Chapter 1: The Villain Wakes Up
Miller knew two things the moment he opened his eyes.
First, this was not his room.
Second, he was absolutely, completely doomed.
The ceiling above him was too white, too expensive-looking, like something out of those corporate dramas he used to binge at 2 a.m. There was a faint scent of luxury cologne in the air, and when he sat up, his head throbbed with a flood of memories that were not his.
"No, no, no… this can't be happening," he muttered, clutching his temples.
But it was happening.
He had transmigrated.
Not into a hero. Not into a side character. Not even into a random extra who could quietly live a peaceful life in the background.
No. Out of all possibilities, Miller had transmigrated into the villain.
And not just any villain—the scheming, manipulative, absolutely hated assistant of the female CEO.
Miller.
Himself.
"Why me?!" he groaned, sliding off the bed and stumbling toward the mirror.
The reflection staring back at him was sharp, handsome, and dangerous-looking—exactly the kind of face that screamed 'I ruin lives for a living'. Dark eyes, perfectly styled hair, and a cold expression that could probably make interns cry.
"Yes… this is definitely the villain face," he sighed.
And then the memories hit harder.
The story.
He remembered everything.
Cloe—the brilliant, cold CEO. The heroine.
Andro—the male lead, her contract husband. Quiet, patient… and tragically devoted.
Their marriage was supposed to be simple: no love, no emotions, just a deal.
But of course, nothing in this story stayed simple.
Because Miller—this body—was the problem.
The assistant who secretly loved Cloe. The one who schemed, manipulated, and made Andro's life miserable. The one who encouraged misunderstandings, took advantage of Cloe's trust, and pushed the male lead further and further away.
"And then…" Miller whispered, his face turning pale.
Then came the ending.
Andro left.
Cloe realized too late that she had grown dependent on him—his quiet care, his presence, the way he always stood by her side without asking for anything.
She searched for him.
Found him.
And discovered the truth.
Stomach cancer.
Terminal.
Dead.
Miller swallowed hard.
"And after that… she kills me."
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Because in her grief and guilt, Cloe blamed the assistant—him—for everything.
The manipulation. The distance. The loss.
And just like that, the villain's story ended in blood.
"…Nope," Miller said firmly, straightening up. "Not happening. I refuse."
He pointed at his reflection like he was making a life contract.
"I am not dying for someone else's tragic love story."
He started pacing the room, thinking rapidly.
Step one: stop being evil.
Step two: avoid Andro.
Step three: stay far, far away from Cloe's emotional drama.
Simple.
Perfect.
Flawless plan.
Just as he was congratulating himself, the door suddenly opened.
"Miller."
A cold, clear voice cut through the air.
Miller froze.
Slowly, very slowly, he turned his head.
And there she was.
Cloe.
Tall, elegant, dressed in a sharp black suit that probably cost more than his entire previous life's savings. Her expression was calm, unreadable—but her eyes were sharp enough to dissect a person in seconds.
"Y-Yes?" Miller replied, his voice cracking slightly.
Great. First interaction and I already sound suspicious.
Cloe raised an eyebrow, clearly noticing the difference.
"You're late," she said.
"I… am?" Miller blinked.
"You've been standing here for five minutes doing nothing," she replied flatly.
"…Right. Thinking. Very important thinking."
Cloe stared at him.
Miller smiled awkwardly.
There was a long pause.
"…Get ready," she finally said. "We're meeting Andro today."
And just like that, Miller felt his soul leave his body.
No.
No no no no NO.
Meeting Andro meant entering the main storyline.
Which meant…
Everything begins now.
"Is something wrong?" Cloe asked, narrowing her eyes.
Miller immediately shook his head.
"No! Nothing at all! I love meetings! Especially… with husbands. Contract ones. Very exciting."
Cloe's expression turned even more suspicious.
"…You're acting strange."
"Haha, really? Must be… growth."
"…Growth."
"Yes. Personal development. New me."
Cloe didn't look convinced.
But she didn't question further.
"Be in the car in ten minutes," she said, turning to leave.
The door closed.
Silence filled the room again.
Miller collapsed onto the bed dramatically.
"I'm going to die," he whispered. "I just got here and I'm already going to die."
But then, after a moment, he sat up again, determination slowly replacing panic.
"No," he said, clenching his fists. "I know the story."
He stood, straightened his suit, and looked at himself in the mirror again.
"If I know the future… then I can change it."
A grin slowly spread across his face.
"This time, the villain survives."
Outside, a luxury car engine started.
Inside, Miller took a deep breath and walked toward his fate.
Unaware that the more he tried to avoid the story…
…the deeper he was about to fall into it.