"The breakfast is ready. Heat it and don't forget your meals."
Naomi silently peeled the sticky note off the fridge.
Anya had already left for her competition. She wouldn't be back for at least a week.
Before going, she had filled the freezer with neatly packed dumplings, side dishes, and soups — all labeled with clear instructions.
Naomi stood before the open refrigerator, staring at the containers stacked like little soldiers, each bearing a note on how to cook them.
It was painfully obvious: Naomi was no chef.
Her culinary expertise began and ended with coffee and boiled milk.
So Anya had worried about her erratic eating habits.
But… why?
Her brows knitted together. She couldn't fully grasp why the heroine had gone to such lengths just for her.
Shoving away the unfamiliar warmth in her chest, she heated a bowl of congee.
The taste was mild, exactly the way she liked it.
The only sound in the apartment was the quiet clink of her spoon against the bowl.
It didn't take long to reach the class building. And, unsurprisingly, curious eyes turned her way the moment she stepped inside.
Each one felt as if they were tiny needles, piercing and probing to see what lay inside her.
The more they tried to pierce her, the straighter she held her back.
She wore calmness like armor, hoping no one would notice the insecurity underneath.
Yet her own actions made her stomach twist. How pathetic she was for needing it.
Normally, there would be a chatterbox at her side, filling every silence with cheerful noise.
She didn't realize until now just how much space Anya occupied in her mind; it completely muted her attention to the surroundings.
…Did she do it on purpose?
No, not possible.
Naomi shook her head quickly, banishing the thought.
Her phone chimed, indicating a new notification.
It was a selfie on a tennis court. Anya was grinning under the bright sun, showing a victory sign with a message that read, "Finally got here! Wait for this lady to bring back a trophy!"
The fact that Anya had made it to the competition at all was proof enough that Damien's attention had shifted from the heroine… to her.
Which led to yet another troublesome fact.
Perhaps Damien wanted her to explode in rage, to confront him so he could taunt her. His actions became more aggressive.
Even his fan club had gotten forceful, no longer looking for clumsy accusations to find faults with her.
At least, they were mindful of her tied arm, not willing to get themselves into a dangerous spot as the Vale family was richer than many of them.
But all the snide whispers, the subtle shoves... she was tired. Bone-tired.
Yet despite the burn of humiliation, Naomi refused to bow her head to the culprit standing by the window, watching her with that condescending indifference.
Ah, not a spectator. Damien was living in an illusion that he was God.
And Naomi had an urge to shatter it, even if just a little.
It was also a strange sort of luck that she knew exactly what happened on this day in the novel.
Anya lay in a hospital bed yet refused to bow her head.
To vent his irritation, the young master went off to play with his friends.
Nothing unusual happened. Damien won the match, celebrated, and returned to his mansion.
But Naomi didn't see it that way.
A dark light flashed inside her lowered gaze, making it impossible for anyone to notice.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the class.
Ignoring the annoyed gaze of the young master, she skipped the last period entirely.
After changing into a comfortable, muted blue top and jeans, she tied her hair in a high ponytail with a red hair string.
It was a gift from her mother — something she used to wear during her own school days.
Perhaps Naomi was scared of what she was about to do. Like any child, even one oblivious to her own emotions, she wanted her mother's comfort.
She had never worn it before, keeping it safely stored.
It was the only thing she received along with a warm embrace.
"You've grown up now. It's time for you to take the lead as Vale Corporation's head."
Sixteen-year-old Naomi had been thrilled at the thought of making her mother proud.
But four years had passed since then, and she hadn't made much progress.
Worse, she'd made enemies with the Rhodes — powerful enough to block Vale Corporation's biggest projects.
Play dumb, don't fight with Damien, don't be another Anya.
Saying it like a mantra, she walked toward the exit.
She wouldn't behave like Anya did in the novel — but that didn't mean she couldn't take a little revenge, right?
The last class ended, and the students left the academy building, laughing and talking with their friends.
Naomi felt like an outsider as she walked toward the main gate, staring at the throng of people.
Friends. Family. Lover.
Every word left a bitter taste in her mouth.
A car was already waiting for her. The driver opened the door, and she stepped inside, letting the vehicle carry her toward the basketball court frequented by the rich kids.