Chapter 1

Zoey’s POV

"If you ever lay a hand on me again, Zoey," a voice rasped, cold enough to freeze the blood in my veins, "I won’t just strip your family of their shares. I will personally ensure you never breathe another air inside this city."

The words cut through the ringing in my ears, but they made absolutely no sense. Zoey? Who the hell is Zoey?

Before I could process the name, my back hit a wall with a bone-rattling thud. My heels dangled a good three inches off the floor, my toes scraping helplessly against the floor. A wave of panic surged through me as I realized I couldn't breathe. A massive, iron grip was clamped tightly around my windpipe, pinning me to the wall.

My hands instinctively flew up, fingers clutching desperately at the tailored sleeve and the solid wrist of my attacker.

Big mistake.

The grip tightened instantly, cutting off my oxygen entirely. The man looming over me was breathtakingly, terrifyingly beautiful—all sharp jawlines, raven-black hair swept back seamlessly, but it was his eyes that paralyzed me. They burned with pure disgust.

My brain scrambled in the suffocating room, screaming for air. Where am I? Who is this man? Why is he trying to kill me? Just last night, I was Elena—a completely ordinary woman, curled up in my cramped apartment, pulling an all-nighter to finish reading the final chapters of a dark, toxic web novel called Crimson Chains. I remembered closing my eyes, exhausted. Now, I was being strangled in a room by a psycho.

The grip on my throat tightened again, the moment my fingers brushed his wrist. A low, menacing growl vibrated in his chest. He looked at me as if my very touch was a disease.

"Drop your hands, Kaiser! Let her go before you actually kill her!"

A voice shouted in the quiet room, followed by the heavy, hurried thud of footsteps.

"Kaiser, I'm serious! Step back!"

The second voice triggered a sudden explosion of foreign memories, snapping the final pieces of the puzzle into a horrific, undeniable picture.

Kaiser. Kaiser Vance.

The voice shouting from across the room belonged to Marcus, his childhood best friend and the Chief Operating Officer of Vance Global.

The pieces clicked together. I wasn't in the real world anymore. I had transmigrated. And much, much worse—I was inside the body of Zoey Ryan.

I hadn't just woken up as a random background character or the beloved protagonist. I was the story’s ultimate, love-sick fool. In the book, Zoey was a wealthy, venomous socialite who used her family’s power to force her way into becoming Kaiser’s personal assistant.

She had spent every single chapter plotting, scheming, throwing herself at him, and making everyone's life a living hell out of a desperate, pathetic obsession. She was infatuated with a man who despised the very air she breathed. A man who, at the end of the story, would ruthlessly wrap his hands around this exact neck and snap it after she pushed the story's innocent female lead(Mai) down a flight of stairs.

He’s going to kill me, my mind screamed through the suffocating panic. If I don’t change my trajectory right now, he is literally going to snap my neck.

"Do you understand me?" Kaiser growled, his face inches away from mine, entirely ignoring Marcus who was now standing just a few feet away, trying desperately to help me. "I don't care what our fathers agreed to. You are my assistant, nothing more. You touch me again, and you die."

Right. Kaiser’s golden rule, I realized, the memory from the book flashing vividly in my mind. He has severe haphephobia, he literally loathes being touched by anyone. It triggers his dark, violent impulses, and the original Zoey just kept touching him, thinking she could break his curse.

With the last bit of strength in my body, I forced my fingers to uncurl from his wrist. I let my arms hang limp at my sides, mimicking the posture of a dead person. I didn't cry. I didn't beg for his love, throw a tantrum, or make desperate, manipulative excuses like the original Zoey would have done. I just stared straight into his terrifying eyes, letting my own gaze drop any trace of obsession, leaving only a cold desire to survive. I choked out two words, letting my voice drop to a ragged whisper: "Yes... sir."

Kaiser froze. His brows furrowed, scanned my face for a few moments before he abruptly released his grip.

I hit the floor, dropping to my knees as cold, glorious air rushed back into my lungs. I coughed violently, pressing one trembling hand against the cold floor to steady myself while the other rubbed the angry red marks rapidly forming on my throat. My vision swirled with dark spots, but my mind had never been clearer.

"Kaiser, that was too far," Marcus muttered, stepping forward to glance down at me with a mixture of pity and frustration, though he didn't dare reach out to help me up. In the book, Marcus hated Zoey's schemes, but he wasn't a murderer.

"Get your things and get out of my sight," Kaiser commanded, fully ignoring his best friend. He turned his back to me, walking toward his desk with a slow, predatory grace. He straightened the cuffs of his tailored suit as if he hadn't just almost murdered his assistant. As I slowly pushed myself up to my feet, my knees shaking slightly, I looked past Kaiser’s shoulder toward the digital calendar glowing on the wall of his office.

June 2025. My breath caught in my bruised throat. The date stared back at me, providing a piece of realization. The original female lead of the novel hadn't even been hired by Vance & Co. Group yet. She wouldn't enter the picture as a junior intern for another two months.

That meant Kaiser wasn't obsessed with her yet. The plot hadn't actually locked into place. Right now, he is just a cold, ruthless CEO dealing with an annoying, obsessive assistant.

A quiet vow took root in my mind as I knelt down again to pick up my scattered folder and an expensive fountain pen from the floor. I am not going to die a villain's death. I refuse to be the stepping stone for a dark romance.

If the original Zoey died because she couldn't stop chasing Kaiser and targeting his future lover, then the solution was beautifully simple, I would become a ghost in plain sight. I would build an unbreachable wall between us, strictly manage his schedule, and never—ever—look him in the eye with anything resembling affection or personal interest. I adjusted my glasses, lifted my chin, and looked at the broad back of the man who was destined to be my executioner if I slipped up.

"I apologize for the oversight, Mr. Vance," I said, my voice calm, devoid of any desperate, cloying emotion he hated. It won’t happen again. I will have the final quarterly merger reports on your desk by five o’clock."

For a split second, Kaiser’s shoulders tensed. He didn't turn around, but I could see his reflection in the glass window overlooking the city skyline. His eyes were narrowed, watching my reflection with a sudden curiosity. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for me to launch into a dramatic apology. I didn't give him the satisfaction. I turned calmly on my heel, gripped my folder tightly against my chest, and walked out of the penthouse office, my mind already mapping out the coordinates of my survival.

This man really screams “Danger”