I had spent two grueling months running myself ragged on these godforsaken missions. And there I was, sitting in the velvet shadows of a private VIP lounge, slipping a six-carat diamond proposal ring onto my finger for the eighth time. I smiled to myself, thinking, This is it. I’ve got these boys wrapped around my finger. Easy money. But when I pulled up the system interface, the progress bar was sitting at a flat, mocking zero percent. I completely lost my mind. I mass-texted all eight love interests at once: Is your love even real, or is it just a copy-paste job? You don’t care about me at all! That very night, a pair of strong hands pressed a chloroform-soaked cloth over my face. I blacked out, waking up locked in a pitch-black room. Beside me, a man loomed in the darkness, his jaw clenched, his voice dripping with venom. “Baby,” he growled, “you let me propose to you eight times. I thought it was some kind of twisted foreplay. I had no idea you were just face-blind.” Adam Peterson wrapped his arms around my waist, his breath hot against my skin. “You can’t tell us apart with our clothes on? Fine. Let’s see if you recognize me with them off.” 01 In the lightless bedroom, Adam’s lips slammed onto mine. My brain stalled. The only thing registering in my vision was the pale, sculpted curve of his abdominal muscles shifting in the dark. Adam seemed entirely out of patience. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his teeth grazing my skin in a sharp, possessive bite. “Do you see me now? Do you know who I am?” His voice carried a dangerous, upward tilt at the end, his eyes flashing with raw irritation. My focus was completely shattered. I couldn’t even form words. I tried to roll over and bolt, but Adam let out a low hum, hooking his fingers around my ankle and dragging me back under him. He pinned me down, a solid, immovable weight. Panic clawed its way up my throat. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was supposed to be a cozy, reverse-harem dating sim where I was the pampered main character. How the hell did I end up in a dark, obsessive captivity novel? Just two months ago, I was standing on the rooftop of my office building, screaming curses at my boss after he denied my raise. In my blind fury, I took a step too far and tumbled off the edge. When I woke up, a cold, mechanical System informed me it had saved my life—for a price. “Host,” the voice had droned in my head, “because the original protagonist was incompetent and failed her missions, you have been brought in as the stabilizer. You must successfully capture the hearts of this world’s eight male leads before you can return to reality.” At the time, my heart skipped a beat. Did “success” mean early retirement, unlimited wealth, and getting rid of an annoying boss forever? With visions of a billion-dollar payout dancing in my head, I readily agreed. And so, for two months, I threw myself into the role of a professional siren. Every single day was a blur of outfit changes, sweet-talking, shifting venues, and more sweet-talking. It was a non-stop, exhausting cycle. To be fair, at first, it felt like playing a real-life otome game. It was actually kind of fun. But after two solid months of it, my brain was completely fried. I couldn’t even remember the names of the eight male leads. I could barely distinguish them by their personal styles, and I almost called them by the wrong names multiple times. Eventually, I gave up trying to keep track and just called every single one of them “Babe.” They were all incredibly sweet, wildly clingy, and practically threw money at me. Within a month, I was dripping in Prada and driving a custom Lamborghini. I secretly congratulated myself on being a natural-born player. Riding that high, I decided to push for the finish line and drop hints about marriage. The boys took the bait beautifully. Each one of them bought a massive, glittering rock and dropped to one knee to propose. When I got home that night, my smile was practically splitting my face. The mission was as good as done, and I had walked away with eight priceless diamond rings. Licking my lips in anticipation, I opened the system interface to check my progress. And saw that big, fat, humiliating zero. 02 I deflated like a popped balloon, collapsing onto the sofa and glaring at my phone screen as I typed out the angry text to all eight of them: Is the rock-sized diamond a copy-paste job? Is your love just a template too? Your affection is completely fake! Careful as ever, I staggered the sending times. Even in my fury, I was a professional. I had to make sure the messages didn’t arrive at the exact same moment. But God, it hurt. I had worked so hard, and these useless men hadn’t given me a single point of genuine affection. Disgusting. I took a few deep breaths and immediately went to my closet to pull out the ultra-sexy dress the System had rewarded me with. Its item description claimed it boosted my charisma by eighteen points. That evening, I squeezed into the dress and scheduled a date with one of the male leads at a quiet, upscale bar. Yes, I was a coward who accepted defeat quickly, ready to drag myself back to the grindstone and try again. I stared at the prompt on the system screen: Invite any male lead to a quiet bar. Initiate physical contact to deepen his impression of you. Recommended steps: hand-holding, playing intimate games. I sighed. I had done this exact routine dozens of times over the past two months. Even if they weren’t tired of it, I was. Sure enough, the elegant, aloof heir sitting across from me looked thoroughly confused. “Sweetheart,” he said, his brow furrowing slightly, “isn’t this the exact same game we played when we first met?” “Why do you suddenly want to play it again…?” I forced a bright, celebrity-grade smile, burying the urge to roll my eyes. Why? Because of you hypocritical bastards, that’s why! I sneaked a glance at the subtle contour of his chest muscles beneath his shirt. Well, for the sake of those abs, I could play nice. I fluttered my false eyelashes, keeping my expression sweet and sincere. “I stayed up all night thinking about us,” I lied smoothly. “It feels like we’re moving way too fast.” “A guy as amazing as you shouldn’t be pressured into a proposal so quickly. So, I was thinking… what if we start over?” I reached across the table and took his hand, looking up at him like a devout worshiper. “Let’s act like we just met today. We can take our time~” The man’s gaze darkened slightly. The denim jacket he wore pulled tight across his shoulders as he leaned back heavily into his chair. I got the distinct feeling he was angry, though I couldn’t fathom why. Don’t men hate commitment and prefer strings-free fun? He remained silent for a long moment, slowly pulling out a cigarette. “Excuse me for a moment, baby.” With that, he headed toward the restrooms. I vented my frustration by aggressively eating all the desserts on the table, muttering under my breath, “Hmph, who does he think he is, catching an attitude? I’m the one who should be mad here!” “None of you actually love me, yet you all put on this devoted act. Hypocrites, the lot of you!” As I was cursing them, a pair of large hands suddenly clamped over my mouth from behind. Before I could scream, the world went black, just like a scene from a horror movie. The memory faded, and reality rushed back as Adam suddenly pinned me against the headboard. My wrists were bound tightly above my head, leaving me completely helpless. His fingers slowly traced down from my temple, lingering on my lips. He leaned down, his kiss so fierce and desperate it nearly stole the air from my lungs. “I’m Adam,” he whispered, his voice trembling with a dark edge. “Remember it.” I nodded numbly. I knew from experience that if I didn’t answer him correctly in a few minutes, he would find a highly creative way to punish me. The heat of our bodies and the slick sheen of sweat mingled in the dim light. I looked up into his eyes, which were dilated with naked obsession. As I marvelled at his sheer stamina, a terrible realization slowly dawned on me. I had caught a glimpse of the wall clock a moment ago. It was exactly 9:30 PM. The exact time I had scheduled my first angry mass-text to go out. The messages were set to send in five-minute intervals. Five of those targets would be receiving them right about now. Right on cue, my phone on the nightstand lit up with an incoming text alert. But that wasn’t all. Inside the closed nightstand drawer, several other distinct notification chimes began to ring in rapid succession. My pupils dilated as the pieces fell into place. Beside me, Adam let out a dark, mocking laugh, his jaw tight. “Baby,” he growled, “you had me propose to you eight times. I thought it was some kinky roleplay. I didn’t realize you were just face-blind.” He slid his hand down to my waist, his grip tightening until it bruised. “Did you really think a change of clothes meant a change of person?” “You can’t tell us apart with our clothes on? Fine. Let’s see if you recognize me with them off.” Oh, dear God. My mind reeled. I hadn’t seduced eight different men. I had seduced the same man in eight different outfits! I stared at Adam’s ridiculously handsome face, so angry I couldn’t breathe. I lunged forward, scratching at his back and screaming, “You absolute bastard! Why do you have to be so versatile? You completely tricked me!” “How is one person allowed to be a tech CEO, an investment mogul, and a brand ambassador all at the same time?! You set me up!” An amused smile played at the corner of Adam’s lips as he pressed his face against mine, murmuring, “I thought you liked the multiple personas, so I gave you a new one every time.” “Besides, is it a crime to model for my own companies?” I gasped for air, absolutely livid. “Conceited jerk,” I hissed. Adam seemed to enjoy the insult. He pulled the comforter over us, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist. Terrified that he would start another round, I quickly squeezed my eyes shut and pretended to fall asleep. Seeing that I was genuinely exhausted, he finally relented. He quietly reached down to massage my aching lower back. I fought the urge to kick him out of bed and screamed for the System in my head. System! Get out here right now! If Adam Peterson isn’t one of my targets, who the hell is he? The System’s voice echoed in my mind, cold and entirely devoid of empathy: Host, Adam Peterson is the ultimate villain of this world. … My mind shrieked in horror: Why didn’t you warn me about something this important?! Do you have any idea how much time I wasted on him?!
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