Chapter 1: The Mean Girl’s Dilemma

Three years after I landed in this story, the male lead finally made his entrance.

I remember that day like it was yesterday—the sky a dull, pewter gray, wind rattling the bare branches outside our old house in Maple Heights. Dad brought him home straight from the frontlines—an orphan, just a skinny, shivering kid with nothing but the clothes on his back. He introduced him as Zachary Blake, and from that moment, Zach was one of us: sharing our last name, our roof, our lives. Maple Heights was the kind of neighborhood where folks noticed when someone new showed up—and Zach’s arrival got people talking.

In the original novel, as the notorious mean girl, I was always convinced the male lead was Dad’s secret child, and I made his life hell every chance I got.

I’d roll my eyes, toss my hair, and shoot him glares across the dinner table—you know, classic queen bee stuff. Looking back, I cringe at how far I took it, but that was the role I was supposed to play. The whole house seemed to hold its breath every time we crossed paths.

The system told me that as long as I stuck to the plot, I could go home.

It sounded simple enough: just follow the script, play the villain, and find my way home. But the more I lived it, the harder it became to keep my heart out of it.

But—

He was so soft, adorable, and heartbreakingly beautiful. I just couldn’t do it!

His voice was gentle, his eyes impossibly big and earnest. Every time he smiled, it was like a sunbeam cutting through the gloom of winter. I’d find myself wanting to shield him from everything, even my own scripted cruelty.

[Host, please complete the system task—make things difficult for Zachary Blake.]

The words blinked across my AR HUD in that annoyingly chipper font. I groaned, shoving my phone deeper into my pocket, but the system wouldn’t let up. Grabbing Daisy—my loyal golden retriever, always game for a walk—I headed for the guest wing where Zach stayed. Sometimes I still couldn’t believe I was stuck with this sci-fi system, all pop-ups and digital nagging, like I’d landed in a weird mashup of a fantasy novel and a video game.

As soon as I reached the doorway, I heard a shrill, nasty female voice: “Why isn’t Young Master Blake eating? Is the food not good enough for you? Didn’t expect a border-town stray to be so picky.”

That voice grated on my nerves, set my teeth on edge. I’d always known some of the help could be snobby, but hearing it out loud, aimed at Zach, made my blood boil. The way she said "border-town stray"—like he was less than nothing—just made me see red.

I knew there were always servants who bullied the weak and sucked up to the strong, but I didn’t think they’d be this bold.

It was the kind of thing you’d expect in a soap opera, not in my own house. Honestly, I half-expected a camera crew to jump out. My fists clenched, and all thoughts of the system faded. I could feel my face flush with anger, and Daisy let out a low, warning growl at my side.

I was instantly furious, forgot all about the system, and stormed in, giving the snotty maid at the door a hard shove.

She stumbled back, her eyes going wide. The room fell silent except for Daisy’s nails clicking on the hardwood floor. I didn’t even care if I got in trouble for manhandling the staff. Not this time.

She tumbled down, about to curse, but when she saw it was me, she shut up quick.

She bit her tongue, scrambling to her feet, and ducked her head, suddenly the picture of obedience. No one in the house dared cross me when I was angry—not even the adults.

With her out of the way, I saw the sad leftovers on the table.

A plate of cold mashed potatoes, a few limp green beans, and a slice of stale bread. My stomach twisted with guilt and anger. No kid deserved that, especially not in my house.

It was the dead of winter, but the room was freezing—no space heater, no nothing.

I could see my breath clouding in the air. The windows rattled in their frames, and even Daisy whined, pawing at my leg. The Brooks family might’ve been old money, but sometimes old houses meant old problems—drafts, creaks, and rooms that never quite got warm. You’d think money could fix a draft, but nope.

The boy’s clothes were thin. He looked up at me, nervous, and murmured, “Miss Mariah.”

His voice was so soft I almost missed it. God, he sounded so small. He sat hunched at the table, his hands curled in his lap, trying to make himself small. My heart broke all over again at the sight.

Looking at his big, watery eyes, my heart nearly broke. I hurriedly took off my puffy jacket and wrapped it around him. “I’m older than you. Since you’re Dad’s adopted son, you should call me ‘Sis.’”

He blinked, surprised, as if the idea had never occurred to him. The coat swallowed him up, but he looked a little less cold, a little less lost. Daisy licked his hand, tail wagging.

He blinked, surprised, then whispered, “Sis.”

His voice was barely there.

It was like he was testing out the word, tasting it on his tongue. The corners of his mouth twitched upward, just a little.

I patted his head, glared at the shivering maid, and snapped, “Doesn’t matter where he came from. Zach’s a member of the Brooks family now. What’s the rule for disrespecting your boss?”

My voice was sharp as ice. The maid shrank back, eyes darting to the floor. Daisy growled, as if she understood the stakes.

The housekeeper answered, “Twenty strikes and you’re out the door.”

Daisy, ever the loyal sidekick, barked once, then sat back on her haunches, looking pleased with herself. The maid’s face went white as chalk.

“Then go tell the house manager to deal with this trash.”

My words left no room for argument. I folded my arms and stared her down, daring her to protest.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She scurried off, nearly tripping over her own feet, desperate to escape my glare. I watched her go, then turned back to Zach.

As the maid begged for mercy, I handed my pocketknife to Zach in front of everyone and said, “Remember, you’re the boss, they’re the help. If anyone disrespects you again, don’t be afraid to stand up for yourself.”

I pressed the cool handle into his palm, making sure everyone in the room saw. "You don't have to take anything from anyone in this house."

Of course, playing the hero came back to bite me: I ended up with food poisoning and was stuck in bed for three days straight.

Turns out, I’d eaten something meant for Zach. Maybe the universe was punishing me for meddling, or maybe it was just bad luck. Either way, I spent three days feeling like death warmed over, with Daisy curled up at my feet and Zach sneaking in to check on me when he thought I was asleep.

Damn this stupid system.

I glared at the blinking HUD, wishing I could just reach through and throttle it. Even Daisy seemed to sigh in agreement.

[Detected host insulting the system. Please mind your language.]

A little pop-up window scolded me, complete with a cartoon frown. Seriously? Can you believe this thing?

Me: ...