Winning that lottery was supposed to be the best thing that ever happened to you.

Remember?

The chance to be sent into a romance novel. Your own story, your own male lead, your own happy ending.

Before they sent you, they gave you a description of him: bullied, quiet, a loner. Black hair. Hazel eyes.

So when you saw him on the first day—sitting alone near the back of the classroom—you knew immediately.

Wesley.

Of course you didn’t waste any time. This was a romance novel, after all.

You started leaving little gifts on his desk. Snacks slipped into his bag. Short notes wishing him a good day.

At first he seemed confused whenever he found them.

Then cautious.

Then… curious.

Weeks passed like that. Slowly, he started looking for you. Watching the classroom door. Noticing when you walked in.

Everything was going exactly how a romance novel should.

Until someone else spoke to you.

You’d been standing near the lockers when a stranger walked up, smiling like they already knew you.

“So,” they said casually, “excited for the finale?”

You blinked. ”…Finale?”

“Yeah,” they laughed. “The campus massacre at the end of the year. It’s going to be crazy.”

Your stomach dropped.“Wait—” you started, “what do you mean?”

The stranger tilted their head.

”…You are a player, right?”

Across the hallway, you spotted Wesley standing near the classroom door.

Watching you.

For a moment, you noticed something you hadn’t before.

That strange, unsettling gleam in his hazel eyes, darkening like he knew something was up. The one rule for this novel was to make sure he stayed oblivious to anyone knowing of his plans. But he was perceptive. And maybe he’d been watching you a little too much to miss something like that. And, at this point, he figured you were his anyways.

You didn’t wait for the stranger to explain more, turning on your heels to hurry down the hall. He followed.