Chapter 1

When I stepped into the bathroom that summer, I glanced at myself in the mirror, but the reflection didn't bring me back to reality. 

As a carefree person, she used to mock others. Now, the target of her envy had become herself. 

It all started a week ago during the National Day holiday. With no plans and no partner, I decided to indulge in some novels I found online. My schedule was simple: stay up all night reading, sleep all day, and order takeout. What could be better? While my friends flooded social media with pictures of their overseas vacations, I felt no envy. Everyone knows traveling during holidays is a hassle—nothing beats the comfort of home. 

One particular novel caught my attention—a lengthy one, over a million words. While some parts were overly descriptive or redundant, the plot itself was captivating. The author clearly had a talent for storytelling. 

I was so engrossed that I read until five in the morning. When I finally stood up to head to the bathroom, dizziness from low blood sugar hit me. Everything went black, and I collapsed. 

When I woke up, I was no longer myself. I had somehow become a character in that very novel—a side character with the same name as mine. 

My name is Summer Reed. I grew up with my grandparents, and my relationship with my parents was never particularly close. After my grandparents passed away, my parents brought me back to the city during high school. By then, the emotional gap between us was hard to bridge. 

Sometimes, I wonder if family bonds are truly unbreakable. My relationship with my parents certainly didn't feel that way. Both sides tried to connect, but we eventually realized that maintaining a polite distance worked better for everyone. 

Perhaps that's why, for me—Summer Reed—being stuck in this new world didn't spark much anxiety. My parents had their retirement pensions, and I had a younger brother. I'd already spent most of my college years away from home. Strangely, I now felt relieved that my parents had gone against the one-child policy to have my brother. If it had just been me, my sudden disappearance would've shattered them. But with him around, they'd grieve, sure, but they'd survive. 

From the moment I woke up, I inherited all the memories of the original Summer Reed. 

If I had to sum up the original Summer in one phrase, it would be *femme fatale*. 

She was breathtakingly beautiful—the kind of beauty that turns heads and steals breaths. In all my life, I'd never seen a woman more striking. Her allure was effortless, blending innocence with seduction in perfect harmony. 

But life hadn't been kind to her. Born into poverty, her father worked odd jobs at construction sites, while her mother—once known for her looks—never held a job. Her father, possessive and insecure, didn't want other men noticing his wife, so she stayed home, doing neither housework nor childcare. Her days revolved around playing cards and perfecting her appearance. 

Despite the financial struggles, they managed to scrape by. Summer, blessed with her mother's beauty but none of her complacency, despised her family's situation. Out of vanity and insecurity, she pretended to be wealthy, craving the life she believed she deserved. 

Then came the turning point. 

One summer, during a part-time job, she met Ethan Song. 

Ethan was the quintessential self-made man. At thirty-one, he was the CEO of a thriving company that had recently gone public. Unmarried, wealthy, and successful—he was the dream catch. 

Summer, twenty at the time, saw an opportunity. At a company celebration, she meticulously planned her approach and spent the night with him. 

A month later, she discovered she was pregnant. Ethan, though sharp-minded, hadn't anticipated her maneuver. Out of responsibility—and perhaps a touch of pride—he married her. 

But theirs was a loveless marriage. 

Ethan, perceptive as he was, realized he'd been trapped. Though he fulfilled his duties as a husband, he resented her. He gave her the title of Mrs. Song but withheld affection, often expressing disdain. 

Not that Summer cared. To her, Ethan was little more than a walking ATM. She never expected love, only luxury. 

And so, for four years, they lived in polite indifference—bound by obligation but devoid of warmth. 

Standing in the bathroom now, inhabiting the body of this once-calculating woman, I felt an odd sense of clarity. 

I stepped out and, guided by the original Summer's memories, dialed her mother's number. 

"Mom," I said, voice steady, "I'll be bringing Logan home today. Pack his clothes." 

My mother hesitated. "But isn't Ethan supposed to pick him up?" 

"No need. I've booked tickets to City A for tomorrow. Ethan's away on business, and it's been too long since the three of us traveled together." 

Surprise flickered in her voice. "You've finally come around? That's how it should be! Marriage is fate, child. Look at your father and me—he never made much money, but he's always treated me well. You've been married for years now, yet you act like strangers. Don't you know that a shaky marriage harms the children most?" 

Perhaps age softened people. My mother, who once barely acknowledged her daughter, now doted on her grandson. 

The original Summer, however, was an unabashed egoist. She felt nothing for her parents, her husband, or even her child. Every time Ethan traveled for work, she shipped Logan off to her parents, reclaiming her freedom until Ethan returned. 

Love? Commitment? They meant nothing to her. Her world revolved solely around herself. 

But I wasn't her. 

"Got it, Mom," I replied. "Just make sure lunch is ready. I'll be eating at home." 

Silence hung for a moment before my mother's excitement burst through. "Really? You haven't sat down for a proper meal with us in ages! Your father will be thrilled. He's always said you loved his braised fish. I'll send him to the market right away!" 

I could almost hear my father's disbelief when she relayed the message, followed by the hurried shuffle of slippers as he rushed out the door. 

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Later, I sat at the vanity, taking in the face that now belonged to me. Even without makeup, it was stunning. But old habits die hard—I'd always been a perfectionist about my appearance. Years of practice had made me a pro. 

Ten minutes later, I admired the final look in the mirror. 

Light makeup. Flawless finish. 

"Even the most beautiful canvas shines brighter with the right touch," I murmured, echoing an old saying. 

Satisfied, I turned my attention back to the plot. 

The original Summer had no love for her husband or child. Should I follow her path… or rewrite the story entirely?