Finding love in Paris

I was the black sheep of the wealthy Jenkins family, the villain in my adopted sister Jami's perfect story. Everyone adored her, the sweet, innocent heroine. I was just the difficult one.

Then, a system uploaded itself into my brain, showing me the script of my life. It wasn't just a story where I was the bad guy-it was a detailed blueprint for my entire family's destruction, all orchestrated by Jami.

The script showed how she would drive one brother to suicide, frame another for a crime he didn't commit, and leave me for a gruesome "accidental" death, making her the sole heir to their fortune.

My family saw her as an angel. They were completely blind, worshiping the very monster who was plotting to bury them all.

But the system that showed me this horrifying future also gave me a weapon. It let me hear their thoughts.

And then, at the family gala, I realized something even better.

They could hear mine.

Chapter 1

Chloe Jenkins POV:

The world, as I knew it, shattered into a million pieces the day the system uploaded itself into my brain. It wasn't a whisper. It was a roar, a blinding flash of data that downloaded a complete narrative, a script for my entire life. And I, Chloe Jenkins, the estranged biological daughter of the wealthy Jenkins family, wasn't the protagonist. I was the villain, the catalyst for the rise of Jami Scott, the adopted "heroine" beloved by all, destined to ruin everything.

My life was a lie. A carefully constructed tragedy, meticulously plotted, and I was just the bad guy.

I stared at the glowing screen of my phone, the "system" – a rogue data stream pulsing directly into my consciousness – displaying the cold, hard facts. Years of feeling like an outsider, years of biting my tongue, years of being dismissed as "difficult" or "troubled" by the Jenkins family, suddenly made brutal, logical sense. It was all part of the script. My pain, their adoration for Jami, every single injustice – it was all leading to my inevitable downfall.

I remembered the countless dinners where Jami' s sweet, innocent remarks would implicitly highlight my sharp tongue. The charity galas where her graceful presence overshadowed my awkward attempts at conversation. Even my attempts to excel in investigative journalism were twisted in the narrative as "rebellious" or "attention-seeking." My family, the Cristophers and Carlottas of the world, never saw me. They saw the role assigned to me by the narrative: the villain.

And they ate it up. Every perfectly rehearsed line, every saccharine smile from Jami. They were blind. So utterly, hopelessly blind.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. For years, I' d yearned for their acceptance, their love. I' d fought against this invisible current, trying to prove myself worthy. But the script was clear. My efforts were futile, my destiny sealed. A profound sense of release washed over me. The fight was over. I was tired of swimming upstream when the river itself was rigged.

I' d play my part then. For now. My newfound ability to hear thoughts – to access this system of "narrative truths" – was still raw, still a mystery. But it was also a weapon. And if I was to be the villain, I might as well be a damn good one.

The family gala. My grand return. The perfect stage for Jami to shine, and for me to confirm my role as the black sheep. I checked my reflection in the car window. My usual sharp, cynical gaze met me. Good. No cracks in the armor.

The gilded gates of the Jenkins estate loomed ahead, an oppressive monument to their wealth and my estrangement. My heart did a familiar clench, not from anticipation, but from a habit of resentment. I stepped out of the car, the gravel crunching under my heels, a sound too loud in the manicured silence.

"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in."

Cannon Jenkins, my eldest brother, stood at the imposing front door, arms crossed, a sneer twisting his perfectly sculpted features. Beside him, Joel, the sensitive musician, looked torn, while Brady, the hot-headed athlete, just glared, his fists clenched.

Oh, how original. Did you rehearse that line, Cannon? It' s almost as stale as your corporate presentations.

Cannon' s eyes widened slightly. His sneer faltered, replaced by a flicker of confusion. Joel shifted uncomfortably. Brady' s glare intensified, but it also held a hint of bewilderment.

"What did you just say?" Cannon demanded, his voice tight.

I blinked, feigning innocence. "Good evening, Cannon. I said nothing. Just admiring the new landscaping." The lie tasted like ash.

His face. It's truly a work of art when confusion warps that arrogant mask. They' re so used to me reacting, reacting angrily. This must throw them off.

Cannon' s jaw tightened. "Don't play innocent, Chloe. We know why you're here. Always stirring up trouble, always looking for a handout."

Right, the standard villain monologue. It' s like they have cue cards. How many times have I heard this tired accusation? It' s almost boring.

"I' m here because Mom and Dad invited me," I replied, my voice smooth, devoid of the usual bite they expected. "Family gala, remember?"

Brady scoffed. "As if you care about family. You just come back to make Jami feel bad, don't you?"