When I woke up, the world had changed overnight.
It wasn't like I crossed into another realm and met a dragon, nor did a gate open in reality, unleashing monsters.
I still can't believe it, but I've been thrust into the world of a novel.
Being transmigrated wasn't the worst part. After all, it's the kind of thrilling premise anyone might fantasize about.
The problem? I'm not the protagonist. I'm the villain—the one who gets their fiancé stolen by the hero and dies miserably while plotting revenge.
I refuse to die pathetically in my own story.
Time to fight back!