Blurb：
Tasked with redeeming the gloomy villain Kyle Lowell, I approach the mission with my antisocial personality disorder in mind. When Kyle refuses medication, my dark thoughts suggest violence—yet he complies. At the male lead’s wedding, Kyle plans to steal the bride, but my internal rage stops him cold. He pleads, “Honey, don’t be mad,” hinting he hears my thoughts. Who is redeeming whom?
In our cheap apartment, Kyle attempts suicide in a blood-stained bathtub. Instead of saving him, I leave to buy fried chicken. Why should I care if he doesn’t? But the leaky bathroom alerts neighbors, and an ambulance drags me to pay his bills.
As the discarded real heiress, I’m trapped in a marriage with Kyle, the female lead’s childhood sweetheart. Both broken, we’re “balanced” in misery. After my own suicide attempt, we face hospital debts. When I confront Kyle, he stares blankly—our relationship built on forced despair. Can two damaged souls like us find redemption, or will my twisted mind sabotage everything?
Content：
The system tasked me, someone with antisocial personality disorder, to redeem a gloomy villain.
The villain was sick but refused to take his meds.
I thought to myself.
[Just stab him. Put us all damn out of this misery.]
The villain froze for a second, then silently swallowed the pills.
The male lead and female lead got married. The villain wanted to steal the bride.
I hatched a plan.
[Stab the male lead too! Then this whole mess is over!]
The villain stopped dead in his tracks, looking utterly pathetic as he grabbed my hand.
“Honey, don’t be mad, okay? I was just going to mock him a little.”
?
Could he… hear my thoughts?
No way.
Who’s redeeming whom here?
I confirmed it three times.
The System really wanted me to redeem this guy.
A cheap rented apartment.
A old, stained bathtub.
The light fell on his handsome yet deathly pale face. He’d fallen asleep in the tub. Blood pulsed steadily from the gashes on his wrist, spreading a dark red across the tile floor.
If I didn’t do something, he’d die.
So.
I turned around, switched off the light and locked the door. Then I took the little cash we had left at home, and went downstairs to buy some fried chicken.
If you don’t even value your own life, why expect anyone else to?
Why should I save you?
Just die already and stop keeping me from going home.
I’ve always been different from other kids.
Other kids who got bullied told the teacher.
I didn’t.
I spent two weeks figuring out the bully’s family’s schedule.
Then clogged and utterly destroyed their only toilet in a way that made the entire apartment uninhabitable for a month. They became the neighborhood pariah.
After dropping out, I worked at a coffee shop and got secretly filmed by a coworker..
Four male staff and the male manager. None of them admitted it.
Anyone else would have called the cops.
I didn’t.
I pulled down their pants one by one, took pictures, and uploaded them to the gay section on Pornhub. I got five grand in tips.
Later, when I was older, I saw therapist once. Threw around terms like “conduct disorder” and “antisocial personality traits.”
I didn’t really get it, and I couldn’t afford treatment anyway.
I live by one simple rule.
If someone messes with me, I mess with their whole damn family.
If I’m suffering, everyone else suffers too!
My gloomy villain husband, Kyle Lowell, didn’t die.
The apartment was so crappy, water leaked through the bathroom tiles. The neighbor downstairs called the cops, saving his life.
I hadn’t even reached the front of the fried chicken line before the ambulance hauled me off to the hospital to pay the bills.
In the story, Kyle Lowell is the female lead’s childhood sweetheart.
He always watched over her silently, deeply in love.
Later, she fell for the male lead. Kyle tried desperately to break them up, eventually going bankrupt and eended up in this dump trying to end it all.
Meanwhile, I’m the real heiress switched at birth, but my family only loved the fake heiress. I was obsessed with the male lead and tormented the female lead, which, of course, backfired spectacularly.
Thanks to the female lead’s clever counterattack, Kyle and I were forced to married. Perfectly “balanced” misery.
The same day Kyle tried to die, I swallowed a bunch of sleeping pills. The cops found a bunch of empty bottles in the room.
No wonder the ambulance dragged me in too. They were probably worried I’d croak before someone paid the bill.
Hmph!
Stomach pumping plus Kyle’s treatment cost thousands.
I had no money, so I went to his hospital room to make him figure it out.
I pushed the door open. Kyle was awake.
His eyes were dull, his thin lips pressed tight, his handsome face unnervingly pale.
He looked like a cornered swan, radiating stubborn despair.
I called his name, but he didn’t respond, just stared blankly out the window.
Right. He only married me because the female lead forced his hand. There were no feelings between us.
Damn.
Calling his name twice made my throat hurt.
That doctor who pumped my stomach was a trainee who jabbed the tube down wrong seven or eight times before a senior doctor took over.
And she had the nerve to giggle and say “I’m new, I was so scared!”
Just wait. When I feel better, I’m going back to slap that grin off her face.
Kyle stiffened on the bed, suddenly turning to look at me.
His gaze was full of confusion… and shock.
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