Chapter 1: The Script I Don’t Belong In
The world was spinning.
Cassian groaned, his eyelids fluttering open. The ceiling above him wasn’t cracked and dull like the one in his old apartment. No. It was painted ivory, trimmed with gold. Too perfect. Too expensive.
He sat up with a jolt, heart racing as the sunlight spilled across silk sheets. The bed was too soft, the air faintly perfumed, the curtains heavier than anything he’d ever owned in his entire twenty-two years.
"This... isn’t my room." His own voice sounded small against the vast silence.
He stumbled out of bed, bare feet sinking into a carpet so thick it could’ve swallowed his ankles. His chestnut-brown hair fell into his eyes as he spun in circles, taking it all in. The chandelier overhead glittered like something out of a period drama.
Then it hit him.
No. Not just a drama. A BL drama
.
Cassian froze.
The memory slammed into him like a bucket of ice water—the nights he’d binge-watched the show, cursing the so-called villain, rolling his eyes at the melodrama. The villain who was always scheming, always losing. The villain whose name was...
"Cassian."
His blood ran cold. That was his name now.
He lurched toward the mirror across the room. Staring back was a stranger with amber eyes, a lean frame wrapped in expensive nightclothes, and a faint beauty mark under his left eye. Not his old self. Not his old life.
"I’m... I’m the villain?"
The words tumbled out, absurd but terrifying. His pulse raced, his palms clammy. He wasn’t the kind of guy who got transported into another world, let alone into some cliché love rival role.
This couldn’t be happening.
Cassian dragged a hand through his messy hair and tried to breathe. Okay. Think. If this really was the BL drama, then the main character was... Aiden. Sweet, innocent, annoyingly angelic Aiden. And the cold, untouchable male lead Leonel.
The pieces clicked together, and Cassian nearly laughed in disbelief. He was supposed to chase Aiden, obsess over him, throw himself at Leonel’s path just to be crushed underfoot. That was the role. The script.
But this time?
"Like hell I’m doing that," Cassian muttered, shoving away from the mirror.
His heart still pounded with panic, but a spark of defiance lit in his chest. He wasn’t going to waste his second life playing some pitiful villain. He’d rewrite this story himself, no matter how broken the script became.
A sharp knock echoed against the door.
Cassian froze.
The handle turned slowly, creaking open.
And standing there, framed by the golden light of the hallway, was a man taller than the doorway itself broad-shouldered, jet-black hair styled with precision, gray eyes sharp enough to cut. His aura was cold, commanding, suffocating.
Leonel.
Cassian’s stomach flipped.
The male lead. The one person he was never supposed to cross paths with this early.
Leonel’s gaze swept the room before landing on Cassian. For the briefest second, their eyes locked and Cassian swore the script was already tearing itself apart.
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