Description：

Constance Wilder is a professional. She jumps into fictional characters, delivers whatever lines the plot requires, and moves on. Clear enough worlds and she gets to retire on a government pension and never work again.



Her current assignment is a billionaire-CEO romance. She has already been the heroine, the substitute, the assistant, the best friend, and — currently — the butler.



The problem is Dorian Wexley, the male lead, who has started recognizing her.



Not the body. Her. Every single time. By what she eats.



He has worked out that his magnificent life was written by somebody else, and he has one question for the woman steering it.



She has always been perfectly willing to assume he loves other people.



So why has she never once had the nerve to assume he loves her?