Entering the room, Ria stopped breathing.
No—this wasn't a room.
This was ten times larger than her parents' entire house, every bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and living space crushed together and still coming up short.
For a moment, she simply stood there, shoes sinking into a plush white carpet so soft it felt like stepping on clouds.
The color palette hit her first—layers of pink, pearl white, and soft sky blue, blended so seamlessly it felt unreal.
The walls weren't plain; they were custom-paneled, decorated with elegant molding and large framed photos of Ria Voss herself, captured in different expressions—smiling sweetly, looking aloof, laughing arrogantly. Cute posters mixed with luxury art, carefully arranged so the room felt playful yet expensive.
Along one side, glass display shelves held rows of dolls—porcelain princess dolls, designer teddy bears, limited-edition collectibles dressed in tiny gowns, their glassy eyes reflecting the chandelier's light. Some looked cute. Some looked unsettling. All of them looked expensive.
The bed sat at the center like a throne.
A custom king-sized bed, twice the size of a normal one, layered with silk sheets, fluffy pastel blankets, and pillows embroidered with tiny crowns and bows. Ria screamed and launched herself onto it, bouncing like a maniac.
"Dumbball—AM I SEEING THINGS?" she yelled, rolling across the bed. "This is my room? Just for me?"
To the right, a massive wardrobe stretched across the wall—
one entire section only for handbags, neatly displayed like museum pieces;
another wardrobe strictly for shoes, arranged by color and heel height;
a separate cabinet for books and accessories;
and—ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous—
a wardrobe dedicated solely to dolls.
The balcony doors were floor-to-ceiling glass. Outside, the balcony alone was bigger than most apartments, complete with a private pool, white stone tiles, and minimalist lounge chairs.
As if that wasn't enough, the room branched into other spaces
a personal dressing room,
a makeup room filled with mirrors and glowing vanity lights,
an accessories room,
a shoe room larger than her old bedroom,
and a bathroom that looked like a luxury spa, complete with a deep soaking bathtub and gold-trimmed fixtures.
"This whole floor… just this room," Ria muttered, dizzy. "No wonder."
She rolled on the bed again, hugging a pillow tightly, eyes shining.
"When I get that two hundred million dollars," she said dreamily, "I'm building a house like this. No—five times bigger. More cars, more jewelry, more clothes, more accessories. I'll travel the world, open shops, keep earning…"
She laughed softly, selfish and honest.
"I'll pamper Ivy so much she won't know what hit her."
"That's only possible," Dumbball said calmly, appearing beside her as a purple, palm-sized cat, "if you become the greatest villainess this world has ever seen. Your first task has already begun. Complete it, and five million will be sent to your original account."
"Definitely," Ria replied without hesitation, hugging the pillow tighter.
She woke up later in the evening, body relaxed, mind still buzzing.
After a long, luxurious bath, she changed into a soft pink silk pajama set trimmed with tiny cat prints along the edges.
The fabric clung lightly to her skin, smooth and cool. She slipped on matching fluffy slippers, pulled a cute cat-shaped headband over her hair, and glanced at herself in the mirror.
Spoiled. Pretty. Dangerous.
Ria went downstairs just in time for dinner.
The dining hall was vast, long enough to seat a dozen people, yet only one person occupied it.
A boy around her age sat at the far end of the table, posture straight, movements restrained, eating quietly without sparing her a glance. The crystal chandelier above cast a cold glow over his sharp features.
Ria didn't acknowledge him.
She pulled out a chair, sat down leisurely, and crossed her legs as servants immediately moved to her side, placing dishes in front of her with practiced precision. The clink of porcelain filled the silence.
Halfway through her first bite, the boy finally spoke.
"I heard what you did this morning."
Ria didn't look up.
"You'll need to be more specific," she replied lazily. "I did a lot today."
"Jumping from the first-floor window," he said coldly. "For who? King? Will you stop tarnishing my name?"
That finally made her pause.
Slowly, Ria lifted her gaze, eyes calm, lips curved in faint amusement.
"Wow," she said. "When I jumped, did I scream your name? Did I call you? Or did I somehow carve your name into the air on my way down?"
She set her cutlery aside, tone sharp but controlled.
"I was the one who jumped. I was the one who got injured. And you didn't even ask if I was okay. Instead, you're worried about your reputation."
She tilted her head slightly, smile sweet and poisonous.
"What are you—an idol? Not everything is about you. Shut up and eat. Don't ruin my appetite."
She paused, then added lightly,
"No—scratch that. You're not important enough to make me lose it."
The temperature in the room dropped instantly.
The servants froze mid-motion. Even the butler stiffened, fingers tightening around his tray. That wasn't arrogance—that was cruelty refined into elegance.
The butler cleared his throat nervously.
"Young Miss… Young Master Michael didn't mean it that way. He's worried about you, aren't you, Young Master?"
Michael slowly stood up, eyes cold as glass.
"I don't care if she kills herself," he sneered. "She should just do it far away. I'm tired of people saying, 'Oh, your sister did this, your sister did that.'"
He laughed sharply.
"Someone with a minus IQ being called my sister is embarrassing. I'd rather die than acknowledge her."
He turned and walked out without another word.
The butler swallowed hard.
Ria watched his retreating figure quietly.
Then she lifted her hand, waving dismissively.
"Leave."
The servants hesitated, then bowed and exited one by one, leaving the dining hall empty except for her.
A moment later, Dumbball appeared beside her.
"That was harsh. As a villainess, you can't just let that slide."
Ria smiled.
She reached for her phone, fingers moving swiftly. A moment later, she tapped play.
A recording filled the room—
"I hate you. I wish Dad and Mom never had you at all.
Your IQ is low because you've been spoiled rotten just for being a girl.
Don't ever tell anyone you're my sister. I'd rather die than accept you.
And stop crying. Throwing milk on you was just the appetizer."
Michael's voice.
Then—soft sobbing. Ria's.
"Tsk," Ria muttered calmly. "This is why being good at editing and using AI is important."
She sent the audio to one contact.
Mr. Voss.
Dad, brother is bullying me again. I'm really sad.
I don't want a brother anymore. Please cheer me up.
She placed her phone down, utterly relaxed.
"He'll punish him," she said casually to Dumbball. "And he'll give me a wish to make me feel better."
She leaned back in her chair, eyes gleaming.
"And I already know what I'll ask for."
She rolled her eyes slightly.
"I'll ask him to transfer the male lead to our school. But before that, I'll visit his school tomorrow. I want to confirm it myself—since you refuse to tell me anything useful."
Dumbball stared at her.
"…You're wicked. Naturally."
Ria smiled wider.
"Thank you."
"I'm nice, darling," Ria whispered, leaning closer to Dumbball until her lips were almost brushing the air beside the small palm-sized cat. To anyone passing by, it would look like she was murmuring to spoons and plates.
"But money changes people. And I'm more than willing to change for money."
Her eyes curved slightly, unreadable.
"Besides, I'm the villainess. A fake heiress. Once the real female lead returns and I start bullying her too, everyone will hate me, expose me, and kick me out—just like the plot you told me."
She shrugged faintly.
"So don't stress."
She straightened, picked up her cutlery again, and ate calmly, as if she hadn't just discussed her future downfall like a shopping list.
After dinner, Ria went back to her room, kicked off her shoes, and flopped onto the massive bed without even changing. The mattress swallowed her whole. Sleep claimed her instantly.
The next morning, sunlight spilled through the tall windows.
Ria woke up, washed, and changed into her school uniform with practiced elegance. By the time she went downstairs for breakfast, Michael was already gone.
She ate quietly.
A moment later, Nanny Marta approached, her steps careful.
"Miss… the information you asked for," Marta said softly, placing a thin document folder on the table.
Ria didn't look up. She simply nodded and continued eating, completely ignoring the woman's nervous posture.
Once she was done, she stood, grabbed the folder, and walked toward the garage.
The driver was already waiting.
This time, the Rolls-Royce was white—clean, glossy, and blinding under the morning sun.
As the door closed behind her, Ria opened the folder.
The first thing that greeted her was a school name.
She paused.
Then smiled.
"Take me to Crown Side Public School," she said calmly.
The driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror, surprise flickering across his face. He clearly expected directions to St. Alderwyn's Ashford Meridian Collegiate, the elite school reserved for the upper echelons.
But he said nothing not like he can do anything.
The car changed direction smoothly, driving away from privilege—
And straight toward the place where her male lead was waiting.
The Rolls-Royce came to a smooth stop near the school gate.
For a moment—
the entire entrance froze.
This was Crown Side Public School, not some elite academy. Students here came from struggling families, middle-class homes, or people barely holding on. Some had parents with money, sure—but this kind of car?
This was something they only saw in movies.
Whispers erupted instantly.
"Is that real?"
"That's a Rolls-Royce, right?"
"Who came in that?"
"A student?"
"No way. Maybe some rich guy picking up his girlfriend?"
Phones were pulled out at lightning speed. Cameras clicked nonstop.
Some students stood on tiptoe, craning their necks. Others pretended not to stare while very obviously staring. A few girls subtly adjusted their hair, straightened their skirts, tilted their heads just right—eyes shining with ambition—as if the owner of the car might fall in love at first glance.
Inside the car, the tinted window remained raised.
Ria sat quietly, eyes sharp, scanning through the glass.
Her goal was simple.
Find the male lead.
"Tsk. Why don't you just read the information about him?" Dumbball's voice echoed lazily.
"No way," Ria replied softly. "Male leads have that glow. You can spot them just by looking I want to see if it is true. And the file didn't even have his picture."
She narrowed her eyes, studying the gate.
Students continued to gather—until suddenly, the crowd shifted.
Like iron filings drawn to a magnet.
People turned away from the car almost instinctively, attention snapping toward someone else.
Some faces lit up.
Some stiffened.
Some went quiet.
"Bingo," Ria muttered. "The lead is here."
She opened the door.
The moment she stepped out—
The air changed.
A collective intake of breath swept through the area.
She looked like she didn't belong here at all.
Delicate, enchanting, petite yet striking—her presence was soft and dangerous at the same time. Elegant but not cold. Pretty without trying. The kind of beauty that didn't scream for attention but stole it anyway the kind of beauty that when she appears everyone focused on her she has that angel look.
Someone whispered, "She's beautiful…"
Another muttered, "Is she real?"
Ria ignored them completely.
She walked toward the gate, her driver calling after her in confusion, but she didn't stop.
Then—
She saw him.
Clear as day.
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs.
No…
Her lips parted before her brain could stop her.
"Matthew."
It was barely louder than a breath.
In a crowd this noisy, no one should have heard it.
But he did.
The person she called turned.
Their eyes met.
For a split second, time stalled.
If this were a romance novel, it would've been fate.
But Ria's mind went blank.
No no no no—
She spun around instantly and ran back toward the car.
"Drive. Now," she said the moment she got in.
The door slammed shut, the car pulling away almost immediately.
Ria pressed a hand to her chest, breathing fast.
"No. No. No," she muttered. "You're overthinking. I didn't see his face clearly. Yes. That's it. I didn't see anything."
The driver glanced at her through the mirror.
"Miss… are you alright?"
"I'm fine," she whispered, forcing herself to calm down.
"Drive to a street stall. I want hotpot."
The driver stared.
Street food?
Didn't she hate places like that?
But he said nothing—and followed her orders.