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Dumpling looked at Mia, then at Maria's ghost. "I don't know about you," he muttered, floating backward, "but I feel like I'll soon be seeing a ghost begging to die." With that, he disappeared into space, as if the drama was too much even for him.
Time passed.
Mia opened her eyes, groaned, and dragged herself to the bathroom. As she sat to pee, she noticed Maria's ghost standing there—just watching.
She rolled her eyes. "She died and still can't rest. Now she wants to deprive me of peace too?"
She flushed, walked out, still mumbling, "Can't even peebin peace ..."
"Who are you talking about?" a voice interrupted.
Mia turned.
Charles was sitting comfortably on the couch, legs crossed like he belonged there. She blinked. Her expression went blank. Then—an eye-roll. Of course.
"Ah, it seems the universe is in the mood to bully me today," Mia mumbled as she walked to the hospital bed.
She glanced at him. "Too high and mighty to knock now? Or is that beneath your status?"
Charles didn't flinch. He just stared at her like she was a puzzle he regretted starting.
"Who were you talking to?" he asked, standing to check the bathroom.
"...A ghost," Mia replied without missing a beat.
Charles paused.
"It told me," Mia continued, smirking, "that everything you stole will come crashing back on you and—this one's my favorite—you're destined to be single. Forever."
Charles glared. "You think this is funny? Your son's out there missing, and you're here, meeting people and cooking up more of your evil plans. I thought being hospitalized and having your son kidnapped would change you. Clearly, I was wrong."
Mia casually cleaned her ear. "Fine. I was talking to my shit. It was so strong I asked it if it was planning to kill me. You satisfied now?"
Charles looked at her like she was an experiment gone wrong.
"Oh? You think I'm lying?" she asked, tilting her head. "Did you see anyone walk out? No. Bathroom's empty, right? Phone's still right there. So who was I talking to, hmm?"
Charles went still.
Mia's tone turned smug. "Exactly."
He stared at her, eyes narrowing. No footsteps. No calls. No visitors.
"Why are you glaring?" Mia asked sweetly, eyes gleaming. "Isn't that what you wanted to hear?"
Charles leaned close to her, eyes narrowed with contempt. "You're disgusting," he hissed.
Mia didn't flinch. She tilted her head, then slowly leaned in—closing the space between them. As Charles instinctively began to pull back, she grabbed the collar of his shirt and dragged him toward her. The sudden motion caused her to lean back slightly on the hospital bed, pulling Charles down with her. His hands landed on either side of her, caging her in. Their faces were now inches apart.
In that intimate pause, Mia's demeanor shifted.
Her usual fire softened—just enough. A subtle glow shimmered around her like candlelight on wet silk. Her voice melted into something tender, low, and heartbreakingly sweet—like a siren luring a sailor into the deep.
"I'm feeling bad… my son is kidnapped," she whispered, eyes glistening faintly. "I might act like I'm happy, but you… you don't know how I feel inside."
Her fingers rose slowly and brushed against his cheek. They trailed along his sharp jawline, tracing the shape with delicate purpose—lingering like the soft drag of lace across bare skin. Her hand moved up to his temple, down his neck, as if memorizing the texture of his skin, the tension in his muscles, the heat rising between them.
"My heart aches," she breathed, her lips so close to his ear they nearly brushed it.
Charles swallowed hard. His pupils dilated.
"You're shameless," he said, his voice hoarse. "Your son's missing, and you're here trying to seduce me. Can't have Marvin, so now you're coming for me, is that it?"
He studied her, and for a moment, he forgot his hatred. She really was beautiful—like a fox draped in silk, sly, ethereal, and dangerous.
Mia's eyes welled with tears, shimmering like glass. She tilted her head just slightly and looked at him through dark lashes.
"Am I that shameless in your eyes?" she asked softly. "Then why…" her smirk curved like a knife, "...why are you leaning closer?"
She let her hand trail down his face once more, gentle, almost reverent.
"Tell me, Charles… what's so shameless about cleaning my hand on your face?"
And then—she shoved him away.
"I just realized," she said with a mock-innocent look, "I didn't wash my hand… so I decided to wipe it on your face. Thanks for being my towel."
Charles stood frozen. Then disgust flickered across his face like a stormcloud. He stormed forward and grabbed her gown in rage, yanking her upward.
Rip.
A sound tore through the tension like lightning.
Charles froze. His eyes dropped—and his breath caught in his throat.
Red.
Not blood—but fabric. Her gown had slipped just enough to expose her chest, and she wasn't wearing a bra.
His face flushed. His nose betrayed him—a single line of blood trickled from one nostril.
"You—shameless—" he choked out, but his eyes didn't move.
Mia stared at him blankly, then—without warning—snapped her hand out.
As he turned to react, she slammed her forehead into his with a clean, vicious crack.
Charles stumbled back, crashing to the floor. A bruise was already forming on his forehead.
Mia ran her fingers through her hair and exhaled, like knocking a man out was just part of her skincare routine.
"You're a pervert," she said calmly. "Mr. High and Noble, reduced to bleeding over some cleavage. Never seen a chest before, Charles?"
She picked up a nearby fruit knife from the tray. With a flick of her wrist, she hurled it toward him.
It landed with a solid thunk—the blade buried an inch deep into the floor.
Right between his legs.
Charles froze, his face white as chalk.
Mia tilted her head and smiled sweetly. "Next time… it won't miss."
Charles swallowed hard and glared at her. His forehead still throbbed from the headbutt, and the knife embedded in the floor beside his leg wasn't helping his mood.
"Mia, are you trying to damage my goods?" he snapped, voice sharp. "Do you know I can have you arrested for this?"
Mia let out a long sigh and gave him a pitying look. "Why? I'm just trying to protect womankind from accidentally birthing a child who thinks the world revolves around him. Honestly, Charles—you argue more with women than you breathe."
Then her eyes gleamed. "Tell me the truth… do you love me?"
She tilted her head, resting her cheek delicately on her palm, as if she were simply curious about the weather.
Before he could answer—before the sarcasm could fully escape her lips—the door creaked open.
And just like that, a switch flipped.
Mia's mocking smirk vanished. Her back straightened, her lashes fluttered delicately, and her voice turned as soft as mist on water.
"Brother Marvin… any news of my son?" she asked, her tone refreshingly gentle, with just enough tremble to tug a heartstring.
Marvin walked in, face calm. "I haven't found anything yet," he said gently. "But don't worry. Nothing will happen to him. I'm here."
"I'm scared," Mia whispered, eyes lowered. "He's so small. What if he's alone… without me? What is he going through?"
Marvin hugged her with a protective warmth, whispering reassurances into her hair.
Charles stood to the side, still nursing his bruised pride and his bleeding dignity, and watched them.
So this is her true character? he thought grimly. A drama queen… if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't believe the shift.
"Brother Marvin," Mia said softly, "I want to go back home. If I stay here any longer, I'll suffocate."
Marvin nodded and gently guided her through the discharge process. Charles followed them silently, his face unreadable, but his jaw clenched.
Once they were gone, Dumpling appeared beside Mia, floating lazily and munching on air popcorn.
Mia stared at Charles's retreating back. "Dumpling, don't you feel something's… off about him?"
Dumpling flicked his tiny tail. "Yep. His energy is a mess. Something's crawling under his skin."
He vanished, and a moment later, popped back—this time holding a large, ripe melon.
"Here, eat this. While you do, I'll update you."
Mia started eating as Dumpling perched on her shoulder like a gossiping squirrel.
"It seems like Charles ran into the male lead and the original female lead. He's starting to sense the plot pulling away from him. The kidnapping? That wasn't part of the script. The timeline's shifting, and it's forcing him to go back to the original scenes to 'reset' the narrative."
Mia paused, mid-bite.
"That's not all," Dumpling added grimly. "Someone's attacking his company. Internally, externally—he's under fire."
Mia put the melon down and wiped her hands slowly. Her face was unreadable.
"It's happening already," she muttered. "The plot… it's strong. I entered this world thinking I could rewrite it, but this body's emotions—they're like landmines. I can't move too fast or I'll trigger something."
She scratched her head like a cat with a headache. "Ugh. I hate overthinking more than I hate noise. First comes stress… then brain-failure… then emotional damage—"
She dropped dramatically onto the bed, arms flailing like a tragic heroine from a low-budget drama. "Then I die! Again!"
Dumpling looked down at her blankly, unimpressed.
"Childish," he muttered. "This whole scene is an eyesore."
Mia blinked as she chewed another slice of melon, her legs swinging off the bed, totally unbothered by the chaos happening just outside her world of fruit and sarcasm.
"…Hmm."
She tilted her head. "Attacking Marvin's company now? That wasn't in the original script."
Dumpling glanced at her, floating with a frown. "No, it wasn't.
"Exactly," Mia said flatly, popping another piece of melon into her mouth. "He was the boring safety net. The loyal crazy overbearing pyscophat with crazy mood swings second ML ".
Her eyes narrowed just a little. "So why's someone targeting him this early? Is it that mystery figure ?
She stared up at the ceiling like it held all the answers—and maybe a hidden stash of snacks.
"come to think of it the author did not write anything about this mystery figure only noting there is a mystery figure "
Dumpling raised a brow. "You're not worried?"
Mia shrugged, resting her head in her palm. "Meh. Not my company. Not my problem. If Marvin gets wrecked, that's his character development, not mine. I'm just here trying to finish my task I just need to take what I want before he goes bye bye bye and anyway someone that can stand one one with the ml will be able to handle anything
She yawned, then snorted. "Still… the author is fishy. Like… extra fishy. Tuna-left-in-the-sun fishy. Writing all these twists like they're bored with their own plot. Kidnapping arcs, business sabotage, mystery villains—why not throw in an alien invasion while they're at it?"
Her tone turned overly dramatic as she lifted her melon fork like a sword. "If the author is listening, please just let me finish my mission and escape this dramatic sandbox. And maybe write me a food arc. I deserve one."
Then her expression brightened suddenly.
"…I want sushi. No, wait. Crab. Shrimp. Something juicy. Plot twists are fine, but can I get them with dipping sauce?"
Maria's ghost drifted by the window and stared at her with exhausted eyes. "She's derailing again…"
Dumpling covered his face. "Secondhand embarrassment activated."
Mia ignored them both, stretching out on the bed like she had no spine and no stress. "Mystery figure, twisted plot, business collapse... Ah, whatever. I'll care when it explodes in my face."
She rolled over and sighed. "For now, let me digest in peace. Wake me up when something explodes or when food appears."
Maria's ghost turned to Dumpling. "Let's just leave. I suddenly miss the afterlife."
Dumpling nodded. "She's hopeless."
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