Galaxy's Only Triple-S: Five Lords Can't Hold Her novel Chapter 1

Reginald Haines pressed his dagger against Margaret Greene's neck. The blade was sharp—it cut right through her skin. Blood ran down her pale throat and dripped onto the pure white carpet. The contrast was shocking.

She didn't fight back. She just stared quietly at the man she had spent three whole years simping for. His deep, handsome eyes held no pity at all—only pure, deep disgust.

"Margie," Reginald said, his voice sharper than the blade itself. "You're not even good enough to be Nicole's stand-in anymore."

Nicole Hobb leaned weakly against his chest. She put on her usual fake, whiny voice—sickly sweet and grating. "Oh, Margie, I'm so sorry. Don't be mad at Reginald. He just loves me too much. He can't stand to see me hurt in any way."

But at that moment, Margaret couldn't hear a word Nicole was saying. Because a loud death alarm was blaring inside her head.

"Warning. Warning. The male lead's affection has dropped to zero. The host is about to face forced elimination by the system. Please take immediate survival measures. Now."

Then came the desperate, almost-sobbing voice of her system, Vex—the one that had been with her for three years. "Host! Host, don't just stand there! Do something! Cry! Get on your knees and beg him to forgive you! We've taken knives for him, given him our blood—three years of this! He must still have some feelings for you!"

Feelings?

Margaret looked into Reginald's cold, empty eyes. And then she smiled.

To hell with survival measures.

To hell with the doormat mission!

To hell with being the substitute heroine.

She was done with this rotten story. She didn't want to serve it another single day.

Reginald frowned. He thought she was about to beg like usual, wagging an imaginary tail. But Margaret suddenly exploded. Out of nowhere, she found a fierce burst of strength. She didn't try to push the deadly blade away. Instead, she grabbed Reginald's wrist—the one holding the knife—and with a smile of pure defiance, she yanked it hard against her own carotid artery.

A gush of blood sprayed out.

It splashed across half of Reginald's face. His eyes—always so cold—finally cracked wide open with absolute shock.

As the intense pain exploded inside her, the world went quiet.

Let it all end here.

Margaret had been physically transported into this book world. If her body died, her soul would be erased by the system, too. That was the escape she had always wanted.

But then... she opened her eyes again.

The first thing she saw was a rippling, blue, water-like light moving across the ceiling. It was flashy and gaudy—the kind of thing a cold, minimalist man like Reginald would never like. She stared at it for three full seconds. Then it hit her: this was definitely not a hospital. And it didn't look like hell either.

What is this? Does the system believe in recycling garbage? Has it given me another suffering mission?

Margaret didn't even have the energy to sigh.

Can't I just die in peace?

She tried calling out in her mind, "Vex?"

But she got nothing, just a terrifying, empty silence.

Margaret continued, "Hey, don't play dead. I know you can hear me. Didn't I fail the mission? Erase me or do whatever you want. I don't care. So why are you playing dead now? And where the hell is this?"

Her shouts echoed through the hollow space in her mind... and then faded away.

Vex is gone?

That mechanical voice—the one that had stayed with her for three whole years, the one that secretly played funny videos for her after Reginald humiliated her, the one that clumsily said, "Don't cry, host. We'll try again next time," when Nicole set her up—was that voice really gone forever?

She was all alone again in this world.

But before she could swallow the bitterness rising in her throat, an extremely impatient voice hit her ears. "You're awake. So stop playing dead."

Margaret slowly moved her eyes.

Three men stood by her bed. Well, to be precise, they didn't look like ordinary "men." They were at least six feet tall, with broad shoulders and long legs. Even stranger, they had unusual hair colors and eye colors. Their faces were handsome—like the top-tier cosplayers she had seen back in her original world.

But the vibe they gave off—that top-predator energy—pressed down on her weak body and made her chest feel tight. It was physically uncomfortable.

The silver-haired man on the left looked down at her like she was trash.

"How dare you pass out?" The man let out a mocking laugh, his eyes full of contempt. "Who are you performing for? You think playing possum will buy you time?"

The blue-haired man in the middle seemed a bit gentler. He pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, but his tone was just as cold. "Margaret, since you're awake, let's talk about the divorce."

The moment he spoke, Margaret froze.

How does he know that name?

She had only ever told Vex the name "Margaret." In the orphanage on Earth, she was called Margie Greene. Before she set the fire and died with her abusers, she was Margie. In the book world, as a three-year substitute simp, she was also Margie.

So how does this stranger know?

Fine. At least it's quiet now.

This woman usually didn't even dare to breathe loudly around us. How dare she look at me like that today?

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