I didn't know what was worse: the heavy silence of the office or the look of contempt from my own brother.
Well, ex-brother, technically.
Sitting in a leather chair that cost more than most people made in a year, I stared fixedly at the document in front of me. The letters seemed to dance on the white page, scrambling in a way that made my head throb.
"Miss Whitmore." The family lawyer's voice cut the silence like a sharp knife. He was a middle-aged man, perfectly combed gray hair, an impeccable gray suit, and an expression that conveyed absolutely nothing. "If you could pay attention, please. This is important."
Important. Of course it was important. They were disinheriting me.
I blinked, trying to focus on the faces around the enormous mahogany table. To my left, sitting as if he owned the world, was Adrian Whitmore — my older brother. Twenty-six years old, perfectly styled black hair, icy blue eyes, and an expression of absolute boredom on his sculpted face. He didn't even bother to look at me. His fingers drummed impatiently on the table, as if being there was a waste of his precious time.
To the right was the family lawyer, Mr. Hargrave, with his golden-framed glasses and a leather briefcase that probably cost more than a car. And across the table, my own lawyer — well, the lawyer my parents paid to represent me in this farce — a young, nervous-looking man who kept adjusting his tie.
"As I was saying," Hargrave continued, his voice as monotonous as if he were reading the weather forecast, "the disinheritance agreement is quite straightforward. The Whitmore family agrees to provide a lump sum of two million dollars as compensation for the years of upbringing. In return, Miss Whitmore renounces all rights as a family member, including inheritance, use of the Whitmore surname, and any legal or social connection with the family."
Two million dollars.
It seemed like a lot of money. It was a lot of money. But compared to the Whitmore fortune? It was like throwing crumbs to a stray dog.
"Furthermore," Hargrave turned a page, "Miss Whitmore agrees not to make any defamatory public statements about the Whitmore family or about the recent events involving Miss Eloise Whitmore."
Ah. So that was it.
Eloise. The real daughter.
The girl who had returned home three months ago like a lost princess finally finding her kingdom. The girl who was now in a coma in the hospital because, apparently, I had pushed her down the stairs.
Except… I didn't do it.
At least, I didn't. Cassandra did. The real Cassandra.
Wait, no. Not even she did.
Shit. My head was a mess.
"The family also demands," the lawyer continued, his voice devoid of any emotion, "that Miss Whitmore vacate the Whitmore residence immediately after signing this document. All personal belongings will be sent to the provided address within a week."
I wanted to laugh. Or cry. Maybe both.
Because until five minutes ago, I wasn't Cassandra Whitmore.
I was… well, someone completely different. Someone who lived in another world. Someone who had just gotten off work, taken the crowded subway, arrived home in her tiny apartment, and decided to reread that trashy web novel she loved to hate.
"The Rise of the Immortal Heir" — a story about a ridiculously talented and absurdly promiscuous protagonist who collected women like trading cards. He was good at everything. Medicine. Martial arts. Business. Music. The guy was a genius in literally anything he decided to do, and spent half his time saving girls and the other half adding them to his growing harem.
I had hated that protagonist. But I had read up to chapter 847 anyway. Don't judge me.
And Cassandra Whitmore? She was a minor villain. Not even important enough to be a main antagonist — just an annoying background character who bothered the female lead until she was completely destroyed by the narrative and disappeared from the story.
I remembered her description: "The spoiled, jealous adopted daughter who couldn't accept that the true heiress had returned home."
Basically, an envious girl who teased the sweet Eloise at every ball, made nasty comments about her "peasant manners," and in the end was accused of pushing her down the stairs.
Which was especially tragic because Cassandra really hadn't done it. Eloise had tripped on her own. But no one believed her. The family disinherited her, she lost everything, and eventually died miserably, alone and hated.
A disposable villain. That was all she was.
And now, somehow, I was her.
"Miss Whitmore?" My lawyer's voice brought me back. "Do you understand the terms?"
No. I didn't understand anything.
I didn't understand how I had gone to sleep on my old sofa reading a novel on my cracked phone and woken up in this body. I didn't understand why I was here, in this office, about to sign my life away.
But what I did understand were the memories.
They had come like a flood five minutes ago, when the headache started. Twenty years of Cassandra's life dumped into my brain all at once.
I remembered being adopted at three years old. I remembered Mrs. Whitmore's warm smile when she picked me up for the first time. I remembered Adrian teaching me how to ride a bike. I remembered birthdays, Christmases, family vacations.
And then… I remembered her arriving.
Eloise Whitmore. The biological daughter who had been kidnapped and finally found after eighteen years.
She was sweet. Genuinely sweet. With her golden blonde hair, bright green eyes, and that soft, timid smile that made everyone want to protect her. Delicate as a flower, polite, always trying her best to fit into a world she didn't know.
And Cassandra… Cassandra had liked her at first.
Yes, it was strange to suddenly have a sister. Yes, it was scary to see the parents get so emotional about the daughter they thought they had lost forever. But Eloise was so genuinely kind, so clearly trying not to cause trouble, that Cassandra had genuinely tried to be a good older sister.
But then everything changed.
Not because of Eloise. The girl never did anything wrong. She was always kind, always polite, always trying to do her best.
It was the family that changed.
The parents suddenly had no more time for Cassandra. Adrian stopped taking her calls. Even the employees started treating her differently, as if she were an intruder in her own home.
Every little mistake Cassandra made was magnified. Every little slip from Eloise was excused as "she's still learning."
When Cassandra tried to teach Eloise about proper etiquette at formal dinners, she was accused of being condescending and cruel. When Cassandra mentioned that Eloise had "borrowed" her favorite necklace without asking, she was called possessive and selfish.
And Eloise? She always seemed confused about why these situations happened. She always sweetly apologized. She always seemed genuinely sad when Cassandra was scolded.
Which somehow made everything worse.
Because it wasn't Eloise's fault. She wasn't trying to steal Cassandra's family. She wasn't manipulating anyone. She was just… herself. Sweet. Innocent. Perfect.
And the more perfect she was, the more Cassandra seemed bitter and ugly in comparison.
The frustration grew. The loneliness grew. And yes, eventually, the bitterness grew too.
Cassandra started making sharp comments. She started teasing Eloise about little things — her posture, her clothes, her "peasant" manners. Petty things. Cruel things.
Not because she hated Eloise. But because she was drowning and no one seemed to notice.
And then came that day on the stairs.
Cassandra had seen Eloise in the hallway. She had tried to talk to her — one last desperate attempt to maybe, maybe, reach an understanding. To be real sisters again.
But the conversation had soured quickly. Cassandra had said something cutting without thinking. Eloise had recoiled, visibly hurt, murmuring something about needing to go.
And then she had turned around too quickly at the top of the stairs, tripped on her own long dress and…
Fallen.
Rolled down the stairs.
Cassandra had stood there, frozen in horror, as employees ran and shouted and her mother screamed "WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
But she hadn't done anything. She was three meters away. She hadn't even touched Eloise.
But no one believed her.
The security cameras showed Cassandra following Eloise into the hallway. They showed them talking (no audio). They showed Eloise near the stairs.
And then they showed Eloise falling.
Technically, the camera didn't show Cassandra pushing her. But it also didn't show clearly enough to prove her innocence.
And when you add months of "jealous behavior" and "malicious teasing" to the mix?
Well. Everyone had decided Cassandra was guilty.
Including her own family.
And the worst part? The part that truly broke Cassandra's heart?
Eloise didn't deserve any of this. She was in a coma in the hospital, fighting for her life, and hadn't done anything wrong at all. She was a victim just as much as Cassandra — perhaps even more.
Because at least Cassandra was alive.
My lawyer leaned towards me, whispering: "You don't have to sign this now. We can ask for more time to review—"
"There's nothing to review," Adrian cut in, his voice like a whip. He finally looked at me, and the disdain in his eyes was palpable. "The agreement is fair. More than fair, considering the circumstances. Two million dollars is more than you deserve for trying to kill my sister."
His sister. Not our sister. His sister.
As if I had never been part of the family.
Something inside my chest — Cassandra's heart, perhaps, or maybe just my own sense of injustice — twisted painfully.
"I didn't—" My voice came out hoarse. I cleared my throat. "I didn't try to kill anyone. Eloise tripped. I wasn't even near—"
"Of course not," Adrian said, his tone making it clear he didn't believe a single word. "She just tripped on her own. How convenient. Right after you spent months making her life miserable."
He wasn't completely wrong. Cassandra had made things difficult for Eloise. But she hadn't pushed her. That was the truth.
A truth nobody wanted to hear.
"Cassandra." Adrian's voice was growing impatient. "Just sign. The faster you do this, the faster we can all move on. Eloise wouldn't want you to suffer more than necessary. She was always too good to you."
And that was true too. Even with all the teasing, all the cruel words, Eloise had always been kind. She had always tried to understand. She had always forgiven.
Which somehow made it all even more painful.
My hand trembled as I picked up the pen Hargrave pushed towards me.
So this was it?
Twenty years of memories — good and bad — reduced to a check and a goodbye.
I looked at the document. Disinheritance and Termination of All Familial Rights Agreement.
My vision began to blur.
No. No. I wasn't going to cry. Not in front of them.
Cassandra had cried plenty. She had begged, argued, despaired.
And where had that gotten her? Here. In this office. Being discarded like trash.
I lowered the pen to the paper, my hand shaking—
And then the pain came.
It wasn't a normal headache — it was like someone had hit my skull with a white-hot hammer. I dropped the pen with a muffled scream, my hands flying to my head as the world around me spun violently.
"Holy shit—" I managed to stammer between short breaths.
"Oh, for God's sake." Adrian's voice was laden with pure irritation. "Seriously, Cassandra? Are you pretending to be sick again? This theatrics of yours is getting pathetic. Isn't it enough that you put Eloise in a coma? Now you need more drama?"
Pretending? Pretending?!
My head was literally burning inside, as if my brain were being rewritten line by line.
"Not… faking…" I managed to say through clenched teeth, but the words barely came out as waves of agony pulsed through my skull.
And then, along with the pain, came the memories.
Not Cassandra's memories — I already had those.
They were other memories. Memories of a completely different life.
I saw a tiny apartment. An old, worn-out sofa. A small TV. Stacks of books and manga scattered on the floor.
I saw a life of boring office work. Instant food. Lonely nights reading web novels on my phone until my vision blurred.
I saw "The Rise of the Immortal Heir" open on my phone screen. I saw the annoyed comments I had left about the stupid protagonist. I saw bookmarks on the favorite chapters.
And then… I remembered.
I remembered dying.
It wasn't dramatic. Nothing heroic. Just… a sudden pain in my chest. Difficulty breathing. And then darkness.
And waking up here. In this body. In this world.
In the world of the novel I had read.
As Cassandra Whitmore.
The two sets of memories — Cassandra's and mine — collided, merged, separated, and finally settled into something coherent.
I was me. But I also had all of Cassandra's memories. All her emotions. All her suffering.
I knew who I had been. And I knew who she had been.
And I knew, with absolute and terrifying certainty, that I was in a web novel world. And that if I didn't do something drastic, I would end up like Cassandra did in the original story — dead, alone, hated by everyone, without even being able to prove her innocence.
And then, as suddenly as it had started, the pain stopped.
I blinked, disoriented, breathing heavily as I leaned on the table.
"Cassandra!" My lawyer's sharp voice pulled me back. "Do you need water? Should I call a doctor? You look very pale—"
I was about to answer when it happened.
The world… stopped.
Adrian was in the middle of standing up, his mouth open in an irritated expression. Hargrave was adjusting his glasses. My lawyer was reaching for a glass of water.
And they were all completely, absolutely, frozen.
Not moving. Not blinking. Not even breathing.
As if someone had pressed pause on all of reality.
"What…" I turned in my seat, looking around the office. Everything was still. The curtains mid-sway from the wind. Dust particles suspended in the air. The water in the glass still rippling, but frozen in time.
And then it appeared.
Right in front of me, floating in the air like something out of an RPG, was a bright blue screen, translucent and pulsing softly with ethereal light.
Crisp white letters began to appear:
---
[ SUCCESS SYSTEM ACTIVATED ]
[ WELCOME, USER ]
---
I stared at the screen, my mouth slightly open.
A system. A real system. Like in games. Like in the isekai web novels I used to read at three in the morning, laughing alone in my apartment.
"You've got to be kidding me," I murmured, my voice strangely loud in the absolute silence.
The screen blinked, as if responding, and new words appeared:
---
[ YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED TO RECEIVE THE SUCCESS SYSTEM ]
[ THIS SYSTEM WILL GUIDE YOU ON YOUR PATH TO FULFILLMENT ]
[ FIRST, YOU MUST CHOOSE YOUR PATH ]
[ CHOOSE WISELY - THIS DECISION IS PERMANENT ]
---
A new screen materialized, replacing the previous one:
---
[ CHOOSE YOUR PATH ]
⭐ SINGER
👗 DESIGNER
⚕️ DOCTOR
🥊 FIGHTER
🎨 ARTIST
💼 BUSINESSWOMAN
🎬 ACTRESS
👩🍳 CHEF
---
I looked at the list, my brain still trying to process what was happening.
Doctor would be practical. Fighter would be useful. Businesswoman would make strategic sense.
But my eyes kept returning to one option.
Singer.
Something inside me — perhaps Cassandra's memories, who secretly loved music but was never encouraged to pursue it, or perhaps my own soul that always envied those who could truly sing — stirred.
In my previous life, I used to sing in the shower, completely off-key. I envied people who could express emotions through music in a way words never could.
And now… now I had the chance?
Besides, thinking strategically. If I became famous as a singer, I would have my own influence. Resources. A platform to clear my name.
And maybe, just maybe, if I were good enough… I could stay away from that complete womanizer.
"Singer," I said aloud, my voice surprisingly firm. "I choose Singer."
The screen glowed intensely for a moment, and then new words appeared:
---
[ PATH SELECTED: SINGER ]
[ INTEGRATING SKILLS… ]
---
And then, as if someone had downloaded information directly into my brain, I knew things.
I knew how to position my tongue and lips to create different sounds. I knew how to breathe from the diaphragm instead of the chest. I knew about resonance, where the sound vibrated in my body. I knew about pitch, tone, vocal support.
Concepts that were completely foreign to me before now made perfect sense, as if I had studied them for years.
It wasn't master-level knowledge. I wasn't a diva suddenly. But it was solid. Real. It was as if I had taken years of basic singing lessons in a single instant.
The screen changed again:
---
[ STATUS ]
Name: Cassandra Whitmore
Age: 20 Years
Path: Singer
Stats:
Strength: 34
Agility: 46
Intelligence: 81
Charm: 68
Willpower: 77
Luck: 52
Skills:
N/A
---
Simple. Straightforward. No complicated numbers or confusing stats.
Before I could process everything, the screen blinked once more:
---
[ FIRST MISSION AVAILABLE ]
MISSION: Sign the disinheritance agreement and leave the office without looking back.
REWARD: Angelic Voice
---
I looked at the mission, my brain working fast.
Sign the agreement?
Part of me — the part that was Cassandra — wanted to scream "NO!" She wanted to fight. She wanted to prove her innocence. She wanted to make them see the truth.
But the part of me that had read the novel knew better.
In the original story, Cassandra fought. She refused to sign for weeks. She tried to prove her innocence. And she lost everything anyway — but in a much worse way. Without money. Without resources. Without anything. Hunted by the Whitmore family and their lawyers until she had nowhere left to go.
At least with two million dollars, I would have a chance to start over. A solid foundation.
And this "Angelic Voice"… If it was what I thought it was, it would be worth more than any wounded pride.
Sometimes, to win the war, you have to lose a battle.
"I accept," I said aloud, my voice echoing in the frozen office.
The screen glowed:
---
[ MISSION ACCEPTED ]
[ GOOD LUCK ]
---
And then, as smoothly as it had stopped, time began to flow again.
"—look very pale—" my lawyer was finishing his sentence, offering me the glass of water with a genuinely concerned expression.
I took the glass with hands that, surprisingly, no longer trembled, and drank slowly. The water was cold, refreshing, bringing me back to the present moment.
When I lowered the glass, I took a deep breath.
Adrian was looking at me with that irritated, disdainful expression, clearly expecting me to have another dramatic episode to delay things even further.
But I wasn't going to give him that satisfaction.
"Sorry," I said calmly, my voice firm and controlled. "I had a bad headache. But it's gone now."
Adrian narrowed his eyes, as if suspecting some trick. But then he just snorted. "How convenient. So can we finally get this over with?"
I looked at the document in front of me. Disinheritance and Termination of All Familial Rights Agreement.
Every fiber of Cassandra's being screamed to tear this paper. To throw it in their faces. To fight to the end.
But I was no longer just Cassandra.
And I knew that sometimes, the smartest move was to strategically retreat. To accept temporary defeat to ensure future victory.
Without a word, I picked up the pen.
My lawyer leaned in, his voice low and concerned. "Cassandra, you really don't have to do this now. We can ask for more time to review the terms, perhaps negotiate—"
"No," I said softly, but with finality. "It's fine. I understand the agreement."
He looked genuinely sad, as if he wanted to argue more. But he ended up just nodding slowly, resigned.
I took one last deep breath.
And then, with calm, deliberate movements, I signed my name on the last page.
Cassandra Whitmore.
For a moment, I just looked at my signature. This would be the last time I used this surname legally. The last official tie to the Whitmore family, cut with a simple signature.
Hargrave immediately picked up the document, his eyes quickly scanning the pages to make sure everything was in order. Then he nodded with satisfaction, clearly relieved that the process was finally over.
"Excellent," he said, his voice professional and emotionless. "The sum of two million dollars will be transferred to the bank account you provided within twenty-four business hours. The funds will be available by Monday morning at the latest."
He opened his leather briefcase and took out another set of stapled papers. "And here is a complete copy of the agreement for your personal records. Please keep it in a safe place."
I took the papers without looking at them, folding them carefully and placing them in my bag.
Adrian stood up immediately, clearly eager to be done with it all and leave. He adjusted his impeccable suit, his movements quick and efficient.
"Well," he said, his voice sharp and cold, "I suppose that concludes our family business definitively. Cassandra—"
He paused, and something that might have been cruel amusement passed through his eyes.
"—or should I say, just Cass now, since you no longer have the right to the Whitmore surname. I sincerely hope you use this money wisely. It's significantly more than you would manage on your own, considering your… current situation."
Every word was calculated to cut. To humiliate. To make me feel small.
I could feel him waiting for a reaction. One last emotional outburst. Tears. Pleas. Drama.
The old Cassandra would have given him exactly that.
But I was no longer just her.
I just put the documents in my bag with calm movements, stood up, and straightened my dress.
"Thank you for your generosity," I said, my voice completely neutral. Not sarcastic. Not emotional. Not bitter. Just… empty of emotion.
The response clearly disappointed him. He had wanted a final show. A confirmation that he had "won."
But I wasn't going to give that to him.
"Well then." He turned to leave, but stopped at the door, looking over his shoulder with one last cold expression. "Oh, and Cassandra? One final warning, since I'm technically still being generous: do not attempt to contact our family again. Do not try to call our mother or father. Do not show up at the Whitmore property. And definitely, definitely, do not try to visit Eloise in the hospital."
His voice grew even harder.
"If you do any of those things, we will consider it harassment and stalking, and we will take the appropriate legal measures. And believe me, our lawyers are much better than any you could afford. Do you understand?"
Each word was a knife in Cassandra's heart. Especially the part about Eloise.
Because despite everything — all the teasing, all the bitterness, all the jealousy — Cassandra had cared about Eloise. And now she couldn't even visit her in the hospital. She couldn't know if she was getting better. She couldn't apologize.
But I kept my face completely neutral.
"Understood perfectly," I said simply, with no emotion in my voice.
Adrian studied my face for a long moment, as if searching for cracks in my mask of calm. When he found none, something that seemed like genuine frustration flashed briefly across his features before being replaced by the usual indifference.
"Well." He adjusted his shirt cuffs. "Take care, Cassandra. Or don't. Frankly, it's no longer my concern."
And with that, he walked out of the office, his back straight and arrogant posture intact until the end. Hargrave hurried after him, closing his expensive leather briefcase and murmuring something about "proper documentation" as he disappeared through the door.
The silence that followed was almost deafening.
My lawyer remained seated for a moment, looking at me with an expression that mixed pity and admiration. Finally, he sighed and stood up, picking up his own much more modest briefcase.
"Miss Whit— Cassandra," he quickly corrected himself, seeming genuinely uncomfortable with the slip. "I… am sorry. For everything. You didn't deserve to be treated like that, regardless of the circumstances."
His voice was low, almost conspiratorial, as if afraid someone might hear him expressing sympathy for me.
"If you need any legal assistance in the future — and please, consider hiring a lawyer who actually works for you and not for your family — my card is in the document folder I gave you. Don't hesitate to contact me."
He seemed genuinely sympathetic. Perhaps the only person in this room who actually cared, even if just a little. Or maybe he was just a good man stuck in a bad situation.
"Thank you," I said, and this time there was a hint of real warmth in my voice. "I appreciate it. Truly."
He nodded, seeming relieved to receive at least a bit of human recognition, and then left too, leaving me alone in the huge, empty office.
Alone.
I stood for a moment, just breathing, letting it all sink in.
It was over. Truly over.
Twenty years of life — of memories, of family, of belonging — cut with a signature and a few cold words.
I felt my throat tighten. My eyes began to burn.
No. Not now.
The mission wasn't complete yet. I had to leave here. Without looking back.
I took a deep breath, forcing the emotions down, locking them away in some dark place in the back of my mind. I could fall apart later. When I was truly alone. When I was safe.
But not here. Not now.
I adjusted my bag on my shoulder, checked that I had everything — wallet, phone, apartment keys, the agreement documents —, and turned towards the door.
My footsteps echoed on the marble floor as I walked.
Each step felt like it weighed a ton. Each step took me further away from everything Cassandra had known.
I passed through the dark wood double doors. Passed the receptionist who looked at me with a mix of curiosity and discomfort. Passed through the elegant hallways of the law firm, with its expensive artwork and luxurious carpets.
All for the last time.
And then I was in the elevator, the polished steel doors closing, reflecting my image back at me.
I barely recognized myself.
Cassandra Whitmore — or just Cassandra now, I supposed — was twenty years old. Long brown hair that fell in soft waves down to the small of her back. Dark brown eyes that seemed larger than they should because of the deep dark circles. Pale skin from someone who hadn't slept properly in weeks. A simple but elegant navy blue dress that probably cost more than three months of my rent in my previous life.
I looked… tired. Defeated. Lost.
But there was something else in my eyes now. Something that wasn't there in Cassandra's memories.
Determination.
The elevator descended smoothly, and I watched the numbers decreasing. Twelfth floor. Eleventh. Tenth.
I was leaving everything behind. The Whitmore mansion with its huge gardens and luxurious rooms. The employees who used to serve me. The expensive cars. The elegant parties. The respected surname.
But I was also leaving behind the loneliness. The constant rejection. The disapproving looks. The feeling of never being good enough.
Maybe… maybe this was a liberation.
The elevator reached the ground floor with a soft ding.
The doors opened to the marble lobby of the office building. People in expensive suits walked hurriedly, talking on phones, carrying briefcases, living their lives without even noticing the twenty-year-old girl who had just signed her previous life away.
I stepped out of the elevator, my heels clicking on the marble floor.
The revolving glass door was just ahead. On the other side, I could see the busy street. Cars passing. People walking. The world continuing as if nothing significant had happened.
I approached the door, my hand reaching to push it—
And then I stopped.
Just for a second.
Just long enough to feel the weight of the moment.
Once I passed through this door, there would be no turning back. No more Whitmore family. No more safety net. No more pretending things could go back to how they were before.
It would be just me. Alone. In a world I only knew through the pages of a web novel.
Scary.
But also… liberating.
I took one last deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and pushed the door.
The fresh afternoon air hit me immediately. It was early autumn, and there was a gentle breeze that carried the scent of dry leaves and urban concrete. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.
I stepped out onto the sidewalk and…
Didn't look back.
Not even a glance over my shoulder. Not even a pause.
I just kept walking, my steps firm and steady, moving away from the building, the law office, everything that represented the Whitmore family.
And then it happened.
That familiar tingling sensation ran through my body. And in the corner of my vision, I saw that familiar blue screen appear:
---
[ MISSION COMPLETE! ]
[ REWARD GRANTED: ANGELIC VOICE ]
---
And suddenly, my throat felt warm.
Not painfully. Not uncomfortably. But as if someone had lit a small flame inside my vocal cords, warming them, transforming them, improving them.
The sensation lasted only a few seconds, but when it passed, I knew — in the same way I knew how to breathe or how to blink — that something fundamental had changed in my voice.
The screen blinked again:
---
[ ANGELIC VOICE (PASSIVE) ]
Your voice now possesses an ethereal and captivating quality. When you sing, people stop to listen. Your words carry emotion more deeply. Your voice can touch hearts and remain in memory long after the sound has faded.
---
I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, ignoring the people rushing past me.
Angelic Voice. Angelic Voice.
This was… this was huge.
In the novel, the protagonist had several special abilities like this. "Golden Hands" that made him a supernatural surgeon. "Dragon's Fist" that multiplied his strength in combat. "Eye of Knowledge" that gave him instant understanding of complex concepts.
And now I had one.
An ability that, if used correctly, could completely change my situation.
I could become a real singer. Not just competent. Not just good. But extraordinary.
A smile began to form on my face. The first genuine smile since I woke up in this body.
Because for the first time since I arrived here, I felt something beyond fear and despair.
I felt hope.
I took my phone from my bag — an Xphone that Cassandra had gotten last year, before everything fell apart — and checked my finances.
Bank account: $847.32.
I was basically broke. But in twenty-four hours, I would have two million dollars.
It wasn't much, considering I was facing an entire web novel world where the protagonist had literally everything. But it was a start.
I opened the GPS on my phone, searching for the nearest address. Cassandra had rented a small apartment a few weeks ago, when it became clear she was no longer welcome at the mansion. It was tiny, in a not-so-great neighborhood, but it was hers.
Mine now.
The apartment was about forty minutes away by subway.
I started walking towards the nearest station, my heels clicking on the concrete, my bag swinging on my shoulder.
The streets were full with the end-of-day rush. People returning from work. Students heading home. Couples walking hand in hand.
Everyone living their normal lives, with no idea they were in a web novel world. With no idea that somewhere in this city, there was a ridiculously talented protagonist building his harem and climbing to the top of… well, everything.
But they also didn't know that there was now another person with a system. Someone who knew the story. Someone who wasn't just going to accept the role of disposable villain.
I went down the stairs to the subway, passed through the turnstile with my transit card, and waited on the platform as the train approached with a metallic roar.
When the doors opened, I entered and found a spot near the window. The subway was crowded, full of tired bodies and bored faces looking at phones.
I sat down, placing my bag on my lap, and looked out the window as the train began to move, leaving the station and plunging into the dark tunnels.
My reflection stared back at me from the dark glass. Brown hair messy from the breeze. Tired but determined eyes. A girl who had just lost everything.
Or gained everything, depending on how you looked at it.
I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the rhythmic sway of the train calm me.
Mentally, I started making a list. Because that's what nerds did when they were overwhelmed, right? Lists. Plans. Strategies.
Immediate Priorities:
1. Get to the apartment. Rest. Cassandra — I — hadn't slept properly in days. Maybe weeks. I needed a decent night's sleep before doing anything drastic.
2. Wait for the money to arrive. Two million in twenty-four hours. That would give me real resources to work with.
3. Figure out my next step. Singer was the path I chose. But how exactly did I start? Auditions? Wetube? Bar gigs? I had no idea.
4. Avoid the protagonist at all costs. Seriously. That guy was a magnet for trouble. And women. Mostly women. If I could stay away from him, my survival chances increased dramatically.
5. Find out what happened to Eloise. Not because I hoped to clear my name with the Whitmore family — that ship had sailed. But because… well, from Cassandra's memories, I knew she genuinely cared about Eloise. And the idea that the girl was in a coma, possibly dying, and I couldn't do anything about it… hurt.
The train jolted violently as it turned a curve, bringing me back to the present.
I opened my eyes and checked my phone. Still thirty more minutes until my stop.
I decided to test something.
Looking around to make sure no one was paying too much attention to me — which wasn't hard, considering everyone was glued to their own phones — I cleared my throat softly.
And then, very quietly, just above a whisper, I sang.
It was nothing elaborate. Just a simple scale. Do, re, mi, fa, sol, la, ti, do.
But the moment the sound left my throat, I felt it.
It wasn't just my voice. It was different. Richer. Smoother. There was a quality to it that I couldn't describe — as if each note had weight, texture, emotion embedded in it in a way that was impossible naturally.
It was beautiful.
And I wasn't even trying. I wasn't even using my full voice. Just a whisper, and yet…
A man sitting across the aisle looked up from his phone, his eyes meeting mine for a split second. He looked… confused. As if he had heard something but wasn't sure what.
I immediately stopped singing, feeling my face grow warm.
Okay. So the Angelic Voice was real. And it was powerful.
This changed everything.
The rest of the subway ride passed in a blur. I was too anxious, my mind racing with possibilities, to pay attention to anything else.
When we finally reached my stop, I practically jumped from my seat and hurried out of the train before the doors closed.
The subway station here was… less pleasant than the one in the financial district. Dirtier. Darker. With that characteristic smell of urine and mold that seemed to permeate all old subway stations.
I climbed the worn stairs to the street and emerged into a neighborhood that was drastically different from the one I had left behind.
No sleek glass and steel buildings. No luxury cars. No people in expensive suits.
Here there were old apartment buildings with peeling paint. Convenience stores with blinking signs. A corner bar with loud music leaking from the door. A few teenagers leaning against a wall, smoking and laughing loudly.
It was… common. Real. Unpretentious.
And in a way, comforting.
I walked three blocks, turning left onto Maple Street, and stopped in front of a five-story apartment building that looked like it had seen better days.
Number 247.
My new home.
I used my key to enter the front door — which creaked loud enough to wake the dead — and climbed the stairs to the third floor. The hallway smelled vaguely of Indian food and something that might be marijuana.
Apartment 3C.
I unlocked the door and entered, closing it behind me and locking all three locks that Cassandra had wisely installed when she moved in.
And then, finally alone, I let my bag drop to the floor and looked around.
The apartment was… tiny.
An open space that served as a living room and bedroom. A tiny kitchenette in the corner. A door that probably led to a bathroom the size of a closet.
There was a single bed against the wall, still unmade since Cassandra had left this morning. A cheap desk with an old laptop. A mini fridge that buzzed loudly. A few boxes still unpacked in the corner.
It was depressing.
But it was mine.
I let myself fall onto the bed, my heels dropping to the floor with two soft thumps.
And then, for the first time since I woke up in this body, since I lived through that whole nightmare in the office, since I signed my previous life away…
I cried.
Not dramatically. Not with loud sobs. Just silent tears streaming down my face, soaking the cheap pillow.
I cried for Cassandra, who had lost everything and never got the chance to recover. I cried for the family that rejected her. I cried for Eloise, who was in a coma from an accident nobody believed was an accident.
I cried for my previous life — so boring and lonely, but at least mine. For my tiny apartment. For my boring office job. For my trashy web novels.
I cried until I had no tears left.
And when I finally stopped, when my breathing calmed and my body stopped trembling, I felt… empty. But also lighter. As if I had left something heavy behind.
I sat up slowly, wiping my face with the back of my hand.
My eyes fell on the old laptop on the desk.
And suddenly, I had an idea.
I got up from the bed, crossed the apartment in three steps, and opened the laptop. It took forever to turn on — clearly needing an update for years — but eventually the home screen appeared.
I opened it and typed everything I remembered from the novel: "The Rise of the Immortal Heir"
Protagonist: Elias Chen. Orphan who discovers he is the heir to an ancient lineage of cultivators. Genius in literally everything. Serial collector of women.
Main Female Lead: Eloise Whitmore. Lost daughter of a wealthy family who is rescued and returns home. Sweet, kind, talented in music. Eventually becomes one of the women in Elias's harem.
Secondary Characters:
· Adrian Whitmore: Eloise's older brother. Young, cold CEO. Eventually becomes Elias's ally.
· Cassandra Whitmore: Adopted daughter. Minor villain. Falsely accused of trying to kill Eloise. Disinherited. Dies miserably.
Dies miserably.
Not in the novel. Not in detail. Cassandra simply disappeared from the story after being disinherited, and was later casually mentioned to have died — something about a drug overdose and loneliness.
A pathetic end for a pathetic character.
But not for me.
Because I had something the original Cassandra never had.
I had knowledge of the future. I knew what was coming. I knew who the protagonist was. Where he would be. Who would join his harem and when.
And more importantly: I had a system.
I kept writing, absorbing information, noting down everything I found useful.
The timeline was vague, but based on Cassandra's memories and what I was reading, I estimated I was somewhere around Chapter 50-60 of the novel.
Elias had already started his journey. He had already met Eloise. The "accident" on the stairs had just happened.
Which meant that in the coming months, several important things would happen:
· Eloise would wake from the coma (Chapter 75ish)
· Elias would heal her using his miraculous medical skills (Chapter 76)
· Eloise would fall in love with him (obviously)
· Cassandra would be mentioned as having left the city and fallen into disgrace (Chapter 80)
So I had time. Not much, but some.
I closed the laptop and looked around my tiny apartment again.
Two million dollars would arrive tomorrow.
I had an Angelic Voice.
I had knowledge of the story.
And I had the determination not to die like a trash novel villain.
"Okay," I said aloud to the empty apartment, my voice — my new and improved angelic voice — echoing softly off the walls. "Let's do this."
I had a plan to make. A career to build. And a destiny to rewrite.
But first?
First I needed to sleep.
Because tomorrow, my new life would truly begin.