Chapter 1: The System’s Script

The voice in my head—my so-called system—never lets me forget: I’m just cannon fodder, a footnote in someone else’s happy ending. I’m the 'one that got away' in a CEO romance, the irreplaceable first love who’s doomed to vanish for five million dollars. My story isn’t about going abroad for college or some miraculous medical cure. It’s about taking the money and running, because the hero’s mother made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.

Sometimes, I still can’t believe this is my life. It reads like a prime-time soap—me, the bittersweet highlight in someone else’s epic romance. There are days I feel like a girl in an old country ballad, faded into memory by the end of summer.

I used to laugh at stories like this. Money over love? Easy choice, right? But fate has a way of humbling you. Back then, I’d roll my eyes at girls who fell head over heels, but late at night, I’d wonder—could I ever fall that hard? Turns out, I wanted it all. Not just the cake, but the whole damn bakery.

“Natalie, remember: make Alex Sutton fall in love with you, then break his heart. Insult him. Shatter him. Only then will your mission be complete. Then, you can dodge the fate you were born for.”

That’s my system talking—sometimes I call it Siri, just to make myself laugh. Its voice is always chipper, like a GPS rerouting me straight into heartbreak. The sun’s too bright, and the world feels unreal.

Today’s my first day at college. After a bad fever this summer, the system just popped into my brain. Still feels like a fever dream—maybe it’s all the cough syrup or the endless romance novels. But according to this system, I’m living inside a romance plot, cast as the crucial supporting role: the male lead’s 'white moonlight.'

Because of me, the male lead will meet his true heroine. Because of me, they’ll go through all the classic drama: misunderstandings, breakups, chasing, running away—like something straight out of a Netflix teen drama.

Sometimes I can’t help but roll my eyes at the melodrama. Who really lives like this? All those dramatic breakups, those over-the-top gestures—my real life was nothing like this until now.

The beautiful, radiant first love comes back to the States, only to find the man who once adored her now loves someone else. She gets written off as the bitter supporting character, cementing the main couple’s love story, and exits the stage—alone.

I really wondered if that fever fried my brain, or if I’d just finally snapped. I even snuck off to see a therapist, who just thought I had a vivid imagination. But after a summer of soul-searching, I decided: fine. I’ll play my part. If there’s one thing Mom taught me, it’s to finish what you start—even when it’s weird as hell.

“Nat, you at campus yet?” Mom’s voice buzzed from my phone, warm but distracted. I pictured her in our kitchen, coffee in hand, already late for work. My family fits the classic American middle-class mold you see in Netflix dramas: parents always working late, a sticky note and a twenty left for pizza. Sometimes I’d come home to the smell of cold takeout and the hum of the dishwasher running at midnight. I learned early how to do things on my own.

According to the script, I even lived with Alex my junior year—no big deal in a college town, though my grandma would’ve fainted.

“Hey Mom, yeah, I made it. Don’t stress—just wrestling with my suitcase right now.”

I slipped my phone into my pocket, trying to sound calm as my suitcase wheel wobbled like a busted Target cart.

After I hung up, an upperclassman strolled over and offered to help with my luggage. No blue volunteer T-shirt, which made me hesitate. Dad’s voice echoed in my head: “Don’t talk to strangers, even if they have dimples.” But refusing help in college can make you look stuck-up.

As the white moonlight, I’m supposed to be pure and kind—never rude or ungrateful. I could practically hear the system deducting points if I so much as frowned.

According to the system, neither my family nor I get a happy ending. After Alex rises to power, he destroys us, leaving our family in ruins. Who knew heartbreak could fuel a billionaire’s revenge?

And I also tried to ruin his love and hurt the girl dearest to him—the one who looked eerily like me—same hair, same smile, but like a faded copy you’d never hang on your wall.

“No, freshman, I just forgot my volunteer T-shirt. My roommate’s bringing it over.”

He seemed eager, but I kept my guard up. This campus felt like a movie set, everyone playing their part. I didn’t want to argue, so I dragged my suitcase and tried to leave. I’d been hit on plenty, but always kept it polite. “Thanks, but I can handle it myself.”

“No, no, my roommate’s coming.” He pressed down on my suitcase. I frowned, unsure whether to be grateful or annoyed.

“Here, here! Alex, hey, over here!” he called.

I turned. The sunlight was blinding. A guy in a white shirt and black jeans walked over, blue volunteer T-shirt in hand. I couldn’t see his face clearly at first, but the moment felt like a meet-cute out of a campus romance movie—sun flaring off the library, my heart beating faster than I wanted to admit.

Alex Sutton’s arrogance and ruthlessness had been drilled into me by the system, but the guy in front of me? Handsome, elegant, aloof—a campus heartthrob. Or maybe it was just a coincidence.

But I really like this type… My heart fluttered. I tried not to let it show. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, praying he didn’t notice my cheeks turning pink.

“See, I wasn’t lying.” The upperclassman put on his T-shirt, grabbed my suitcases, and started to leave. Alex and I stood there, just us. “Alex, you go back. I’ll take care of the freshman.”

“No need, I’ll help too.” Alex took the laptop bag from my hand.

I was still in a daze: …

Upperclassman: …

This bit of luggage was more than enough for two tall guys, especially since someone was only carrying a laptop bag.

“Freshman, add me on Instagram. If you have any problems, look for me. I’m Derek.” At the dorm, Derek put down a suitcase, panting. I nodded, took out my phone. “Thanks, Derek.”

He grinned—one of those easy, friendly smiles that made you want to trust him, like the kind of guy who’d help you move or teach you to parallel park.

The light in front of me was blocked, and a cool voice sounded: “Here’s your laptop bag.”

He handed it over, careful not to let our fingers touch. I caught the faint scent of woodsy cologne—expensive, but understated.

“Thanks… this… senior.”

His lips relaxed a bit, and he nodded. “I’m Alex.”

He didn’t smile, but there was a softness in his eyes, like he was holding back a million thoughts. It made me nervous, and a little curious.