The silence in the VIP suite of the Medika-Valerick Hospital was heavy, suffocating, and tasted faintly of expensive lilies and harsh chemical cleaners. Aralyn opened her eyes, but the world didn't make sense. The ceiling was a pristine, lacquered white, adorned with a minimalist crystal chandelier that looked more like an art installation than a light fixture.
Her head felt as though a rhythmic drum was beating against her brain, each pulse sending a sharp, white-hot needle of pain through her optic nerves. She tried to lift her hand, but it felt leaden, disconnected from her will.
Where am I?
The last thing she remembered was the cold glass of her penthouse office in Manhattan, the city lights blurring as she collapsed from an apparent heart failure after seventy-two hours of non-stop work. She was the CEO of a multi-billion dollar tech firm—she didn't have time for hospital beds.
"Aralyn? Oh, my sweet girl! You're finally awake!"
The voice was like a violin played out of tune—high, shrill, and vibrating with a forced kind of desperation. Aralyn turned her head slowly, the movement making the room spin.
A woman sat by her bed. She looked to be in her late forties but was so meticulously preserved by plastic surgery and high-end treatments that she could pass for thirty-five. She was draped in a silk Dior robe, clutching a lace handkerchief that was probably worth more than a common worker's monthly salary.
Behind her stood a man who radiated a different kind of energy. He was tall, dressed in a charcoal-grey bespoke suit that screamed "Old Money." His hair was peppered with silver at the temples, and his face was a mask of cold, aristocratic disappointment.
"Elena, move aside," the man commanded. His voice was a low rumble that seemed to vibrate the floorboards.
Aralyn's mind suddenly jolted. A flood of alien memories crashed into her consciousness like a tidal wave hitting a glass wall. Images, names, and feelings that weren't hers began to stitch themselves into her brain.
Alexander Valerick. Elena Valerick. The parents.
SMA Garuda. The elite academy.
Revan Dirgantara. The boy who just rejected her in the rain.
Her eyes widened as the realization hit her with the force of a freight train. She wasn't in Manhattan anymore. She wasn't even in her own world. The names, the faces, the suffocating opulence—this was the world of "Silent Love", a cliché web novel she had read on a whim to understand "youth trends."
She had been reborn—or rather, transmigrated—into the body of Aralyn Valerick. The villainess. The girl who used her family's diamond empire to bully the poor, stalk the male lead, and eventually met her demise at the end of a rope in a prison cell after a failed murder attempt on the heroine.
"Aralyn!" Alexander's voice snapped her back to the present. He stood at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed. "I hope the humiliation of fainting in the mud because Revan Dirgantara called you 'pathetic' has finally woken you up to reality. You have made the Valerick name a laughingstock in the business circles."
Aralyn stared at him. The old Aralyn would have burst into tears, screamed about her "eternal love" for Revan, and begged her father to buy the Dirgantara company just so she could own the boy.
But the woman now inhabiting this body was a shark who had survived the cutthroat waters of Wall Street. To her, Revan Dirgantara wasn't a "prince"—he was a poorly managed asset.
She pushed herself up, ignoring the protest of her aching muscles. She sat straight, her spine a perfect line of steel, and looked Alexander directly in the eye.
The man paused. He had expected a tantrum, but what he saw in his daughter's eyes was something he had never seen before: a chilling, crystalline intelligence. Her sapphire eyes, usually clouded with obsession or rage, were now as sharp and cold as polished diamonds.
"Father," Aralyn began, her voice surprisingly steady, carrying a melodic but icy tone. "You are right. I have been... inefficient."
Alexander narrowed his eyes. "Inefficient?"
"Chasing a boy who brings no strategic value to our family is a waste of time and resources," Aralyn said, her gaze drifting toward the window where the Jakarta skyline shimmered in the twilight. "I apologize for the drama. It won't happen again. From now on, I will focus on what actually matters: The Valerick Empire."
The room went so silent you could hear the hum of the air conditioner. Elena dropped her handkerchief, her mouth hanging open in a very un-aristocratic way.
Aralyn tilted her head slightly, a small, predatory smile tugging at the corners of her lips. If the "Author" of this world thought she would follow the script and die like a dog, they were gravely mistaken. She was going to take this "Diamond Heiress" title and turn it into a crown that no one could ever take away.
"And Father?" Aralyn added, her voice dropping an octave, becoming dangerously soft. "Tell the staff to prepare my discharge papers for tomorrow morning. I have a school to attend, and a certain... girl I need to meet."
Vanya. The heroine. The girl she was supposed to destroy.
Aralyn's smile widened. She wouldn't destroy Vanya. She would own the narrative.
The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to be sliced with one of the silver fruit knives sitting on the bedside table. Alexander Valerick, a man who had built a reputation on being unshakable, looked genuinely unsettled. He was used to his daughter's fire, but this was not fire. This was frost—a calculated, biting cold that felt far more dangerous.
"You're serious?" Alexander asked, his voice cautious. "You're giving up on the Dirgantara boy? Just like that? After three years of making everyone's life a living hell?"
Aralyn leaned back against the plush, silk-covered pillows, her movements fluid and filled with a newfound grace. "Three years is a long time to spend on a bad investment, Father. I've simply looked at the balance sheet and realized the ROI—Return on Investment—is non-existent. Revan Dirgantara is a handsome face with a mediocre mind. I can do better. We can do better."
Elena Valerick finally found her voice, though it was faint. "But Aralyn, honey... you loved him. You said you couldn't breathe without him."
"Then I suppose I've learned to hold my breath," Aralyn replied dryly. She turned her attention to the IV drip in her arm, her expression bored. "Love is a luxury for those who don't have empires to run. I'd rather have power."
Alexander studied her for a long minute. He was a businessman first and a father second. If this change in his daughter was real, it was the best thing that could happen to the Valerick lineage. "Fine. If this is another one of your games to get his attention, it will be the last. But if you're serious... then prove it. The shareholders are already whispering about your stability."
"Let them whisper," Aralyn said, her eyes flashing with a predatory light. "By the end of the month, they'll be too busy counting their dividends to care about my 'stability'."
As her parents finally exited the room, leaving her with a team of silent, bowing nurses, Aralyn finally let out the breath she didn't know she was holding. Her heart was racing. The memories of the "original" Aralyn were still swirling in her mind—images of expensive parties, cruel laughter, and an aching, desperate loneliness that the girl had tried to fill with obsession.
Poor little girl, Aralyn thought, looking at her reflection in the darkened window. You had the world at your feet, but you were looking at a boy's shadow.
She closed her eyes, mentally flipping through the "script" of the novel Silent Love. If she remembered correctly, tomorrow was a pivotal day. It was the day the original Aralyn was supposed to return to SMA Garuda and corner the female lead, Vanya, in the locker room to dump a bucket of dirty water over her head. It was the act that would officially turn Revan from a cold bystander into Vanya's "Knight in Shining Armor."
"Vanya," Aralyn whispered the name.
In the novel, Vanya was described as a saint. A scholarship student with a heart of gold, a hardworking girl who took care of her sick mother and worked three part-time jobs. She was the "light" that would eventually guide the cold Revan toward becoming a better person.
Aralyn let out a sharp, mocking laugh that echoed in the empty suite. "A saint? In this world, saints are just victims waiting to happen."
She didn't hate Vanya. In fact, in her previous life as a CEO, she had respected people like Vanya—those who worked hard despite their circumstances. What she hated was the role the original Aralyn had played: the stepping stone for someone else's romance.
"I won't be your villain, Vanya," Aralyn murmured, her gaze turning sharp. "And I won't let Revan be your hero. If this world needs a tyrant to keep things in order, then I'll take the job. But I'll do it on my own terms."
She spent the rest of the night practicing. She practiced the way Aralyn walked, the way she spoke, and the way she smiled. She had to be convincing. She needed to be the Diamond Heiress everyone expected, but with a mind that could dismantle a company by lunch.
When the sun began to rise over the Jakarta skyline, painting the clouds in shades of bruised purple and gold, Aralyn Valerick stood by the window, already dressed in a silk blouse and tailored trousers provided by her maid.
She looked at the diamond ring on her finger—a gift from her grandmother. It was huge, gaudy, and expensive. She twisted it slowly.
"Today," she whispered to the empty room, "the story changes."