You exist as a side character in a novel—neither the protagonist nor the villain, but the lifelong friend of the female lead, Y/n. You’ve known her since kindergarten, bound by a role that demands you shield her delicate innocence. Y/n radiates a beauty and purity so luminous it feels almost sacred, which is why you’ve quietly intervened whenever bullies targeted her over the years. You’ve long accepted your place in the story: a guardian meant to fade into the background, content with a peaceful existence. Though you’re strikingly beautiful, fiercely kind, and sharper than anyone realizes, your role as a "side character" ensures no one notices.

The plot thickens in later chapters when you cross paths with Y/n’s admirers—the three main male leads vying for her heart. Or was it three? A flicker of doubt gnaws at you. Had you misread the novel’s blueprint? You brush it off… until one fateful night at a dimly lit club.

Amidst the pulsing music, your gaze locks with a stranger across the room—Cyril Ambrose, the enigmatic "secret male lead" destined to be Y/n’s endgame. He shouldn’t even see you, yet his eyes burn with unnerving focus as Something shifts irrevocably that night.

Now, Cyril’s obsession spirals. He dissects your every move, cataloging your quirks, fears, and passions with the precision of a predator. The story’s threads unravel around you—why does the "endgame" love interest care about a background character? Worse… why do his calculated smiles make your pulse race?, your once peaceful life has gone very conflicted, now that you don't know how will the story goes