The Anti-Heroine's Guide to Surviving a Scumbag Novel

In the spacious living room of a luxury Penthouse overlooking the city skyline, a man and a woman sat opposite each other. The air was thick with tension.

The man broke the silence, his voice cold and detached.

“One million dollars. Call off the engagement.”

“…”

Faced with his icy declaration, the woman across from him simply lowered her gaze, remaining silent. She fiddled with a sleek fountain pen in her hand, her expression unreadable.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” Seeing her silence, Lucian Hale frowned, his impatience palpable. A look of undisguised disgust crossed his handsome face. “You were quite vocal on the phone yesterday, demanding fifty grand. Now you’re playing mute?”

He leaned forward, his tone biting. “I’m adding another half a million. Don’t you dare try to disgust me with this engagement ever again.”

“…”

Truth be told, Sloane Ashford wasn’t refusing to speak out of shock. She was terrified that if she opened her mouth, the phrase, *“D*mn, I hate pretentious pricks,”* would slip out before she could stop it.

Honestly, she had just been joking around last night. Hearing this guy’s insufferably arrogant tone over the phone, she had tossed out a casual, *“Hey rich guy, Venmo me fifty bucks, let me see what you’re working with.”* Just a little internet humor.

Who knew the guy would show up at her doorstep the next morning, waving a check for a million dollars?!

Do male leads in romance novels never surf the internet? Do they just spend all their time brooding in their mansions?

Her name was now Sloane Ashford. Once upon a time, she had been a struggling stand-up comedian with dreams of making it big. Instead, she was diagnosed with late-stage breast cancer.

The end.

Fortunately, just as she accepted her diagnosis, she hadn’t suffered long. She had transmigrated.

She woke up inside the pages of a cheesy romance novel titled *The Oscar Winner’s Beloved*, a book she had read during her chemotherapy sessions.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t landed the role of the heroine. She was now the cannon fodder villainess who shared the original character’s name but met a tragic end.

In the book, Sloane Ashford was a notorious “vase”—beautiful but talentless. She was the illegitimate daughter of a wealthy family, the cousin of the “Fake Daughter,” and the punching bag for the plot.

She was the obstacle, the plan B, the nobody meant to be trampled underfoot to highlight the main couple’s love story.

As a villainess, she could only hope the author suffered from chronic insomnia.

Despite the absurdity of it all, Sloane had accepted her new reality with the optimism of someone who had already hit rock bottom. After all, she had been alone in her past life. To live again was a bonus, earned through a lifetime of minding her own business and collecting enough Karma Points on her meditation app.

She deserved this second chance.

And besides, even if she held the script for a villain, so what?

Whatever. She would handle it.

Just as Sloane was psyching herself up to reclaim her destiny, a phone call had shattered her peace—the call that started this mess.

“Sloane Ashford, have you lost your mind?!”

“…Who is this?”

“Don’t play dumb! You think a verbal engagement means I’d ever marry you? Dream on. You aren’t even fit to carry Mia Sterling’s purse! Your clinginess makes me sick!”

“Are you okay?”

“Hmph… I get it. You want money. Name your price.”

“Dude, are you for real? Hey, rich guy, how about you Venmo me fifty bucks first so I can see if you’re actually loaded?”

“Sloane Ashford, remember your words!”

“…”

After hanging up, Sloane’s confusion lasted exactly three seconds before she realized something was terribly wrong.

She had arrived late.

In the original novel, this scene should have happened much later in the story—when the villainess had hit rock bottom. Only then would she use the engagement to threaten the male lead.

As for how rock bottom looked…

Framed by the “Fake Daughter” for harming the heroine, disowned by the Ashford family patriarch, kicked out of the family trust, and stripped of her inheritance.

Professionally, anonymous sources would leak scandals: chasing after the Oscar winner Lucian Hale, bullying newcomers, workplace harassment, diva behavior. Her reputation would be in tatters, blacklisted by the industry.

…

Whatever. She would handle her own funeral.

Embracing the philosophy of “if you fall down, just take a nap right there,” Sloane decided to rot.

When in doubt, sleep it off.

But before she could catch up on her beauty sleep, the arrogant man in front of her had barged in.

Lucian Hale. 27 years old. Hollywood’s current golden boy, the youngest Best Actor winner, and the male lead of this schmaltzy romance.

He was also her childhood fiancé.

Well, not for long.

“Sloane Ashford!”

A sharp shout pulled her drifting thoughts back. The man’s voice grew colder.

“I’ll transfer the one million to you. Remember your promise.”

Sloane lazily lifted her eyelids. “What promise?”

“Call off the engagement, and stay away from me and Mia!”

“Those things…” She looked up, her gaze calm. “I can’t do that.”

“You…”

Lucian’s eyes narrowed sharply, as if he wanted to dissect her right there on the sofa.

“You asked for fifty thousand. I’m giving you a million. What now? Raising the price? Careful, greed can be a dangerous thing.”

“So what?”

Faced with his veiled threat, Sloane just leaned back against the sofa, her posture relaxed.

“How about you call the cops?” she suggested with a light smile. “Tell them I’m… blackmailing you?”

“…”

Seeing the man frozen in shock, she curved her narrow eyes into a smile and waved her hand dismissively.

“Just kidding.”

No, she absolutely wasn’t.

If she actually took Lucian Hale’s million dollars, a recording of today’s conversation would likely be leaked to the entire internet within hours.

Blackmail. One million dollars.

That was a felony.

She would become a cautionary tale, a criminal forever branded by the media. No coming back from that.

Sloane Ashford firmly believed that no one is perfect. But if someone seems perfect, they are definitely hiding their stupidity where no one can see it.

Lucian Hale was exactly that type of stupid—a ruthless, sociopathic idiot.

He didn’t just pay tabloids to smear her behind her back. He was willing to spend a million dollars just to ensure her career was destroyed.

Cheap shot, really.

“Mr. Hale, if you have too much money, you could always pay more taxes…” Sloane’s smile was sincere, as if she were genuinely offering helpful advice. “Or, you know, take that money to a hospital and get a brain scan.”

“Emergency room,” she added helpfully.

“…”

Lucian wasn’t an idiot. He realized immediately that she had seen through his trap. A flash of panic crossed his mind, but he quickly steadied himself.

He looked at Sloane Ashford, who seemed like a completely different person. The disgust in his eyes slowly shifted to scrutiny.

After a long pause, he stood up slowly, maintaining his haughty demeanor.

“That reality dating show,” he said, his voice low and threatening. “I’ll be on it with Mia. You’d better not show your face, or I’ll make you regret it.”

“…”

Sloane remained slouched on the sofa, watching his retreating back.

Only when the sound of the elevator doors sliding shut echoed from the entrance did she slowly withdraw her gaze. She twirled the fountain pen in her fingers and whispered to the empty room:

“What can I say? I just love being a nuisance.”

Sloane Ashford wasn’t lying when she said she was born with a rebellious streak a mile wide.

In her past life, her mouth had been her greatest weapon and her ultimate undoing. She remembered the dinner where her boss tried to pressure a female colleague into drinking with a client. Sloane hadn’t just sat there; she’d flipped the table—metaphorically and almost literally.

“So, you love playing the pimp so much, why be a CEO? Why not just open a brothel and run it yourself?”

That one line had soured everything. Her script for life had gone from “Chasing the Spotlight” to “Chased Out of the Spotlight.”

Now, transmigrated into a book, she was being blamed for the original owner’s mess, facing a minefield of ruined relationships and a tanking career. Her mental stability was hanging by a thread.

But hey, since she was already on the brink of being blacklisted, why suffer in silence? If she was going down, she was taking the whole world with her.

Lucian