On the way home, Ethan bought me Häagen-Dazs strawberry ice cream and took me to a riverside French bistro for dinner.

He never mentioned the video.


Perhaps my words from the previous day had an effect. By nightfall, Ethan had moved his meager belongings into our apartment.

The apartment wasn't huge—just a master suite and a smaller guest room.

He insisted on taking the cramped guest room, leaving the luxurious master for me.


That night, clutching my pillow, I quietly pushed open Ethan's door.

I placed my pillow beside his and slipped under the covers, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind.


Ethan's body tensed, then trembled slightly at my touch.

"Ethan, I swear I never had feelings for Leo. I don't know how to explain what happened. I never meant to confess to him."

I pressed my cheek against the warm plane of his back, my voice barely above a whisper.

Despite racking my brain, I couldn't conjure a plausible explanation for the video—it had definitely happened.

Though Ethan hadn't pressed the issue, I felt compelled to address it.

After all, according to the original plot, Ethan held my fate in his hands. I couldn't risk his trust wavering.

I nestled closer, my voice dropping to a desperate plea:

"Please believe me..."

In the darkness, Ethan's breathing grew heavier.

He shifted, switched on the bedside lamp, and hastily wrapped a blanket around me.

I blinked up at him from my blanket cocoon.

"Bella Reed." Ethan's voice was rough with emotion.

"You don't need to do this."

"It doesn't matter who you like. Even if you're spinning lies, I'm willing to believe them."

I was momentarily stunned into silence.

"You..."

Ethan's fingers brushed tenderly against my cheek.

"As long as you stay with me, nothing else matters."

Ethan gathered me in his arms and carried me back to my room.

After he left, I tossed restlessly, sleep eluding me.

I was increasingly baffled by the plot's unexpected turns.

According to the original plot, Ethan and Anna were supposed to meet next week at his part-time restaurant job. He'd face trouble from thugs, Anna would heroically intervene, and their epic romance would ignite.

But now they'd met early, and instead of love at first sight, they'd nearly come to blows—because of me, the supposed villainess.

Most concerning was Ethan's behavior... it deviated wildly from the plot.

In the original plot, Ethan barely tolerated me. I was merely an obstacle to overcome—a foil to highlight the purity of his eventual romance with Anna.

Yet now, Ethan seemed to be veering dramatically off-script.

He seemed to genuinely love me—the designated villainess.

Replaying Ethan's words in my mind, my thoughts spiraled chaotically until exhaustion finally claimed me.

A week flew by, bringing the weekend.

Ethan left early for his restaurant shift.

Beyond construction, he juggled several side gigs.

After devouring the breakfast Ethan had prepared, I dressed carefully and headed to his restaurant.

Because today was the fated meeting between Ethan and Anna in the original plot.

I slipped into the restaurant, selected a corner table, and ordered some food.

Ethan was busy clearing tables in the back.

Right on cue, Anna made her entrance.

She wore a pink floral dress with a bouncy ponytail, the picture of innocence and charm—every inch the storybook heroine.

Standing near Ethan, they did make a visually striking pair.

A surprising pang of jealousy stabbed through me—probably just the excessive vinegar in my soup.

Right on schedule, several muscled thugs at a nearby table violently flipped it. Their leader, clutching a bowl of noodles, stormed toward the kitchen.

His tattooed cronies followed close behind.

They surrounded Ethan.

"What a fucking scam!" the leader bellowed. "I ordered cold noodles with olive oil, but this test strip proves it's cheap vegetable oil! You trying to poison people?!"