The Last alternative ending of 9999 endings for her - Chapter 9 - : WHO’S DOM?

The archaeologist “red-haired witch” made too big of a disturbance while excavating tombs, gloriously becoming a martyr in the midst of the grave chamber’s collapse. Seventeen years later, she had transmigrated into the Five Regions Continent. The delinquent Meng Fuyao who struggled to survive in the lowest rungs of society, cast aside her boyfriend who was about to marry another person with a slice of his five fingers.

Liu Qing resigned.

He wrote on the reasons for his resignation:

“I’m going to inherit hundreds of millions of properties.”

- Description from novelbuddy

“Sometimes, secrets we can’t fathom crawl through the shadows of London.”The protagonist finds herself trapped in a horror VR game that was set in 19th-century London, a city teeming with crime. She wakes up in the body of Jane Osmond, the assistant to the cynical and socially awkward genius detective, Liam Moore.Her goal is simple: reach the game’s ending and return safely to the real world. However, as she and Liam unravel the mysteries of their cases, the game’s features gradually disappear, and the world, which should be mere data, feels disturbingly real.“Who am I?”To make matters worse, her memories of her real-life self start to fade, plunging Jane into shock.Then, she realizes one more unsettling truth: the gray eyes of Liam Moore, who is supposed to be just an NPC, are always fixed solely on her.

I once believed I was the heroine of a modern fairytale, blessed with beauty, wealth, intelligence, and a powerful legacy. Men adored me, women envied me, and I was engaged to the most desirable man, Cole Fay. My life seemed perfect, a dream where I held the starring role. But on my eighteenth birthday, that illusion crumbled. The truth hit me hard: I wasn’t the protagonist, nor even the villain or a side character. I was just cannon fodder, a disposable part of someone else’s story. But when fate recognized the cruel joke of my life, I was granted a second chance. This time, I’ll write my own story, living for myself. And this time . . . I will never love you again.