Chapter 1

Chapter 1.

I stepped into the bathroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I could not help but admire the beauty standing in front of me while still grappling with the bizarre reality of my situation. As someone who had always been the observer, admiring the beauty of others, now I was the one in the spotlight, the center of admiration—and it felt surreal.

But what is the use of this beauty if I will end up dead?

Let me take you back to how I ended up here. Just a week ago, I was a single woman enjoying a national holiday, fully prepared to indulge in a w******l marathon. My plan was simple: read all night and nap the day away, ordering takeout to satisfy my cravings. My friends were off exploring exotic destinations, but honestly, I couldn’t have cared less. There’s no place quite like home, right?

I dove into a w******l that spanned over a million characters. For me, despite the tedious fillers and clicheness, I was hooked—the author, Penelope, had crafted a somewhat engaging plot that left me buzzing with excitement, probably because I saw a name that is very familiar with me. It wasn’t until the sun peeked through my window at 5 AM that I felt the pangs of hunger and sudden weakness. Just as I tried to haul myself up, everything went dark, and I collapsed.

I shouldn’t stay up late…

When I came to, everything had changed. I had transmigrated into that very novel and taken on the identity of a supporting female character who shared my name. 

Growing up with my paternal grandparents, I never formed a close bond with my parents. After my grandparents passed away, I was taken back to the city by my parents, but by then, I was already deep into high school—too old to build strong ties. It was clear to me that just because we were related by blood didn’t mean we were meant to be a close-knit family. No matter how hard we tried to mend our relationships, we were better off as distant acquaintances.

That was my reality.

This lack of attachment made my current predicament feel less pressing. My parents had pensions, and of course, I wasn’t their only child; I had a younger brother who would ease their burden of grief should I be lost to them. Most parents can’t easily reconcile with the idea of losing a child, and I was fortunate that they had chosen to have more than one.

At least they won't be lonely.

As I awoke in this new body, I absorbed the memories of the original Gwyneth. If I had to sum her up in one phrase, “femme fatale” would fit perfectly. The original Gwyneth was breathtakingly beautiful—truly, when I first read her description I could totally not imagine her, just a blank face but surely is pretty. But seeing her now, in the flesh,  I had never encountered anyone more stunning. She embodied both grace and allure, exuding an effortless charm that drew people in.

Yet, her beauty was overshadowed by a story of struggle. The original Gwyneth hailed from a family that could barely make ends meet. With a father who hopped from construction job to construction job and a mother who understood her role as merely a pretty face, life had been anything but easy. As the original Gwyneth matured, she grew resentful of their circumstances and used her striking looks to change her fate.

Poverty is the root of evil I guess.

She crossed paths with Ajax, a man of means who had built a company from scratch. By the time the original Gwyneth was 20, he was an established 25-year-old entrepreneur. She caught his eye during her summer internship and managed to set up a night alone with him, leading to a quick marriage after discovering she was pregnant. 

She is such a cunning woman, I could not believe pregnancy is her answer to escape such fate.

But their marriage was nothing of romance—it was a cold, transactional relationship. Ajax held her in disdain, while she saw him as nothing more than a source of financial support. They maintained an icy civility that barely concealed the lack of love or affection between them.

What a lovely marriage this is.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I realized I could use the original Gwyneth's memories to rewrite the course of her life, the course of this life. I picked up my phone and called my mother. 

"Mother, I’m coming over soon. Please pack up Dylan’s things; I’m bringing him home today."

Kristine, the original Gwyneth’s mother was taken aback. "Didn’t you say you'd wait for your husband to return from his trip?" she asked, half confused by the sudden call and request of her daughter.

"No, I'm coming today instead. I booked a ticket to Charcot. for tomorrow. His dad is away on business and will be for a few days. It'll be a perfect time for us to travel together as a family." I explained.

Her voice lit up with excitement. "Really? I'm so happy to hear this! It was fate that brought you two together as husband and wife. Look at your father and me—despite his shortcomings, he treats me well. But you two are like strangers! It worries me. A bad husband-wife relationship can impact the child. You barely interact—it's like you’re divorced!"

I could not help but grimace by the words ‘husband-wife relationship’. I've been a single woman for over 25 years, it is weird. This is the reason why I’m reading romance novels, it is to root for them and not for me.

It’s already hard to carry yourself, especially in a world full of competition, you will become a corporate slave! What more to have another person to take care of?

But I think the redeemable quality of Kristine is this. Growing up, Kristine hadn’t been particularly keen on motherhood, but she adored her grandson. Perhaps it was the passage of time, or simply the bond of generations.

Do I feel any jealousy or envy as she was a good grandmother but never a mother?

No, I don’t particularly feel anything. If it was the real Gwyneth, perhaps.

The original Gwyneth had always been selfish—she felt little warmth for her parents or her husband, and her indifference extended even to her own child. 

As I took all this in, it struck me that I had a choice now. A chance to rewrite not only her story but my own.