Chapter 1: The Villain Who Didn't Want to Be One
If Miller had known that reading trashy web novels at 3 a.m. would lead to this, he would have gone to sleep like a normal person.
Instead, here he was—standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror, staring at a face that was definitely not his.
Sharp jawline. Perfect hair. Expensive suit. Cold, calculating eyes.
"…I'm doomed."
Because this wasn't just any random body.
He had transmigrated into the villain assistant of a cliché CEO romance novel.
And not just any villain.
The worst kind.
The kind who schemes, manipulates, steals money, tries to seduce the female lead, ruins the male lead's life… and then gets crushed like a bug at the end.
Miller pressed his hands against the marble sink and took a deep breath.
"Okay. Calm down. Let's review the situation."
He closed his eyes and replayed the plot.
Cloe—the female lead.
A powerful CEO. Cold. Beautiful. Untouchable.
She entered a contract marriage with Andro, the male lead, just to avoid family pressure.
No love. No feelings. Just a name.
Andro?
A quiet, gentle house husband.
The kind who cooks, cleans, and suffers in silence while his wife barely looks at him.
Then there was him—
Miller.
The assistant.
The villain.
The idiot who—
Schemed to marry Cloe
Spent her money like it was his own
Made Andro's life miserable
And somehow got blamed for everything even when he didn't do anything
And the ending?
Miller shivered.
It was a disaster.
Andro, after endless silent suffering, finally leaves.
Cloe realizes too late that his presence had become her habit.
She searches for him.
Finds him.
And learns he has stomach cancer.
He dies.
She breaks.
Blames everything on Miller.
And—
"Yeah, let's not finish that thought," Miller muttered quickly.
Because the ending involved violence, regret, and a very dead villain.
Miller opened his eyes.
"So the goal is simple."
He raised a finger.
"Survive."
No scheming.
No stealing money.
No seducing the CEO.
No messing with the male lead.
He would be the most invisible, harmless, peaceful assistant in history.
He nodded firmly.
"Yes. I'll just do my job, collect my salary, and stay far away from the main characters."
A perfect plan.
Flawless.
Absolutely foolproof.
"Assistant Miller."
A cold voice cut through the air.
Miller froze.
Slowly, very slowly, he turned around.
There she was.
Cloe.
Leaning against the office door, arms crossed.
Her presence alone made the temperature drop.
Elegant. Dominating. Untouchable.
Like a queen who owned everything she saw.
Including—
"Why are you staring at me like that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Miller immediately looked down.
"Sorry, President Cloe."
(Don't look at her. Don't interact. Stay alive.)
She walked past him, heels clicking against the floor.
"I have a dinner tonight," she said casually. "You're coming with me."
Miller blinked.
"…Me?"
"Yes."
She sat down at her desk, already flipping through documents.
"You'll handle everything."
Miller's survival instincts screamed.
In the novel—
This was where things started going wrong.
This was where the villain began getting too close.
He swallowed.
"President Cloe… wouldn't it be more appropriate for your husband to accompany you?"
The room went silent.
Cloe paused.
Then slowly looked up.
Her gaze was sharp.
"Why would I bring him?"
Miller: "…."
Right.
Because in her eyes—
Andro was just a tool.
A shield.
A name.
Nothing more.
Miller forced a smile.
"No reason. I'll prepare everything."
(Abort mission. Abort mission. Do not mention the male lead again.)
That evening—
Miller stood beside Cloe like a perfectly trained assistant.
Quiet. Efficient. Invisible.
Everything was going well.
Too well.
Which meant—
Something was about to go wrong.
And it did.
Because the moment they returned home—
They saw him.
Andro.
Standing in the doorway.
Wearing a simple apron.
Holding a plate of freshly cooked food.
He looked at them.
At Cloe.
At Miller.
And smiled gently.
"You're back."
Miller felt his heart sink.
Because that smile—
It was exactly how it was described in the novel.
Soft.
Warm.
And completely unaware of how much pain awaited him.
Cloe walked past him without stopping.
"I've already eaten."
Andro's hand tightened slightly on the plate.
"…I see."
Miller froze in place.
(Nope. Not my business. Not my problem. I'm leaving.)
He turned to escape—
"Assistant Miller."
Cloe's voice stopped him.
"Yes?"
"Stay."
Miller: "…"
(Why.)
Cloe sat on the sofa, crossing her legs.
"Bring the documents."
"…Now?"
"Yes."
Behind him—
Andro was still standing there.
Holding the plate.
Silent.
Miller hesitated.
Then glanced back.
Their eyes met for a brief moment.
Andro smiled again.
"It's okay," he said softly. "Work is more important."
Miller: "…."
(This man is going to die and still apologize for it, isn't he?)
That night—
Miller lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
"…This is worse than I thought."
Because even without doing anything—
The story was already moving.
Cloe ignored Andro.
Andro endured silently.
And Miller?
Was stuck in the middle.
He covered his face with a pillow.
"I just want a peaceful life…"
But deep down—
He already knew.
This story—
Would not let him stay out of it.
And somewhere in the dark—
Fate had already started laughing.