Numbers Rewrite My Fate

I woke up inside an angsty, toxic romance novel. Worse, I was the tragic female lead destined to suffer. But the moment I opened my eyes, I realized I had gained a bizarre power: I could modify any number in the text of this story.

With a mental flick of my wrist, I decided to play God.

The manipulative mistress in the original story bragged about weighing ninety pounds with the appetite of a tiny bird. I changed her weight to three hundred pounds, making her so massive she broke her chair and sent the male leads jaw dropping to the floor.

In the original plot, she pushed me from a seventh-floor balcony, causing me to miscarry and shattering every bone in my body. I changed the number to the first floor. I fell, brushed the dirt off my jeans, and walked right back inside.

While I lay dying in the original script, she and my husband took off for a ten-day tropical island getaway. I added some zeros, turning their quick vacation into a ten-year survival nightmare.

By the time they returned, I had manipulated the numbers in my bank account to become the wealthiest tycoon on the East Coast.

As for them? They had spent a decade playing a real-life version of Castaway, reduced to shivering, dirt-caked cave people.

It all started when I opened my eyes to find myself trapped in this clich nightmare.

The mistress was named Tiffany, and my husband was Gavin.

Tiffany was the newly hired secretary at Gavins corporate headquarters, a master manipulator who knew exactly how to play the victim.

I, Vivian, had spent years building a life with Gavin. We were childhood sweethearts. I supported him through his grueling startup years, cooking his meals and keeping his home, only to become a boring, neglected ornament in his eyes once he made his fortune.

He began cheating on me, letting his toxic mistress torment me until I lost my baby, ended up paralyzed in a hospital bed, and was finally dragged off to an asylum. After endless torment, the original Vivian became a vegetative shell. Only then did Gavin realize his mistakes and begin his pathetic, desperate chase to win her back.

But I was here now, and I had no intention of playing the victim. When the system notified me that I could edit the story's numbers, I grinned. I did not need to be greedy. A few strategically placed digits would do just fine.

Sitting at the dining table, I watched Tiffany pick at her food. Knowing what was about to happen, I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud.

In this scene, Tiffany had come to our house to provoke me. She pretended to be drunk, draping herself over Gavin. He brought her home to stay in our guest room, but in the middle of the night, she wailed that she was starving. Gavin ordered me to get out of bed and cook a three-course meal for her.

The original Vivian complied, only for Tiffany to take one bite and sneer.

"Gavin, I have the stomach of a bird, I barely weigh ninety pounds. I am completely full after one bite. I really envy Vivian. You can tell she has a wonderful appetite just by looking at her figure."

Then she pushed the plate away with a look of disgust.

"Gavin, now that I am full, the smell of this grease makes me want to throw up."

Gavin immediately ordered me to throw all the food in the trash and scrub the kitchen so Tiffany would not have to smell it. As I slaved away, he watched me with cold disdain.

"Vivian, you should learn some self-discipline from Tiffany. Look at your body, you have completely let yourself go."

The original Vivian wept silently in the kitchen. She only gained weight because she had been taking heavy hormone injections for years, desperately trying to get pregnant because Gavin said he wanted a family.

Now, facing the exact same scene, I pulled up the system panel. I targeted the number ninety in Tiffanys dialogue and changed it to three hundred.

The effect was instantaneous.

Tiffanys silk blouse buttons violently popped off. One button shot through the air and landed with a splash directly in the soup bowl. Her body expanded so rapidly that the delicate wooden dining chair splintered beneath her. She crashed onto the hardwood floor with a heavy, flesh-shaking thud.

Gavin stared at her newly acquired rolls of fat, his eyes wide with horror and disgust.

I rested my chin on my hand, looking her up and down.

"Well, sweetheart, you do not look like you have the stomach of a bird to me."

Tiffany tried to stomp her foot in anger, but her massive weight sent a violent shudder through the entire dining room floor.

Gavin, like most superficial men, was entirely driven by looks. The disgust in his eyes was impossible to hide.

"Tiffany, help Vivian clean up the table. Walking around will be good for your weight loss."

He was bound by the novel's plot to cheat, but his eyes betrayed his sheer confusion. He could not understand why on earth he was falling for a loud, overbearing, three-hundred-pound woman.

Later that night, the original plot dictated that Gavin would sneak into the guest room for some intense, skin-to-skin intimacy. I did not care about the betrayal, but I refused to listen to their noisy antics keeping me awake.

So, I pulled up the system and changed their seven inches of intimacy to zero.

Gavin spent the entire night huffing and puffing, completely blocked by Tiffanys massive, three-hundred-pound stomach.

Despite their lack of physical success, the novel's plot still forced a pregnancy onto Tiffany. Gavin moved her into our home permanently and demanded that I serve her three meals a day.

In the original timeline, Vivian worked day and night, cooking gourmet meals to cater to Tiffanys endless demands. Tiffany treated her like a servant, throwing tantrums and flipping the dining table whenever a dish was not to her liking.

But I was not the submissive wife. I did not feel like cooking at all.

I opened the system panel and changed the phrase "three meals a day" to "one meal every three days."

When Gavin opened his mouth to give his daily order, his voice sounded strained as the plot rewrite took hold.

"Vivian, you will prepare one meal every three days to serve Tiffany."

I smiled brightly.

"As you wish, darling."

Tiffanys nightmare began.

Waiting seventy-two hours for a single meal left her absolutely ravenous. Every time I placed a plate in front of her, she devoured it like a feral animal, practically licking the porcelain clean. She was too busy starving to complain about the quality, let alone flip any tables.

Once, she looked at the bowl of plain instant noodles I set down and let out a soft groan of disgust.

I immediately grabbed the edge of the table and flipped it over, sending the noodles splashing across the floor.

"Let me help you with that, Tiffany. I just realized I made this meal two hours too early. We still have time to wait before your three-day mark."

Tiffany shrieked in anger.

But half an hour later, I found her on her knees, weeping as she scooped the stray noodles off the floor to eat them. From that day on, she treated my cooking with absolute reverence. She looked at every plate as if it were a sacred offering, terrified I would flip the table again.

Ten months later, Tiffany gave birth to a baby boy. Shortly after, I discovered I was pregnant as well.

In the original story, this pregnancy was the result of seven long years of medical treatments. Vivian cherished the baby, believing it would mend her broken marriage. But Tiffany saw the child as a threat to her position and decided to get rid of it.

She began slipping high doses of toxic herbal extracts into my daily soups, causing me to suffer severe cramps and bleeding. When I was rushed to the hospital, she secretly swapped my pregnancy-safe medication with useless vitamins.

After my third emergency room visit, Gavin slapped me across the face.

"Stop putting on a show, Vivian. Do you really think this pregnancy makes you special? You think you can use a baby to tie me down? Tiffany has already given me a son. I only keep you around out of pity. If you try to use this baby for attention one more time, I will personally drag you to an abortion clinic."

That slap shattered the last of Vivian's hope. She decided to survive just long enough to have her baby and leave him. But she never got the chance. Tiffany cornered her on the seventh-floor balcony and pushed her over the railing.

Now, I stood on that same balcony, looking down at the ground. I felt a phantom ache in my bones, but I remained calm. I opened the panel and changed the number seven to one.

As Tiffany crept up behind me, I turned, gave her a cheerful wave, and jumped over the railing myself.

Amid her panicked screams, I landed softly in the manicured bushes of the first-floor garden. I crawled out, brushed the dirt off my knees, and walked back to the front door to ring the bell.

Because Tiffany had already poisoned my system with so many toxins, the minor fall was still enough to end the fragile pregnancy.

But my bones were perfectly intact. As I lay in my hospital bed, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Best of all, Gavin and Tiffany had completely vanished from my sight since the incident.

Just as I was enjoying the peace, my phone buzzed. It was Gavin. My finger slipped, and I accidentally answered the call.

"Vivian, I am sorry," Gavin's voice sounded tight. "Tiffany has been feeling depressed lately and needs a change of scenery. I am taking her to a private island resort. I won't be able to look after you for a while."

I squeezed my eyes shut, pretending to be heartbroken.

"For how long, Gavin?"

As I spoke, I opened the system panel and edited the text.

Gavins voice faltered on the other end, sounding dazed and confused.

"For... ten... years."

He cleared his throat, sounding utterly bewildered by his own words.

"I am sorry, Vivian. I do not know why I said ten years. My original plan was just a quick trip to clear our heads, but..."

I cut him off before he could recover.

"Enjoy your decade, darling. Do not worry about a thing. I will take care of the company while you are away."

I hung up immediately, ready to enjoy my ten years of freedom.

In the original timeline, Gavin left for his vacation without even paying my hospital bills. Meanwhile, Tiffany filled her social media with posts boasting about his generosity.

She had shared photos of her bank account showing a five-hundred-thousand-dollar balance, alongside Gavins thirty-million-dollar account. Her posts featured designer bags scattered across a luxury hotel bed.

Meanwhile, my own account had held a pathetic fifty dollars, a random handout Gavin had tossed to me weeks prior. Because I could not pay the hospital fees, I was discharged early. I had walked through a freezing rainstorm all night, clutching my aching stomach. That was the night the original Vivian finally lost her mind, sinking into a permanent state of paranoia until Gavin returned and committed her to an asylum.

Now, I unlocked my phone and scrolled to Tiffany's old boastful post.

I changed her five hundred thousand dollars to five dollars.

Then I turned Gavin's thirty million dollars into three dollars.

They were stuck on a remote island for the next ten years. I smiled, feeling like a benevolent savior. Adversity builds character, after all. I was simply giving them a wonderful opportunity to test the strength of their true love.

Next, I opened my own banking app, stared at my fifty-dollar balance, and began typing zeros behind it until my thumb grew sore. I decided to take a nap and add some more tomorrow.

In the original story, Vivian had called Gavin dozens of times a day during his absence until he finally blocked her number. I, on the other hand, was far too busy adding digits to my bank account to care about where he was.

On the sixth day of his trip, Gavin called me.

His tone was uncharacteristically polite, almost nervous.

"Vivian, how have you been?"

I was in the middle of typing another row of zeros and answered distractedly.

"I am doing great."

Gavin hesitated, his voice tight with embarrassment.

"Vivian, could you wire me some money? Or perhaps you could authorize an early release of my monthly salary of one million dollars? I was certain I brought enough funds, but for some reason, all my cards are being declined."

My eyes lit up at the mention of corporate authorization.

"Gavin, you still have nine years, eleven months, and twenty-three days left on your island vacation. The company cannot run without a leader. Transfer all administrative rights to me, and I will handle your salary."

Gavin snapped, telling me I did not have the brains for business, but he quickly shut his mouth. He knew that if he abandoned the company for ten years without a trusted proxy, there would be nothing left when he returned. He had no choice but to sign the digital transfer forms.

The moment the corporate power of attorney cleared, I did two things.

First, I blocked Gavins number.

Second, I adjusted his monthly corporate salary from one million dollars to one cent.

For a husband who was entirely absent, a penny a month was more than generous.

Ten years flew by.

By constantly manipulating the numbers of my investments, I transformed myself into the most powerful financial tycoon on the East Coast. I was no longer the weeping housewife. I was a brilliant corporate force, running a massive business empire.

Over the decade, handsome bachelors and elite suitors constantly sought my attention, and my life was filled with excitement. I had completely forgotten about Gavin and Tiffany.

One afternoon, during a ribbon-cutting ceremony for my new shipping port, a loud gasp rippled through the crowd.

"Look out there!"

Everyone turned their eyes toward the ocean.

A battered, makeshift raft was tossing and turning in the rough harbor waves. Two figures clung to the wooden logs.

It was impossible to tell their gender at first. They were covered in layers of dirt, dressed only in woven leaves, with matted hair that dragged along the deck.

I squinted at the two wild figures paddling desperately toward the dock.

They looked strangely familiar.

My jaw tightened as recognition set in. It was Gavin and Tiffany.

I had been so absorbed in my multi-billion-dollar acquisitions that I had completely lost track of the timeline. Ten years had actually passed.

Before I could process it, a massive wave flipped their fragile raft, dumping them both into the shallow, murky water near the shore.