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I loved Isabella fiercely, my childhood sweetheart, the sunshine of my life. Our families were bound, our futures intertwined. I thought we were destined. Then came the betrayal. She shattered my family's legacy, my parents' health, and finally, my very life. As I lay dying, brutally tortured, I saw her, cold and triumphant, with Daniel Chen-the man she loved, whose 'death' she believed I orchestrated. My last, agonizing thought: This was never my story. I was just the villain, a disposable pawn for their destined romance. My parents ruined, my loyal dog, Max, cruelly taken on her orders-all for their 'happy ending.' The cosmic injustice hit harder than any physical torment. How could my entire existence be nothing more than a manipulated plot device? A tragic footnote in someone else's grand love story? The sheer absurdity, the profound unfairness, was suffocating. But then, I gasped. I wasn't dying. I was back. Years before my horrific end. I remembered this exact moment: the breaking point. This time, I knew the script. And I would burn it all down before it burned me again. My life, my rules.