Chapter 1You Can’t Escape

I woke up as the stepmother to the heroine of a trashy forced-love webnovel.

Staring at the male lead—a walking felony—and the drugged-and-baited plotline unfolding before me, my mind went blank.

Was the author allergic to the law?

It’s the 21st century. Who still writes this kind of coercive garbage?

Right now, the story was just beginning.

My new stepdaughter, Vivian, was a beautiful, tragic mess, while the male lead, Liam—fresh off an attempted assault—wore a smug smirk that screamed, You can’t escape me.

I was about to call the cops, but I stopped myself.

No. Following this trashy novel’s logic, the police would just show up and tell us to play nice.

Seeing Vivian’s trembling shoulders, a much more permanent solution sparked in my mind.

I smiled and pressed a pair of sharp shears into her hand.

“Don’t be scared, honey. Mom’s about to teach you the oldest form of revenge in the book.”

“Go on. Castrate the bastard. Let’s see what he uses to commit crimes then.”

* * *

The dean’s office fell into a dead silence. Everyone was stunned, frozen in place by my words.

Vivian’s eyes widened in disbelief, her lips parting as if to object.

“…Isn’t that a bit much…?”

“What’s wrong with it? It’s not like we can’t afford the legal fees.”

I shot a dismissive glance at Liam, my tone casual.

The words seemed to sting the teenage boy’s pride, but I wasn’t done. I decided to pour a little gasoline on the fire.

“Don’t worry about the money. Your father just acquired Liam’s family company. Our net worth just doubled, sweetie.”

That was the last straw for Liam. He turned, his eyes red with humiliation, and bolted from the room.

Hah. We’re just getting started and he’s already crying?

In the novel, Vivian’s father was a titan of industry. After he acquired the floundering Thorne Corporation, Liam’s family was ruined overnight, and Liam blamed Vivian for it all. He and his little gang of delinquents had planned to corner her in the girls’ bathroom and strip her naked, a plot that was only foiled by a passing classmate.

“What was it you were saying earlier? ‘No smoke without fire’?”

I cornered the dean, my voice dripping with ice. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.

“Teenagers… they horse around. It’s normal…”

“How about we lock your daughter in a room with this little punk and let them ‘horse around’ for a while?”

I raised an eyebrow. The dean, who had been so eager to smooth things over, immediately fell silent.

Because he did, in fact, have a daughter.