Chapter 1

I had antisocial personality disorder. After my parents divorced, Mom took me and remarried.

My stepbrother would always sneak into my room at night to play "games" with me. I seized the chance to chop off his "little friend".

Then they shipped me off to my dad's place.

Dad had also remarried. My stepsister called me a burden, a deadweight.

I didn't like hearing that, so I superglued her mouth shut.

My stepmother locked me in the attic and didn't give me any food for a week.

By the time they found me, I was already dead.

And I had transmigrated into a love-hate romance novel, a world with no legal consequences.

I became the female lead, destined for a life of physical and emotional torment.

I smiled. This was the kind of society I'd always dreamed of.

*****

I transmigrated right at the moment the male lead, Ethan Ford, was forcing the female lead, Scarlett Hayes, to get plastic surgery to look like his first love.

The man, dressed in a tailored suit, looked down at me with impatience etched on his face.

"Scarlett, I'm informing you, not asking for your opinion. Letting you get surgery to look like Juliet is doing you a favor. What could you possibly have to complain about?" he snapped.

I picked up a nearby mirror and looked.

The girl in the reflection had a stunning, captivating face, with nicely-shaped eyebrows and eyes full of emotion.

I'd heard of people getting surgery to look prettier, but wanting to look plainer? That was a first.

He wanted this gorgeous girl to turn herself into an ordinary, plain Jane, and he said she was getting the better deal. Hilarious.

I rolled my eyes at him.

"There's something wrong with your eyes. Clearly my face is prettier, yet you can't tell," I shot back.

Ethan was taken aback, not expecting me to talk back.

"Scarlett, you dare to sass me?" He clicked his tongue, gritting his teeth. "I'll stop your grandmother's medication."

I shrugged, completely unfazed. "Go ahead. That old hag should have kicked the bucket long ago."

The grandmother the original female lead thought owed her upbringing was actually the trafficker who had stolen her as a child.

Because she was so beautiful, the old woman kept her for herself, planning to sell her for a high price later.

Even so, the grandmother treated her horribly, making her cook and wash clothes for the whole family.

She did the hardest work and got the least food.

If the grandmother hadn't gotten sick this time, and no one else in the family was willing to take care of her, she'd still be trapped in that remote village, unable to take a single step outside.

Ethan's pupils dilated slightly. "Weren't you the one who cared about your grandmother the most?"

I sneered. "That was then. Now I'm a whole different kind of person."

Ethan lost patience with arguing. He made a call, and a few men in black suits forcefully escorted me away.

They put a blindfold on me. The car only came to a stop after about an hour.

When they finally let me go, I was lying on an operating table.

Standing beside me was Ethan's doctor friend, Simon Reed.

He leisurely put on his gloves,

inspecting the scalpels on the instrument tray while looking at me with pure malice.

"Miss Hayes, I don't know what tricks you used to get Ethan to agree to let you look like Juliet, but since you're going to wear Juliet's face, you'll have to pay the price. I'll make sure your face itches unbearably every day, for no diagnosable reason, until it rots away completely," he sneered.

He was Juliet Monroe's die-hard fan. I didn't want to waste words on him. I just asked one question. "Aren't you afraid I'll call the police?"

He stared blankly, confusion in his eyes. "What's 'the police'?"

I smiled. No laws? Perfect. Just what I wanted.

Simon thought my silly smile meant I was scared out of my mind.

He pretended to be considerate. "Don't worry, I'll be very gentle. You'll just take a nap, and it'll all be over."

Just as the needle in Simon's hand was about to pierce my skin, a huge tear rolled down my cheek. I looked at him with my big, teary eyes, pleading.

"Simon, can I keep one photo of my original face? You can take it with your phone," I said.

Seeing him pause, I pressed my advantage. "I'm an orphan. I've never had a single picture of myself my whole life."

Simon was an orphan too, the source of his deep-seated insecurity.

He looked at me silently for a moment. "Wait here. I'll go get my phone."

He must have felt very secure, since my hands were tied tightly to the bed. I couldn't break free, couldn't even move much.

But he was too confident.

Untying this kind of rope was child's play for me.

When Simon returned with his phone and saw the empty bed, he didn't even have time to make a call before I injected him with a sedative from behind. He slowly collapsed to the floor.

Lucky him. He became my first guinea pig.

In my previous life, I'd watched countless plastic surgery videos. Every step was etched in my memory.

Now, I finally had a chance for hands-on practice.

Five hours later, Simon on the operating table had become another Juliet Monroe.

I even thoughtfully threw in a gender reassignment surgery, so he could embrace his new face without any burdens.

I used his phone to contact his staff.