Part 1How an Extra Stole the Tragic Lead's Heart

I was supposed to be a nobody in this story—a passing extra who made a reckless, lust-fueled mistake and ended up in the second male lead's bed.

The next morning, he slid a five-million-dollar check across the nightstand.

I was about to reach for it when a strange, glowing scroll of text—a virtual wall of comments—flashed across my vision.

“The second male lead is so tragic. The moment he found out the female lead got married, he completely lost his mind. He donated every cent of his fortune and burned himself alive in his townhouse.”

“And to think, this random extra was actually carrying his baby. She could have left him a legacy, but she was just using him for a quick hookup. She took the cash and ran, leaving him to rot.”

My hand froze inches from the check.

I pulled my fingers back, looking him straight in the eyes. "Five million to raise a child? In this economy? Honestly, it's a bit tight."

Ethan Hawthorne blinked, his icy composure faltering. "What? Since when does raising a kid require that much capital?"

Ethan stared at me, his gaze dropping to my flat stomach.

"It’s been exactly one night," he muttered, his voice tight. "There's no guarantee you're even pregnant."

He reached for his phone on the nightstand. "I'll have my assistant run to the pharmacy and get some emergency contraception."

"I'm severely allergic to morning-after pills," I lied smoothly, shaking my head. "The active hormones put me straight into anaphylactic shock."

I leaned back against the headboard, crossing my arms. "But what if I am pregnant? You aren't seriously planning to leave me and our child to fend for ourselves with a measry five million, are you?"

"If it happens, you can always get an ab—"

"How can you be so heartless?" I gasped, looking at him with deep, theatrical condemnation. "The poor baby hasn't even had a chance to see the world, and you're already plotting its demise?"

"Besides," I continued, letting my voice tremble slightly, "I have a delicate constitution. If I undergo a procedure like that, my doctor says I might never be able to conceive again."

Ethan looked deeply conflicted, his jaw clenching as he tried to process this sudden complication.

I didn't press him. Instead, I let out a heavy, tragic sigh and slid out from the other side of the bed, wrapping the sheet around myself.

"Never mind."

"If I really am pregnant, I'll just carry her to term and find a nice family to adopt her. It’s a hard life, growing up in foster care, never knowing who your real parents are. If she's a girl, she’ll probably have an even tougher time... but I suppose that's just her hand in life."

"Wait!"

Ethan couldn't take it anymore. He lunged across the bed and caught my wrist.

"Just... let's wait and see if you actually are pregnant first. If the test is positive, I'll make proper arrangements."

He snatched the check from the table and shoved it back into my hand. "Take the money for now."

"If you insist," I said, slipping the check under my pillow.

We exchanged contact information, and as I walked out of the hotel suite, the glowing comments floated before my eyes again.

“Wait, the plot is changing? Is it because of this extra?”

“Whatever the reason, at least he’s alive for now...”

“Ethan is honestly the most tragic character. He never received a shred of warmth growing up, except for that one time the female lead was nice to him.”

“That's why he treats Madelyn like his absolute savior, building an entire corporate empire just to impress her. But she just treats him like a convenient backup option, discarding him when she’s done. I really hope he finds a reason to live.”

I quietly pocketed my phone. A man this stunningly attractive and wealthy shouldn't be allowed to burn himself to ash. I was going to keep him too busy to die.

Over the next two weeks, I used his five million dollars to thoroughly upgrade my living situation.

The virtual comments popped up occasionally, warning me that his mental health was spiraling. Every time the screen hinted he was getting close to the edge, I sent him a text.

I’ve been feeling really nauseous lately. I think it might be happening.

He would reply almost instantly: Have you tested yet?

Not yet. It's still too early.

I kept him dangling on a thread.

Two weeks later, I sat in the waiting room of a private prenatal clinic. Suddenly, the virtual comments began to scroll at a manic pace.

“Oh no! Richard and Madelyn’s wedding is today! And they actually had the cruelty to send Ethan an invitation!”

“He’s watching them exchange vows right now. He’s completely broken. He’s heading back to his place to swallow a bottle of pills!”

“Someone do something! Ethan, don't do it!”