” he muttered.

Probably thinking I’d cough and cry during a kiss.

Idiot.

Thinking about all the crap Mason had said made my chest tighten.

My dad refused to cancel the engagement—said to “wait it out.”

So I kept my distance.

Then Zara Chase transferred in.

Mason suddenly cared about school. Only girl he ever talked to.

Today, he had a [98] floating above him as he glanced at me, tongue pushing against his cheek, eyes gleaming with that wolfish glint.

I shivered.

If he hated this arrangement so much, why the hell didn’t he just break it off?

What was he waiting for—me to beg?

Then I heard it.

“Stop looking at her. One more second and I’ll gouge your fucking eyes out.”

Mason’s voice. Ice-cold. Directed at Zara.

She stood there in faded jeans, attitude sharp as her jawline.

But those eyes… she had no business staring at someone who’d never be hers.

“What, can’t handle it?” Zara smirked.

“You jealous? She won’t even glance at you. But she sends me messages every night. Encouraging me. Telling me I matter.”

Zara smiled like she’d won.

But Mason knew the truth.

I posted cute pics for Ethan. Not once had I liked any of Mason’s sadboy travel posts.

Hell, I probably had him muted.

That smug bitch had no idea—she wasn’t the one I was sending late-night selfies to.

Chapter 3

Between periods, I ran into Zara Chase again—right outside the girl’s bathroom.

She was washing her hands, head tilted down, almond-shaped eyes framed by ridiculously long lashes. Wisps of hair curled just right around her ears. She looked… perfect.

Almost too perfect. Like she practiced that pose in front of a mirror.

Honestly, ever since she transferred, I ran into her in here every other day. At first I thought it was coincidence. But every time?

Was she waiting for me? Just because of Mason?

I clenched my jaw, then took a breath and stepped up to wash my hands beside her. Her movements turned a little stiff. Like she felt my presence.

I sped up. So did she.

She finished, pulled out some old-ass Android, and started texting someone. Every time she hit send, my iPhone pinged.

Ping.

Ping.

My face went red.

Oh hell. Was she texting me?

A year ago, she was one of the low-income students I offered to sponsor. Quiet, smart, and totally ignored by her family. I’d set up a scholarship fund and secretly funneled some extra cash her way—just for her. Groceries, tutoring, rent for her and her little brother. I didn’t want her dropping out because her deadbeat parents didn’t give a shit.

But now… now I saw that little glowing [98] floating over her head.

I was about to pretend I hadn’t noticed a thing—being funded by your romantic rival had to suck.

Then suddenly, she called my private number.

I’d given her that line once, told her to only use it for real emergencies.

She never had.

Until today.

My phone lit up in my back pocket. My spine snapped straight. I could feel her eyes burning into me.

“Hey, Lauren,” she said softly, a bit too sweet, “Your phone’s ringing. Why aren’t you answering it?”

Shit. Busted.

I shakily pulled it out and answered.

Her number blinked over her head—[99]… then [100+]… then flashed in deep red.

DING! Villainess System Activated. Main plotline unlocked! Time to humiliate the heroine, babe!

I choked on air.

“Uh… wait. Do I have to?”

System: “Well, if you don’t… you’re kinda screwed. You want cancer? A car crash? Random suicide ending? Dealer’s choice, sweetheart.”

I clenched my fists.

Fine.

I rose on my tiptoes, grabbed Zara by the collar like some tiny little mob boss, and hissed, “Don’t leave after class. Stay. I—I need tutoring.”

Honestly, I’d already burned bridges with Ethan, and she was smart as hell. Might as well use her brain if I couldn’t avoid the drama.

Yeah. That’s it.

That’s the most villain-girl line I could come up with: “Don’t leave after class.”

Every teen drama has it.

Too bad I’m five feet tall. She towered over me by at least a head. Literally. She was five-seven and pure lean muscle. Her amber eyes stared down at me, lashes fluttering. She looked confused—but calm.

Suddenly, I remembered all those rumors about Zara.

Technically, she was a scholarship student, bottom-rung on the social ladder at Redwood Academy. But even the spoiled trust fund kids didn’t mess with her.

Because she was terrifying.

Her lab work was perfect. Teachers gave her keys to the building and offered her their offices for the weekend. Even the jocks who tried to bully her ended up getting humiliated in gym class—dodgeballs to the face, soccer balls to the crotch, the works.

I glanced at her toned biceps and swallowed.

She could probably knock me across the room with a flick of her wrist.

I leaned in a little, trying to hype myself up. Her hoodie smelled like lemon soap. Her eyes really were amber, huh? Gorgeous. Of course. She’s the damn heroine.

She blinked once, slowly. Then smiled.

“Sure. I’ll stay.”

She sounded calm. Intimidated, even. Like I’d just scared the heroine of the story.

The number over her head glitched and sparkled.

I let go of her collar, right as someone flung open the bathroom door.

A girl stood in the doorway, blinked at us, then gasped.

“Oh my God, I didn’t see anything. I didn’t see anything!”

Then she giggled, slapped a hand over her mouth, and sprinted off down the hallway, heels clicking like gunshots.

The system cheered in my head.

[DING! Emotional Spike Detected. First plot milestone achieved! You’re killing it, babe.]

That night, on the school forum:

BREAKING: A-Class’ Lauren Rowan Just Asked Zara Chase for a Bathroom Makeout?!

WTF is happening at Redwood Prep?! Where are the morals?! WHERE’S THE VIDEO?!

Me?

I was stunned.

I’m the villainess mastermind here! How the hell did I end up looking like a bathroom creep?

Chapter 4

Thanks to Zara’s help, my grades were finally climbing.

She explained everything like she was breaking it down for a toddler: Step one, step two, step three. No skipping. No judgment.

Compared to Ethan Shaw’s “here’s the formula, figure it out yourself” method, she was a damn saint.

I actually started… enjoying studying.

Naturally, the system wasn’t having it.

You’re the villainess, not a Girl Scout. What are you doing getting gold stars and discovering the joy of academia?!

It claimed the next arc should go something like this:

The sweet, pure heroine gets tormented by the wicked villainess. Cue the kind-hearted male lead (aka Ethan) stepping in, heart all gooey, vowing to protect her. And the villainess? She’s supposed to lose her shit and go full psycho to keep her man.

Me?

I couldn’t even imagine Zara doing a dramatic 45-degree sob toward the sky.

She was more likely to body-slam a boy into a locker and tell him to shut the hell up.

The system didn’t care.

Focus, Lauren. The goal here is simple: Get with Ethan. The second main quest is all about the love triangle. Nail it, and we’ll activate full audience mode.

They’ll tip you, leak spoilers, and maybe even help you not die. Exciting, right?

Honestly, I didn’t care about the cash.

My family had more money than God. But growing up, I’d been the weird, slow girl that always tried to buy friendship with bags of snacks.

Back in elementary school, every time kids went to the vending machine, they dragged me along to pay.

They’d say, “You’re so cute, Laurie!” and then trash-talk me in the bathroom.

“She thinks she’s hot shit ‘cause she’s rich. Dumb as a brick, too.”

When my dad found out, he flipped and yanked me out. Sent me to Redwood Prep, thinking the rich kids would “speak my language.”

They didn’t.

They just called me a knockoff. A nouveau-riche freak. Designer-clad trailer trash.

All I wanted was what the girls in books had—ten best friends, sleepovers, nicknames, inside jokes.

So I whispered to the system:

“Will they like me?”

“I mean… the audience. Do you think they’ll actually like me?”

I didn’t blink. Just stared at the glowing interface in my head.

The system paused. Then, like it had a damn heart, it reached out and patted the air between us.

They will. Promise.

And anyone who dares to say otherwise? I’ll hack their accounts and roast their whole bloodline.

Chapter 5

In class, Ethan Shaw was sulking like a kicked puppy—because Zara Chase had somehow dragged my grades from the gutter into the honor roll.

Ethan freaking Shaw. Golden boy. Cool and collected with everyone else, but with me? Petty as hell.

I reached over and tugged on his sleeve, voice sugary sweet. “C’mon, Ethan… don’t be mad. We’re seat buddies, right?”

He didn’t respond. I batted my lashes.

“How about this—Saturday’s coming. Let me take you out. Mall, movie, dinner—you name it, I’m buying.”

Worked for my mom every time my dad messed up. Buy. Her. Shit.

No woman could resist retail therapy.

Sure enough, his pout cracked. He coughed, and the corner of his mouth twitched. That little mole under his eye was doing wicked things to my heart.

“What time?” he asked.

I flashed him an eight with my fingers.

That night, I ordered 999 roses like I was starring in a damn romance drama.

The system had already confirmed—there was gonna be a fireworks show by the waterfront. Perfect backdrop for a confession scene.

As for Mason? My darling absentee fiancé? I wasn’t worried. Dad had already told me we’d scrap the engagement once I turned eighteen. Said it was up to me now.

And Mason? He’d been trying to dump me for months. I was just doing him a favor.

The next morning, I put on a fluffy pastel dress, curled my hair, and strutted out like I was going to prom.

Ethan was already waiting by the curb, holding the car door open like a goddamn gentleman.

“Where to?” he asked, smiling in that way that made girls fail calculus.

Dressed in a hoodie and jeans, clean-cut and glowing, he looked like a boyband lead who hadn’t been ruined by fame.

Following Dad’s foolproof apology route, I took him to the mall. Bought him a whole-ass wardrobe. Then dinner at a rooftop restaurant. Movie. Finally, we wandered down to the waterfront.

Fireworks exploded in the sky.

People passed by, laughing and holding hands.

Ethan shoved one hand into his pocket. The other swung casually—but his eyes kept flicking toward my fingers like they were candy and he was starving.

He was silent.

Which was wild, considering…

I was technically engaged to his best friend.

Okay—”engaged” was generous. Our parents shook hands and signed papers, but Mason hadn’t even tried to fake affection.

Still, Ethan hesitated.

The fireworks boomed.

I turned to him, took a deep breath, and said it.

“Ethan… I like you. Like, really like you. Will you be my boyfriend?”

He blinked. Looked shocked. Then?

His face went ice-cold.

He reached out, cupped my face in his stupidly perfect hands, and rubbed his thumb across the corner of my lips like he was trying to erase something.

“You’re still engaged to Mason. You think I wanna be your side piece?”

Oof.

I felt my heart sink. Maybe the mission really had failed.

But before I could tell the system to just kill me already, Ethan bent down and kissed me.

Warm. Soft. Deep enough to short-circuit my brain.

His voice was low when he pulled away.

“I don’t care. I’ll be your boyfriend, Lauren. I’ll take whatever title you give me—even if it’s second choice.”

And in my head?

Fireworks. Literal fireworks.

[DING! Congrats, Host! Mission Complete. Comments Unlocked.]

[AHHHHH WIFEYYYY I’M HERE!!!]

[Wait—this is the cold, stoic Ethan? Bro just kissed her like he’s been starving for years. Down bad and proud.]

Chapter 6

First day officially dating Ethan?

Weird as hell.

Something was off in the air.

Especially around Mason.

Usually that side of the classroom was loud—laughing, teasing, sometimes even chanting my name just to piss me off.

Today? Silent.

Even Mason, my eternally-disinterested, constantly-sleeping fiancé, was wide awake. Jaw clenched. Veins pulsing on his forehead like he was trying not to commit murder.

He walked over and kicked Ethan’s chair.

“We need to talk.”

His voice was flat. Too flat.

Ethan dropped my hand like he was annoyed at being interrupted mid-cuddle. His eyes said, “Seriously?”

Mason glanced at our hands.

My fingers were pink from Ethan’s grip, and still—if I do say so myself—very kissable.

Mason muttered, “Fuck,” under his breath and stormed out.

[Damn bro, should’ve kept your girl instead of playing aloof. Now look at you—tragic. No sympathy here.]

[Mason’s ego wrote a check his feelings couldn’t cash. Now Ethan’s cashing it for him—with tongue.]

[Lowkey forgot—Ethan saved Mason’s life as a kid. Mason owes him. If he wants her back, better bring a miracle.]

I couldn’t read the rest of the comments—system censored spoilers with a blocky blur.

I squinted at the digital mush.

Then Zara appeared.

Books in hand. Wrong answer compilations—my faves.

“You and Ethan?” she asked, casually, like she was asking if I brought lunch.

I nodded, face flushed. “Yeah. Yesterday.”

The system said I’d gained like 50% more progress overnight. Win-win.

Zara gave a short laugh. The kind that meant she already knew.

As class rep, she had everyone on her contacts list—and Ethan? That man had soft-launched, hard-launched, and over-launched our relationship all in one night.

Hourly photo drops.

Matching ears at the theme park. Me picking shirts for him at the mall. Holding hands. Strolling under fireworks.

The boy was unhinged.

Everyone was commenting 999s like it was a livestream wedding.

Even Mason had replied with a single dot. Just a period.

Zara smirked. Bet he was fuming.

Still, when she looked at me—eager, glowing, wanting to learn—her voice softened.

“Well… these questions you’ve got down. I think you’ll be fine for finals.”

[LMAO the boys are out here fighting over her, and Zara’s the only one keeping the plot alive.]

[Also PSA: Mason destroyed a million-dollar limited-edition Ferrari last night. Dude revved that engine until the transmission begged for death.]

Ethan came back perfectly intact.

Mason? Nowhere to be found.

I peeked over my textbook and whispered, “Ethan… what’d he say?”

He leaned down and kissed my lips like I was the only thing keeping him alive.

“Who cares? Probably mad someone finally called his bluff.”

I thought of Mason’s clenched jaw, his fists, that haunted look.

Like something precious had been stolen and he couldn’t admit he wanted it.

Ethan’s eyes darkened. He shook it off.

“My parents are hosting a charity gala next weekend,” he said. “Wanna be my plus one?”

The system practically vibrated with excitement.

[Here it comes! Plot anchor detected!]

[In the original story, Ethan brings poor little Zara to meet his fancy parents, and they roast her like a rotisserie chicken. Mason swoops in to rescue her. Boom—classic hero moment.]

I raised an eyebrow. “But you’re dating me now. Doesn’t the plot change?”

[Plot’s gotta plot, babe. Just bring Zara along. She’ll still get humiliated—if not by the parents, then by the guests. Drama’s drama.]

I glanced at Zara.

She looked better lately. Still pale, but not sickly.

The money I sent? Her dad stole it.

Told her if she didn’t fork it over, he’d show up at school and cause a scene.

She gave in. Skipped meals. Went home to cook for that little brother of hers.

I saw the investigator’s report. Nearly flipped a table.

Ended up begging the school to offer free dorms. Had them set up a card that only worked on-campus—for food and supplies.

Because sometimes, being born in hell meant the people around you would drown you just to feel taller.

“She’s not going,” I said firmly.

Zara needed to study. She was barely getting by. She didn’t need more trauma.

[Host… plot might break if you don’t bring her.]

“I don’t care.”

I clenched my tiny fists.

“If this dumb villainess role needs a plot device, then I’ll go. And if anyone tries to humiliate me, I’ll burn that whole goddamn ballroom down.”