Transmigrated as the Devoted Foil

I woke up one day and realized I was living inside a CEO romance novel—the kind of old-school Mary Sue story where the world would collapse if the main couple ever separated.

I was a minor supporting character meant to serve as the heroine's foil.

As a wealthy heiress, I was the definition of rich and beautiful. My parents doted on me, and my older brother—the future heir to the family fortune—shielded me from every storm.

Life should have been effortless, but in the original plot, I completely squandered this perfect hand of cards.

Julian Sterling, a few years older than me, was the undisputed hero of this story. He embodied every advantage a powerful CEO could have.

He was trained from childhood as the heir to the Sterling Empire, his presence and aura putting every flashy trust-fund kid to shame. Plus, he had the kind of chiseled face that looked like it belonged on a magazine cover.

When my feelings were first blooming, it was impossible not to fall for a man like him. But there were always too many women around him, and to Julian, I was just a kid.

Those deep, captivating eyes looked at everyone else with intensity, but whenever they landed on me, it was like he was looking at the neighbor's child.

That was fine. A person could survive without love, but not without money. No matter how much I liked him, I refused to end up bankrupt and homeless like in those over-the-top melodramatic plots.

The first step to changing my fate was simple: stay far away from the main couple. My 20th birthday was just around the corner. After weighing my options, I decided to slip away right after the celebration.

The day of the party arrived quickly. Every year, my parents invited a crowd of prominent figures, and the Sterling family was naturally included.

In the past, I would have spent hours getting dolled up just to shine at the banquet and hopefully catch Julian's eye.

The girl in the mirror had flawless makeup, fair skin, doe eyes, and cherry lips radiating sweet charm. I looked, wondering how Julian could ever ruthlessly reject her.

Then again, he was saving his devotion for the heroine. To say I had completely let go would be a lie. If it were that easy, I would have done it long ago.

Julian walked toward me, holding a wine glass. That face never failed to make my heart skip a beat. If I were the queen, I'd probably neglect the entire kingdom just to look at him.

He carried himself with noble elegance and a refined complexion, yet he always seemed untouchable.

When our eyes met, I froze for a second and instinctively took a step back. I wasn't sure if it was my imagination, but a dark shadow seemed to flash across his eyes.

By the time I tried to get a better look, it was already gone.

"Georgia, happy birthday," he said with a smile, but an undercurrent of dangerous pressure rolled off him.

I forced a smile. "Thank you, Mr. Sterling."

I used to always insist on calling him "Julian," no matter how many times my parents scoldingly reminded me to use a formal title, as if that would somehow bring us closer.

But everything changed on my 18th birthday.

When the crowd had dispersed and the party had wound down, I had gathered my courage, tugged on his sleeve, and dragged him into the back garden.

To steady my nerves, I sneaked some wine and looked up at him with hazy, drunken eyes. Then, I stood on my tiptoes and wrapped my arms around his neck.

I would never forget the shift in him that night. His usual gentle, refined demeanor vanished, replaced by the ferocity of a wolf ready to tear me apart.