Prologue

Ever wondered what you’d do if you were dropped into a shitty novel as the girl who’s scheduled to die?

No magic system.

No second chances.

No comforting narration assuring you everything happens for a reason.

Just bad writing and worse men.

Before this, I was Vaani Gupta. I had a life that smelled like home. A mother who scolded because she cared too much, a father whose silence carried more love than words, and a brother who annoyed me on purpose because that was his love language. I wanted their happiness more than my own. I was selfish like that.

I liked books. Singing.

Talking to myself. Reading people before they spoke. I knew who was kind, who was pretending, and who was dangerous.

That last skill came in handy too late.

I saw a child running into the road. I saw the truck. I ran anyway. I pushed him away. I got hit. That was it. No heroics. Just physics doing its job.

I should’ve stayed dead.

Instead, I woke up as Shanaya Rajput.

Twenty-two. Beautiful in the way novels like to own. Daughter of an influential businessman who treats marriage like a transaction. Engaged to a man the story calls a “male lead” and I call a threat.

According to Chapter One, he kills me.

Not accidentally.

Not in self-defense.

He kills me because he “loves” me.

The narrative applauds.

This world is obsessed with the idea that obsession is romantic, that a woman’s suffering is character development, that death is acceptable as long as the man feels deeply about it.

I am expected to play along. To smile. To fall in love on cue. To die beautifully so his pain can look meaningful.

That’s the plot.

Here’s the problem.

I’m not written to be tragic.

I’m written to survive.

I remember a life where love didn’t hurt. I remember parents who didn’t own me. I remember choosing things for myself. And I am not letting a poorly constructed fantasy take that away because it wants a dramatic opening chapter.

This story will try to correct me. It will twist coincidences. It will push me toward him. It will make resistance expensive.

Good.

I’ve already paid with my life once.

So listen carefully, since I’m breaking the fourth wall anyway.

I am not your doomed heroine.

I am not your sacrifice.

And I am definitely not dying to make a man interesting.

If this novel wants blood, it can start with its own logic.

But if this world thinks it can erase me quietly, it has misunderstood the assignment. I don't belong to its romance, its tragedy, or its redemption arc. I am a foreign object in its machinery.

And stories break when something refuses to 𝙛𝙞𝙩.

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𝙃𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙤 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨! 𝙃𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙨𝙪𝙗𝙨𝙘𝙧𝙞𝙗𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙚 𝙪𝙥 𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧. 𝙃𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙚 𝙟𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙮.

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