Kieran's POV
I died playing a dating game.
The truck slammed into me while I was mid-battle, phone clutched in my sweaty hands, trying to defeat the final boss of "Crimson Destiny." One second I was standing on a crosswalk. The next, pain exploded through every nerve in my body and the world went black.
Mom's going to kill me for dying this stupidly, I thought as darkness swallowed me whole.
Then my eyes snapped open.
I wasn't dead. I was staring at a ceiling covered in actual gold paint that probably cost more than my entire life savings. My heart pounded so hard it hurt. I couldn't breathe right. Everything felt wrong—my body, the air, even the way the light hit my skin.
Where the hell was I?
I sat up fast and silk sheets slid off me like water. Silk. Real silk. I'd never even touched silk before, let alone slept in it. My tiny apartment had scratchy discount blankets that smelled like laundry detergent.
This place—wherever this was—screamed rich. The kind of rich where people had servants and vacation homes and never worried about paying rent.
"Okay, think," I muttered, pressing my hands to my face. "Maybe I'm in a hospital? Maybe someone saved me and—"
I froze.
My hands. These weren't my hands.
My hands were bony and covered in small scars from years of working kitchen jobs to pay bills. These hands were perfect. Smooth pale skin. Long elegant fingers. Not a single mark or callus.
Ice flooded my veins.
I threw myself out of bed—a massive bed that could fit five people—and stumbled across the room. My legs felt weird, like I was controlling someone else's body through a video game controller. Everything was too tall, too graceful, too coordinated.
A huge mirror stood against the far wall. I crashed into it, pressing my face close to the glass.
The person staring back wasn't me.
Platinum blonde hair cascaded past shoulders that were broader than mine. Ice-blue eyes—so pale they looked almost white—gazed back from a face that belonged on magazine covers. Sharp jawline. Perfect lips. The kind of devastating beauty that made people weak in the knees.
I knew this face. I'd seen it hundreds of times on my phone screen during late-night gaming sessions.
This was Lysander Corvith. The villain from "Crimson Destiny."
"No." My voice came out smooth and rich instead of my normal scratchy tone. "No, no, no, this is insane. I'm dreaming. I hit my head and I'm dreaming."
I pinched my arm hard. It hurt. I pinched harder, until my skin turned red. Still here. Still wrong.
A glowing screen suddenly materialized in the air right in front of my face, hovering like a hologram. I screamed and fell backward, landing hard on my butt.
[WELCOME TO THE ROMANCE SURVIVAL SYSTEM!]
The cheerful words blazed in bright blue letters.
"What the—" I scrambled backward on the floor like a crab, my breath coming in panicked gasps.
[Congratulations, Player! You have been selected to participate in CRIMSON DESTINY: REALITY MODE! You are now inhabiting the body of LYSANDER CORVITH.]
This couldn't be real. People didn't just wake up inside video games. That wasn't how reality worked.
But the System kept going, each word making my stomach sink lower.
[Your mission: SURVIVE FOR 30 DAYS. Failure will result in THE EXECUTION SCENE.]
Thirty days. The execution happened exactly thirty days into the game. I'd watched it a dozen times from the protagonist's perspective—all four male leads taking turns torturing the villain before finally killing him. It was supposed to be satisfying. Justice for all the horrible things Lysander had done.
Except now I was Lysander.
"Let me out!" I shouted at the floating screen. "I don't want to play! Send me back!"
[CANNOT COMPLY. Player death in original world: CONFIRMED. This is your new reality.]
The words punched the air from my lungs.
Dead. I was actually dead. My body was probably in a morgue while my mom got the worst phone call of her life. She'd be sobbing, wondering why her son wasn't paying attention while crossing the street. My little sister would cry herself sick. My best friend would blame himself for not being there.
And I'd never see any of them again.
Tears burned my eyes but I blinked furiously, refusing to let them fall. Breaking down wouldn't help. I needed to understand what was happening and figure out how to survive.
"Fine," I said through gritted teeth. "I'm stuck here. How do I survive? There has to be a way out of this."
The System's next message made my blood turn to ice water.
[SURVIVAL CONDITION: Seduce all four male leads to 100% DEVOTION before Day 30. Success will grant you permanent survival in this world. Failure will result in THE EXECUTION SCENE—torture and death by all four targets.]
I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
Seduce all four male leads. The same four men who wanted Lysander dead more than anything.
Prince Theron Ashridge—whose mother Lysander got executed for treason. Sir Caius Wrenhart—who Lysander tortured for six months until he was completely broken. Daelon Shreve—whose twin sister Lysander murdered in cold blood. Evren Quillan—who Lysander publicly humiliated and destroyed.
They didn't just hate Lysander. They wanted him to suffer the way he'd made them suffer.
"That's impossible!" I screamed at the System. "They want to kill me! They have entire revenge plots planned! How am I supposed to make them fall in love?"
[DIFFICULTY: EXTREME]
[WARNING: Your villain powers have been SEALED. You possess only Lysander's appearance and your original personality. You have no combat skills, no political power, no magic, no weapons. Your only asset is your ability to make them desire you.]
My only asset. My body and my words. Against four trained killers who'd probably rather slit my throat than kiss me.
I was dead. This was just a slower, more painful way of dying.
[HELPFUL HINT: Original Lysander's memories are available for review. Access his past crimes, relationships, and scheduled appointments at any time.]
[TIME REMAINING: 29 DAYS, 23 HOURS, 52 MINUTES.]
A countdown appeared in the corner of my vision—red numbers ticking down second by second, measuring exactly how long I had left to live.
My whole body started shaking. This was a nightmare. A sick, twisted nightmare that I couldn't wake up from.
But maybe... maybe I had one advantage. I knew this game inside and out. I'd played every route, memorized every character's backstory, understood their personalities better than the game developers probably did. If anyone could pull off the impossible, maybe it was me.
It was still impossible. But impossible beat guaranteed death.
I grabbed the edge of a nearby table and pulled myself up on shaky legs. My reflection stared back from the mirror—Lysander's perfect, cruel face that everyone wanted destroyed.
"Okay," I whispered. "Think like a gamer. This is just the hardest difficulty level ever created. Figure it out. Survive."
The System chimed again, and my heart stopped completely.
[EMERGENCY ALERT: Prince Theron Ashridge has issued your ARREST WARRANT. Royal guards dispatched to your location. ESTIMATED ARRIVAL: 2 MINUTES, 43 SECONDS.]
[MANDATORY QUEST ACTIVATED: Survive your first encounter with Male Lead #1 - Prince Theron. Recommended approach: COMPLETE SUBMISSION. Warning: Prince Theron's hatred level is currently at 98%. One wrong word will result in immediate execution.]
Two minutes. I had two minutes before soldiers burst through that door to drag me to the palace dungeons where Theron would probably torture me for information before killing me slowly.
My first test. My first chance to either survive or die.
And I had absolutely no plan.
Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Metal armor clanking. Men's voices barking orders.
They were here.
The door exploded inward with a crash that made me jump. Six royal guards in silver armor stormed in, swords drawn and pointed directly at me. Behind them stood a tall figure in a black coat with gold embroidery—someone important, someone dangerous.
"Lysander Corvith," a cold voice announced. "By order of Crown Prince Theron Ashridge, you are under arrest for treason, murder, and crimes against the royal family. Surrender immediately or be cut down where you stand."
The System flashed: [QUEST ACTIVE: Choose your response carefully. Your survival depends on it.]
My mouth went dry. My hands trembled. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but there was nowhere to go. Six armed soldiers blocked the only exit. One wrong move and I'd have six swords through my chest.
I raised my shaking hands slowly. "I—I surrender. I won't fight."
"Smart choice," the commander sneered. "Though it won't save you from what His Highness has planned."
Two guards grabbed my arms roughly, yanking them behind my back. Cold metal cuffs snapped around my wrists. They shoved me forward, and I stumbled, barely keeping my balance.
As they dragged me toward the door, the System displayed one final message that made my stomach drop through the floor:
[WARNING: Prince Theron is waiting for you in the throne room. Current hatred level: 99%. He has been waiting five years for this moment. Survival probability: 3%.]
Three percent.
I was being dragged to face a man who wanted me dead more than anything in the world.
And I had no idea how to make him want me alive instead.