Rosalie Whitmore had been in a car accident.
She honestly thought she was done for, lights‑out kind of done. But somehow, not only did she not die, she woke up with this bizarre, crystal‑clear sense of self.
Turns out she was actually the villainous side character in a novel.
The book was called My Beloved Mr. Ashford, starring a childhood‑sweetheart power couple—both born with silver spoons, both big shots in the entertainment industry, the kind of perfect duo everyone else could only envy from afar.
And of course, every story needs a scapegoat.
She was that scapegoat.
In the book, she’d started as a child star, got roasted online for her terrible acting, switched to being an idol, then got roasted again because she couldn’t sing or dance either. She survived purely on hate‑traffic and somehow clawed her way to the A‑list.
Then she fell for the male lead at first sight and tried to wedge herself between the destined couple, scheming against the heroine and desperately trying to force a fake CP with the male lead.
That fiasco earned her the glorious title of homewrecker. The entire internet wanted her gone, and there was even a trending fan forum called “Is Rosalie Whitmore Ruined Today.”
People checked in there daily like it was a fitness challenge. And today, the place exploded because of one car crash photo.
“Is Rosalie Whitmore Ruined Today?”
[photo]
“Hahahaha she finally crashed and burned!”
Lying in the hospital bed, Rosalie slid her finger across her phone screen and thought, Well… hate to disappoint you all, but I’m still here.
She quit Weibo and opened her bank app. Seeing that long row of digits on her balance, she finally let out a shaky breath.
Because while she was unconscious, she had the most horrifying nightmare.
In it, she’d lived eight entire lifetimes as the unluckiest, brokest soul imaginable—every reincarnation destined to be poor, cursed, and dead before thirty.
Rosalie, who had never once in her twenty‑two years experienced what “being broke” felt like, had been traumatized by how real that dream‑poverty felt. No way was she living that for real.
Then—ding. Her phone buzzed.
Her heart lurched.
She watched, in real time, as a whole string of zeros vanished from her bank balance.
Rosalie: ???
Was she seeing things? Seriously?
Rosalie Whitmore blinked hard, but no matter how many times she looked, those missing zeros weren’t magically coming back.
Her phone buzzed.
A new message popped up:
[Dear xxx Bank User, your transfer has been successfully completed. Please rate our service.]
Rosalie froze for a few seconds. Then, with trembling fingers, she jabbed at the emergency number. “Hi… hello? Police? I think I just got scammed…”
The police arrived not long after and started asking her what had happened.
Rosalie still felt like her soul hadn’t caught up with her body yet. Her voice drifted as she answered their questions.
“Miss Whitmore, don’t worry. We’ll do everything we can to help you recover your money.”
“Oh. Thanks…”
One of the officers glanced at her—still looking like she’d just been struck by lightning—and let out a quiet sigh.
A few days later, S City’s evening news covered the scam: “A female celebrity surnamed Whitmore was targeted after her personal information leaked, allowing criminals to intercept her phone verification codes and drain tens of millions from her accounts…”
The police then broke down how the scam unfolded, gave a whole segment of anti-fraud tips, and reminded viewers to stay vigilant about protecting their personal info.
Rosalie switched off the TV, grabbed her phone, and logged onto WeBo.
Sure enough, the entire fandom forum was spamming that news clip—complete with strings of “hahahahaha.”
“Calling it now, the scammed ‘Miss Whitmore’ has got to be Rosalie Whitmore!”
“Do we even need to guess? Obviously it’s her!”
“She deserved it!”
“Is Rosalie Whitmore’s career officially over today?”
“Over!!!”
Rosalie Whitmore let out a long sigh, backed out of the trending forum, switched to her main account, and changed her username to: Did Rosalie Whitmore Get Lucky Today?
The moment the new name popped up, her haters instantly exploded like a boiling pot, jumping around even more wildly.
“Ha! Knew it was her. I swear this is killing me. Why did that scammer only drain her money? Don’t tell me they’re actually on the same team?”
Thinking of the pathetic balance left in her bank card, Rosalie froze for a second.
…Honestly, maybe they were.
Still not giving up, she checked her balance again.
“Dear customer, your account balance is: 250 RMB. Please rate our service.”
Two. Hundred. And. Fifty.
The number stabbed her eyes like a neon sign screaming loser.
If you were gonna scam me, couldn’t you at least take it all? Leaving 250 behind—what, trying to disgust me for sport? And here I was thinking you’d suddenly grown a conscience!
Screw your 250! You’re the real 250 here!
Fuming, Rosalie slammed out of her messages and mentally dragged that scammer through mud at least a dozen times, flipping and roasting him from every angle.
Only after cursing the scammer’s eighteen generations of ancestors did she finally cool down a bit.
Maybe that dream really meant something. Maybe she truly had been some cursed pauper for eight lifetimes, and the bad luck leaked into this one.
Being broke, unlucky, and destined to die young felt way too convincing. Rosalie felt her whole soul wilt.
No. She had to change her fate.
But how was she supposed to fight back against this cursed aura?
Maybe… become a civil servant?
After thinking it through, Rosalie felt it actually made sense.
Civil servants had stable jobs. Even if her poverty aura haunted her forever, at least she wouldn’t starve.
And civil servants serve the people, right? Maybe she could even ride a bit of that national-luck wave and finally stop being so cursed.
The more Rosalie Whitmore thought about it, the more hyped she got. Yep, she was gonna sit the civil service exam.
But then reality kicked her straight in the shins: could someone with only a high school diploma even sign up?
When in doubt, ask the almighty search engine.
Rosalie scrolled around for a while, and the answer was basically a giant “nope.” There were way too few positions open to someone with just high school creds.
Fine. Then she'd take the adult college entrance exam.
In a blink, she had a new life mission.
Once she decided, she didn’t hesitate. She spent the whole afternoon digging through posts and guides, clicking back and forth like her life depended on it, and finally figured out what she needed.
I need that set of notes and the “Three-Five” prep book.
She hopped onto an online shopping app and typed in the study materials netizens swore by—only to freeze when the price popped up. “What the—why is this book so expensive?”
Staring at the sad little numbers in her payment apps, Rosalie’s heart clenched.
She struggled for a few seconds, then steeled herself and hit “buy.”
Knowledge is wealth, education is an investment—surely she wouldn’t lose.
After placing the order, she immediately bought the Three-Five set too, then slammed the payment pop-up shut.
Didn’t see it, didn’t pay it. If she didn’t look, the money wasn’t gone. Totally logical.
A few days later, the books arrived. Rosalie dove into studying so hard she felt like her hairline was filing a protest.
But not long after she started her review plan, an incoming call shattered her hard-earned focus.
It was her agent, Rachel Fontaine. She told Rosalie that the variety show she’d agreed to earlier was about to start filming, and asked if she could make it.
Could Rosalie say “no”? Even if she wanted to, her bank balance definitely didn’t allow it.
She hated how she had signed that contract so happily back then—because now she couldn’t even afford to break it.
So she nodded, trying her best to sound casual as she said, “Sure, Rachel, no problem. I’ll be discharged tomorrow anyway.”
“Alright.”
“Then it’s settled.”
“See you.”
The moment the call ended, Rosalie Whitmore just deflated like someone had poked a hole in her.
The variety show she’d signed up for—Enjoy Life—was a slow‑paced, real‑life experience program. Each episode featured six guests living together for a full week, following whatever tasks the production team threw at them, basically tasting all the ups and downs life could offer.
And because the show’s whole vibe was “relax and enjoy,” plus the planners really knew what they were doing, the popularity was… annoyingly high.
Rosalie’s headache came from one simple fact: this episode didn’t just have the male lead—it had the female lead too.
With the big leads both present, what was an “evil side character” like her supposed to mix in for? She could practically hear the internet tearing her apart already.
And honestly? Her prediction was dead on. Online, people were flaming her nonstop.
“Why is Rosalie the homewrecker everywhere? Can’t she just disappear already?”
“For real. What was the production team thinking? Inviting her? I’m skipping this episode for sure if she’s in it!”
