I Refused to Be the Tragic Heroine

1 For as long as I can remember, the world has reeked of an invisible, clichéd script.

Growing up, I read thousands of romance novels only to realize I was living inside a cliché myself—the kind where the toxic, powerful man torments the woman, only to spend a lifetime begging for forgiveness.

I saw it everywhere: a divorced neighbor whose ex wept on her porch years later; a sweet graduate whose billionaire boyfriend used her as a cheap standin, then offered her his empire.

Both women stared back with dead eyes and said they didn’t care. To avoid that fate, I avoided romance entirely—no angst, no toxic billionaires, no tragedy.

But life has a sick sense of humor. When I was twentyfive, my healthy mother fell critically ill. The medical bills buried me in debt.

While working a double shift, Manhattan’s richest tycoon approached me with an arrogant smirk. “Be my girl,” he said smoothly. “I’ll cover your mother’s bills.” His eyes sharpened. “But you’re just a substitute for Serena.

Don’t dream of anything more.” I took his black Amex card, eyes lowered. I needed the money.

But if he thought he’d break my heart like those tragic heroines, he was out of his mind.

Later, my best friend sobbed that her boyfriend was still in love with his childhood friend.

I patted her back. “Give it time,” I said. “He’ll be crying on your doorstep, begging for you back before you know it.” … The very second I got my hands on that black card, I prepaid my mother's hospital fees for an entire year.

You can never be too careful. Rich guys loved cutting off medical funds the minute their precious first loves threw a tantrum.

In the sterile white hospital room, my mother gripped my hand, tears spilling over her pale cheeks. "Sienna, you have been fighting so hard. I do not want to drag you down anymore.

I have lived a good life..." I squeezed her hand back, giving her a reassuring smile. "Mom, trust me. You know I hate suffering more than anything.

I am not going to let anyone walk all over me." She needed a kidney transplant.

I used a massive chunk of Carter's money to hire the best private investigators to scour the globe for a matching donor. But these things took time.

In the meantime, I secretly hired elite tutors across various industries.

Growing up, I was fascinated by everything from foreign languages to high finance, but we never had the money for it.

Now that I had unlimited funds, I was absolutely going to milk it for all it was worth. Carter Holden was a busy man. He only summoned me twice a week.

He knew I was burning through his cash on a daily basis, but he assumed I was doing what every other kept woman did, blowing it on designer bags and cosmetic procedures.

To a man of his wealth, it was pocket change. He let me do whatever I wanted. This routine dragged on for over six months.

Then, out of nowhere, he told me he was taking me to a private gathering with his inner circle. Carter's friends were all toptier elites in their fields.

They looked at regular people like dirt on their shoes. The moment I stepped into the VIP lounge, I felt a dozen pairs of eyes stabbing into me, dripping with disdain and mockery.

A gorgeous woman sitting in the center of the plush leather sofa let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Carter, so this is the little pet you have been keeping." She spat the word 'pet' with heavy, deliberate venom.

Carter acted like he did not hear the insult. He just ran his hand through my hair and chuckled. "Sienna is obedient and pretty to look at.

She suits me just fine." The group exchanged knowing glances, their smiles turning cruel. "The best part is how much she looks like Serena, right?" At the mention of that name, the light drained from Carter's eyes.

They darkened into a stormy abyss. I sat there in total silence, my expression perfectly blank as I popped a piece of melon into my mouth.

Serena was his elusive first love, the one that got away. The only reason I was sitting here was because I shared her bone structure.

The woman who called me a pet grabbed her martini and slid over to sit right next to me.

She aggressively shoved her phone into my face, displaying an intimate, sundrenched photo of Carter and Serena. "I bet you did not know," she whispered poisonously. "Carter and Serena grew up together.

Their families made a pact when they were kids.

If Serena had not been so wild and left the country, they would probably be married with kids by now." She took a sip of her drink, relishing my silence. "Serena went to the Ivy League.

She is fluent in four languages. She won national art competitions in high school.

Having a woman that perfect in his past... no man could ever forget her." Her eyes swept over my outfit with raw disgust. "And you? A nobody from some noname state school.

I bet you cannot even string two sentences together in Spanish. Let me give you a reality check. Every single person in Carter's circle speaks at least three languages.

Including me." It took me exactly three seconds to figure her out. She was desperately in love with Carter.

She probably thought Serena's departure was her golden ticket, only for Carter to bring a random girl off the street into his bed instead.

The jealousy practically oozed from her pores. I glanced at her, muttered something rapidly under my breath, and looked away.

She frowned, completely lost. "What did you just say?" I ignored her. It was nothing special. I had just called her an idiot in eight different languages.

A few weeks later, Carter apparently decided that seeing me twice a week was not enough. He pulled some strings and gave me a cushy job in his executive assistant department.

On my very first day, I walked into the office only to discover that the jealous martinidrinking girl was my department manager.