When the Side Character Shares the Heroine’s Name

The rented room only had a small wooden bed. Two people could technically fit, but it was definitely cramped. Which meant I had to sleep pressed right up against Shawn Larson.

Not that I minded. In fact, I secretly loved it. The bed was small enough that I had every excuse to run my hands over his muscles and fall asleep tucked in his arms.

There was only one downside.

The old wooden frame was so worn down that even the slightest movement made it creak. Loudly.

Just like right now.

My eyes were blurry with tears as he held me tight against his chest. The air was filled with nothing but the creaking of the bed and his heavy, uneven breaths.

Sweat dampened the strands of hair falling across his forehead, and his dark eyes stayed locked on me. When I shifted the tiniest bit, a drop of water slid from his hair onto my neck, and he bent down to kiss it away.

The gesture was gentle. It should’ve been sweet.

But I was too exhausted to appreciate it. All I wanted to do was yell.

Wasn’t the male lead supposed to be gentle? Why was Shawn acting like he was trying to win a match instead of romance?

I had been stuck inside one of those vintage-era stories where the heroine is adored by everyone.

The good news: I shared the exact same name as the heroine.

Naturally, according to transmigration logic, I assumed I had become the female lead.

In the book, the hero starts off dirt poor, then builds a business empire from scratch and falls for the heroine at first sight.

When I arrived in this world, the two hadn’t met yet. Shawn was still a struggling young man.

But I didn't feel like waiting.

If it was supposed to be love at first sight, why not get ahead of the script? I went straight to his shabby rental and glued myself to him like a persistent barnacle. I ordered him around with all the confidence of someone who believed they had main-character immunity.

I even shoved him onto his bed, and when his eyes turned red and he said he hated me, I thought it was kink.

Somehow, even with all that nonsense, we’d ended up living together for two years.

My mind drifted, and suddenly a sharp sting hit my lips.

Shawn’s unhappy face filled my vision.

“What are you thinking about?”

Before I could answer, his expression shifted and he let out a cold scoff.

“Oh. Was it the milk from earlier? No wonder you’re so hot. You added something again, didn’t you?”

I stayed silent. I had no right to refute him. When I first arrived, he didn’t fall in love with me on sight. He was cold as ice. I’d ended up chasing him relentlessly and slipping things into his drinks just to get close.

Now, though, none of that mattered. I weakly kicked his calf.

“How much longer? I’m tired.”

I had no idea how much time passed. Everything blurred. At some point, he carried me to the shower, washed me, then set me gently back on the bed.

Yawning, I mumbled, “I didn’t put anything in the milk.”

His hand paused.

“Then why do I feel so hot?”

I thought for two seconds.

“Um… because it was hot milk?”

Shawn stared at me. “?”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and exposed the truth without mercy.

“If you like seeing me in a nightdress, just admit it.

“I wore it for the first time tonight and you already tore it. It was chiffon! That fabric is in style right now.”

He immediately looked away, ears turning suspiciously red.

“Who… who said I like seeing you wear that?”

I ignored him, already half-asleep as I curled back into his arms.

After a long moment, he quietly shifted to make sure I was comfortable.

“Fine. I’ll buy you another one.”

---

Shawn left for work early in the morning. I was bored at home, so I took an accounting job. The pay wasn’t great, but it was easy and gave me people to talk to.

During a break, a few girls gathered around my desk.

“Wendy, are you still with your boyfriend?”