Chapter--2

[Elena--- aka--- Lena Carter’s POV]

When I opened my eyes again…

I was still alive.

For a few seconds, I simply lay there, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling above me. White. Smooth. Decorated with soft golden lights that glowed faintly around the edges.

This wasn’t my house, and it definitely wasn’t the cold marble floor where I had bled to death.

My brows slowly furrowed, “…What?”

My voice sounded softer than I remembered. I pushed myself up from the bed.

The room around me looked like something straight out of those aesthetic P*******t boards people obsess over--minimalist furniture, soft cream walls, elegant lighting, huge glass windows letting sunlight spill across the floor.

It looked expensive, but strangely warm, not the kind of cold luxury rich families usually preferred. Confused, I swung my legs off the bed and walked toward the large mirror standing near the wardrobe.

And then--I froze.

The girl staring back at me wasn’t Elena Moretti.

Long black hair fell over delicate shoulders, pale skin, sharp yet graceful features, and eyes…bright golden-yellow eyes that seemed to glow under the sunlight.

For a long moment, I just stood there, staring, dazed, because the person in the mirror looked less like a real human and more like something out of a fairy tale, like a princess someone would paint in an old storybook.

“…What the hell,” I whispered slowly.

My fingers touched my face, the girl in the mirror copied the movement perfectly.

Same soft skin, same unfamiliar features. My brain struggled to catch up with what my eyes were seeing.

Then one ridiculous thought slipped out of my mouth, “…Did I transmigrate?”

The word sounded absurd even to my own ears, but nothing about this situation made sense.

I wasn’t dead, I wasn’t Elena, and I definitely wasn’t in my old life anymore. I turned around slowly, scanning the room again.

Modern furniture.

Large windows.

Elegant design.

But something about the place felt… strange, this didn’t look like the mansion of a powerful billionaire family.

Which meant whis body probably wasn’t someone important, but then suddenly, a wave of unfamiliar memories crashed into my mind.

Names.

Faces.

Fragments of scenes.

My eyes widened, “…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I knew this story, it was a ridiculously popular romance novel, the kind filled with dramatic love triangles and overly perfect characters.

The title was painfully cliché.

“The CEO and His Beloved Clara.”

Of course.

Just hearing the name made me sigh, the heroine of the story was Clara Bennett.

Bright pink hair, shimmering red eyes, the kind of cheerful, innocent girl who could melt anyone’s heart within seconds.

Beautiful, kind, pure.

Practically written like a goddess descended to earth. Clara had originally been the daughter of the Mancini family’s nanny. But one day, during a terrible accident, the nanny sacrificed her life to save the heirs of the Mancini family.

After that incident, the Mancini family decided to adopt Clara.

Officially.

Mrs. Mancini had always wanted a daughter, and Clara… became that daughter. From that moment on, she grew up inside the Mancini mansion.

Together with the two sons of the family.

The eldest son--Salvatore Mancini.

And the younger one--Lorenzo Mancini.

Just like every cliché romance story ever written…both brothers eventually fell in love with Clara, and thus began the dramatic competition between them.

The cold, powerful CEO, versus the charming younger brother. Two men fighting over the same woman, but in the end...there was never really a competition, because the male lead of the story was always destined to win.

And that male lead was Salvatore Mancini.

Powerful.

Possessive.

Dangerously obsessed with Clara.

The story revolved around his overwhelming love for her, every conflict, every emotional scene, every dramatic moment.

All of it centered around Clara Bennett.

And my role?

I stared at the mirror again, the girl inside it stared back.

Quiet.

Beautiful.

Completely irrelevant.

“…Right,” I muttered.

Now I remembered, this body belonged to Lena Carter. A character so insignificant she barely even had proper dialogue in the novel.

Lena Carter only appeared a few times in the story, usually standing silently in the background while Salvatore showered Clara with attention, like a shadow no one cared to notice.

But near the end of the novel…that insignificant side character suddenly became useful, because the author needed a final drama.

According to the plot, Lena Carter eventually became jealous of Clara, consumed by bitterness, desperate, pathetic, and in her final act of madness---she tried to poison Clara.

Of course, the plan failed.

Salvatore discovered everything.

The result?

Divorce, public humiliation, and finally---prison.

Life imprisonment.

I stared at my reflection silently, “So that’s my role, huh?”

My lips curved into a small, bitter smile, the forgotten wife, the jealous villainess, the side character whose only purpose was to suffer.

“…What a wonderful destiny.”

And somehow…that destiny had now become mine.

For a long moment, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, silent, then I exhaled slowly.

Of course.

If I had transmigrated into a novel… then the first thing any reasonable person would try to do was simple.

Change the plot.

Just like every transmigrator in those stories, avoid the tragic ending, escape the fate written by the author. So that’s exactly what I tried to do, my first decision was simple.

Divorce Salvatore Mancini.

If Lena Carter’s tragedy began with this marriage… then removing the marriage should remove the tragedy too.

It sounded logical, simple, almost laughably easy, until the day I tried it.

“I want a divorce.”

The moment those words left my mouth, the atmosphere in the Carter family mansion froze, for a moment, no one spoke.

Then—SLAP!!!

My head snapped to the side, the sharp sting exploded across my cheek before I even realized what had happened.

I slowly lifted my head, standing in front of me was Lena Carter’s father.

Richard Carter.

His face was twisted with fury as he hissed, “How dare you say that?”

My ears rang from the force of the slap, “You think you have the right to divorce him? Do you even understand your position?”

Before I could respond, he grabbed the whip hanging beside the wall, the sound of leather cutting through the air sent a chill down my spine.

CRACK!

The lash struck my back, pain exploded across my body.

“Do you think you have any place in this family without that marriage?” Richard Carter roared.

CRACK!

Another strike, my knees buckled, “You are only useful because you are Salvatore Mancini’s wife!”

CRACK!

By the third strike, I could barely stay conscious, pain blurred my vision, my body collapsed onto the floor, and the last thing I heard before everything went dark was his voice.

“Ungrateful girl.”

Then...darkness.

…

When I opened my eyes again I was standing in front of the cathedral, wearing the same wedding dress.

The same white roses in my hands, the same marble aisle stretching ahead of me.

My breathing stopped.

“…What?”

The herald’s voice echoed across the hall.

“Lena Carter…”

My heart dropped.

No.

No.

No.

This couldn’t be happening, but it was. I had returned, back to the day of the wedding, back to the very beginning.

At first, I thought it was some kind of strange coincidence, so I tried again, this time, I chose a different path.

If divorcing Salvatore led to disaster…Then maybe the solution was the opposite. Maybe I simply had to win the hearts of the Mancini family.

If I became a good wife… perhaps the story would change.

So I tried.

I tried to be polite, gentle and understanding. I tried to approach Salvatore calmly one evening, but before I could even finish speaking...his cold voice cut through the air.

“Do you think you’re here to enjoy married life with me?”

My hands froze.

Salvatore looked at me with complete indifference.

“Open your eyes, Lena Carter, my heart belongs to someone else.” Every word fell like ice. “You are nothing here. So live quietly.”

That was the only kindness he ever offered me, silence, distance, and indifference, and when that day ended...I woke up again.

Back at the wedding.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Eventually, I became desperate. If I couldn’t change the marriage...then I would simply escape it, one night, I ran away.

I took a taxi, left the mansion, checked into a small hotel across the city. For the first time since entering this story, I finally felt a small spark of hope.

I collapsed onto the bed and laughed quietly.

“Yes…” I stared at the ceiling. “Finally. If I avoid the plot… maybe I can actually live.”

But the next morning when I opened my eyes…I was sitting in the bridal chamber, wearing the wedding dress, the same morning, the same day, the same cursed beginning.

My hands began to tremble, “…You’re kidding me.”

After that, I tried everything, I tried running away again, I tried confronting the families, at one point...I even tried to end my own life.

But every single time…no matter what I did…no matter how desperately I tried to break free…I always woke up in the same place, the wedding day, the beginning of Lena Carter’s tragedy.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until one day…I finally collapsed onto the floor of my room, my body shaking, my mind numb. I stared at the ceiling above me as tears slowly slipped from the corners of my eyes.

“So… this is it, huh?” My voice sounded hollow. “No matter how hard I try…I can’t escape the plot.”

The words echoed quietly in the empty room, for a long time, I simply lay there. Broken, exhausted, then slowly…a bitter laugh escaped my lips.

“I forgot something important.” My eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. “In this world…There is a god.”

But that god wasn’t kind.

Wasn’t merciful.

Wasn’t fair.

My lips moved slowly.

“…The author.”

The one who created this story, the one who wrote every tragedy, and every time the world reset…It felt like that unseen god was whispering the same message to me.

Over and over again, 'you are only a puppet, and puppets do not choose their fate.'

My fingers slowly curled into fists, "…Fine. If that’s the case…I’ll stop resisting.”

From that day onward…I stopped trying to escape, stopped trying to change anything, stopped hoping. If the story wanted Lena Carter to suffer…

Then I would simply endure it, quietly, silently, and accept whatever ending the plot had prepared for me.

Until the day I died.