Chapter 2: The Heroine’s System Revealed

Until I turned fifteen, and at the fall gala at the Whitmore estate, I saw Lena Morales.

The Whitmore estate was all chandeliers and marble floors, the kind of place where even the air felt expensive. That night, I wore my best dress, hair pinned up, trying to look older than I felt. When Lena walked in, everything changed. She glided through the crowd like she owned the place, and for a moment, everyone else faded into the background.

The second I saw her, strange memories surged up, making me uneasy.

It was like déjà vu, a prickling at the back of my neck. Flashes of scenes I’d never lived—words, faces, heartbreaks. My hands trembled around my glass. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I knew her, that I’d seen all this before.

Turns out, all of this was a story. The leading lady stumbled onto a system—some kind of supernatural boost—started winning at everything, became the city’s golden girl, married Julian Carter, helped him take revenge and seize power, and finally became the mayor’s wife.

I pieced it together from whispers, from the way Lena seemed to glide through every obstacle. She had something on her side—something more than luck. A system, a cheat code, call it what you want. The rules didn’t apply to her. She was the golden girl, destined for greatness, and the story bent to her will.

The key was that system, which could spin up plot twists, max out skills, hand out magic items, and the more famous she got, the stronger it became—a feedback loop.

It was like watching a video game in real life—every time she succeeded, she leveled up, got a new trick, a new advantage. The whole town fell under her spell. The more people talked about her, the brighter she shone. It was a loop I couldn’t break, no matter how hard I tried.

It was the ultimate combo—heroine’s luck and whatever power that system gave her.

She was unstoppable—a one-woman show with the whole town as her audience. The rest of us were just scenery, props to set off her light. I hated it, but I couldn’t look away. It was mesmerizing, in a way.

And as the top villainous supporting girl, I was always scheming to set up the heroine. Julian thought I was crazy. He sent me off to etiquette school, and after years of backstabbing, I was finally sentenced to death.

In the original script, I was the cautionary tale, the girl who couldn’t stay in her lane. Every plot twist was a trap, every scheme a step closer to ruin. The more I tried to fight the story, the tighter it closed in. I was the villain, the lesson, the one everyone pointed to and said, “Don’t be like her.”

I guess my whole existence was just to make her look smarter by comparison.

Looking back, it’s almost funny. My every mistake was a stepping stone for Lena’s brilliance. I was the foil, the shadow that made her shine brighter. It stung, but there was a certain freedom in knowing your role—at least you knew what to expect.

Look—right now there’s a cannon-fodder supporting girl, Miss Young, deliberately provoking the lead, putting on her best fake-sweet smile and raising her voice: “I heard Lena’s piano skills are legendary. Will you play us something?”

The party was in full swing, laughter bouncing off the high ceilings. Miss Young, with her fake-sweet smile, leaned in just a little too close, voice carrying across the room. It was the classic setup—bait the heroine, wait for her to dazzle everyone. I’d seen it a hundred times, and it never got any less predictable.

The heroine always gets to shine thanks to these brainless foils, flipping her reputation step by step.

Every time, like clockwork. The crowd would snicker, waiting for the lead to falter, but she never did. The foils only made her look better, smarter, more gracious. It was almost a sport—watching the dominoes fall exactly as the story wanted.

Lena Morales stood up gracefully, met the challenge with a confident smile, walked to the baby grand and sat down, her voice as clear as glass: “Then I’ll do my best.”

She moved like she was floating, every gesture practiced and perfect. Her smile was pure confidence—no nerves, no doubt. She settled at the piano, fingers poised, and for a moment, the whole room held its breath.

As the melody drifted through the room, the other girls’ mocking faces turned to awe, some showing a mix of irritation and disbelief at being so thoroughly outshone.

The music was effortless, every note shimmering. I watched the faces around me shift—jealousy melting into grudging admiration, then outright awe. Some girls crossed their arms, lips tight, while others just stared, defeated. Lena soaked it all in, her eyes shining with the thrill of it.

I know this plot by heart.

It was like living inside a story I’d already read, every beat familiar. I could have recited the next scene from memory. There was a strange comfort in that, even as it made me itch to break free.

How could the heroine’s big moment not include the hero?

The script demanded it. Every triumph needed an audience, and the hero was always there to bear witness, to seal her victory with a look or a word. I braced myself for the inevitable.

I looked up, and sure enough, a crowd of guys drifted over, drawn by the music, eyes full of admiration.

They gathered like moths to a flame, drawn by the promise of something extraordinary. I saw the way they looked at her—like she was the answer to every question they’d ever had. I tried not to care, but my chest tightened anyway.

I spotted him instantly. Julian’s gaze was fixed on Lena.

He stood a little apart, hands in his pockets, but his eyes never left her. There was something soft in his expression, something I’d never seen when he looked at me. It hurt, but I couldn’t look away.

My heart really skipped a beat.

I felt it—a sharp, physical ache, like missing a step on the stairs. I ducked my head, pretending to focus on my plate, willing my hands to stop shaking. Nobody noticed, or if they did, they pretended not to.

I quickly ducked my head and kept eating.

I forced myself to chew, to swallow, to act like nothing was wrong. The fruit tasted like nothing, just sweet and cold in my mouth. I counted the seconds until the song ended, wishing I could be anywhere else.

When the piece ended, the room burst into applause.

The sound was thunderous, a standing ovation in miniature. People clapped, some even whistled. Lena stood and bowed, her smile serene, basking in the glow. I wanted to slip out the side door, but my feet wouldn’t move.

Some people practice every day and still can’t match the heroine’s effortless brilliance. Ironic, really.

It’s the kind of thing that makes you question fairness—how some people just have it, while the rest of us grind away for scraps. I tried not to let it sour me, but the bitterness was hard to swallow.

Just then, a sudden voice cut through the air.

“The piece is nice, but it can’t compare to what County Princess Sinclair played at the mayor’s birthday bash three months ago. Now that was unforgettable.”

Every head turned. I froze, a piece of cantaloupe halfway to my mouth. The voice was familiar—teasing, confident, impossible to ignore. I shot him a look that could have curdled milk.

I’d been keeping a low profile, eating fruit with my head down. Now, with everyone staring at me, I wanted to spit the seeds at him.

My cheeks burned, and for a second, I fantasized about launching a grape at his forehead. But I just smiled, lips tight, and waited for the storm to pass. I could feel the weight of a dozen eyes, waiting for me to say something clever or self-deprecating.

That voice was all too familiar. The young mayor had snuck out of city hall again, looking way too pleased with himself.

Jackson Lee—always the life of the party, always with a trick up his sleeve. He lounged in the doorway, grinning like a cat who’d just caught a canary. I wanted to wring his neck and thank him at the same time.

He was handsome, with a movie-star smile and a hint of mischief, still with a boyish charm. He tilted his head, winked at me, and grinned, as if to say, “Told you so.”

He had that Southern charm that made even his worst jokes land. His wink was pure mischief, the kind that made the older ladies titter and the younger ones roll their eyes. I pretended not to notice, but I couldn’t help the twitch of a smile.

Honestly, how does someone so charming have such a big mouth?

It’s a mystery for the ages. If only he’d use his powers for good, maybe I wouldn’t have to dig him out of trouble so often. But that was Jackson—never missing a chance to stir the pot.

I forced a fake smile. I didn’t want to be on the heroine’s radar so soon and start my countdown to doom early.

I pasted on my best “bless your heart” expression, hoping it would deflect any unwanted attention. I’d learned the hard way that standing out in Maple Heights was a recipe for disaster, especially when Lena was around.

But the other girls saw a chance, jumping back into their usual snide routine. Of course they did.

They pounced like sharks scenting blood, eager for a new target. I braced myself, ready for the usual chorus of backhanded compliments and pointed barbs.

“Yeah, how could Lena play in such a basic way?”

The words dripped with sarcasm, and a few girls snickered behind their hands. I kept my face neutral, refusing to rise to the bait. I’d heard it all before.

“Raised out in the sticks, of course she can’t compare. Lena should go home and practice more.”

Their voices carried, just loud enough for Lena to hear. I watched her expression—calm, composed, but her eyes flashed for a split second. She was good at hiding it, but not perfect.

When I first arrived in Maple Heights, these were the same girls who said I only knew how to eat, shop, and party. They weren’t wrong, but they were mean about it, always making snide remarks.

I remembered those early days—how I’d stumble over my words, how they’d laugh at my hand-me-down dresses, how every mistake was fuel for their gossip. I learned to let it roll off my back, to give as good as I got. Eventually, they got bored and moved on to easier prey.

But the next day, I asked Julian Carter to teach me how to use a riding crop. After a few practice swings—though there were no marks—they all called in sick for weeks, and after that, I barely heard any gossip about me.

The memory made me smile. I’d shown up at the stables, chin held high, and asked Julian to teach me the basics. He’d raised an eyebrow, but didn’t ask questions. After a few dramatic flourishes in front of the girls, word spread fast. Miraculously, the snide comments dried up. Fear is a powerful motivator. I swear, after that, nobody messed with me.

I glanced at Lena and caught a flicker of resentment, but she was back to her serene, dignified self in an instant.

She was good—better than me, most days. But I saw it, that tiny crack in her armor. For a moment, I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

It only made the other girls look more petty.

Their bitterness was plain as day, but Lena’s calm made them look childish. I almost wanted to thank her for shutting them up. Almost.