Chapter 2: The System’s Rules
I crashed at a hotel that night.
Lying in the too-white bed, I had a proper conversation with the system.
"Okay, explain the rules," I said mentally.
"Certainly, Host," the system replied. "The Glow-Up System activates when you experience emotional or social humiliation from your spouse, his associates, or anyone connected to the betrayal.
"Each instance of humiliation generates two rewards: monetary compensation and physical enhancement.
"The more public the humiliation, the higher the payout.
"Private insults: $1,000–$5,000.
"Public humiliation: $10,000–$50,000.
"Viral-level embarrassment: $100,000+."
My brain short-circuited at those numbers. "So you're telling me... the more people who watch me get humiliated, the more I earn?"
"Correct, Host."
"And my appearance keeps upgrading?"
"Yes. Attractiveness, body composition, skin quality, hair health—all improve with each event. There is no upper limit."
No upper limit.
I sat up in bed, heart pounding.
All those years of being plain, invisible, overlooked—Derek's family calling me "the mousy one" at every holiday dinner—it could all work in my favor now.
"Is there a catch?" I asked. "A penalty?"
"Yes, Host. If you do not experience any qualifying humiliation event within 14 days, your most recent upgrade will be reversed."
I chewed my lip. That meant I couldn't just hide away. I needed regular contact with Derek and his circle.
Which meant... I couldn't disappear completely.
Not yet.
The next morning, I woke up and nearly screamed at the bathroom mirror.
The woman staring back was undeniably beautiful. High cheekbones, full lips, clear skin with an actual glow—not the fake filter kind.
My phone buzzed. Derek. Twelve missed calls and a wall of texts.
"Come home. We need to talk."
"You're overreacting."
"It was a mistake."
"Sophia, answer me."
The last one made me laugh: "Fine. Be dramatic. You'll come crawling back when you realize no one else wants you."
The system chimed. "Degrading text received. $1,500 deposited. Attractiveness +2%."
Even his texts counted.
I typed back one word: "Divorce."
His response was instant: "LOL. With what money? You think any lawyer will take your broke ass seriously?"
"$2,000 deposited."
I smiled and blocked his number.
Then I called the one person I knew could help—my college roommate, Diana, who happened to be a divorce attorney.
"Diana. I need a lawyer."
"Finally," she breathed. "I've been waiting six years for this call."
We met for coffee. Diana's eyes went wide when she saw me.
"Holy shit, Sophia. What did you do? You look incredible."
"Spite," I said. "It's a hell of a skincare routine."
She laughed and pulled out a legal pad. "Alright. Tell me everything."
I told her about the affair—leaving out the system part, obviously.
Diana's pen moved fast. "Eight months. That's plenty. We'll nail him."
As we talked strategy, my phone lit up. An unknown number.
I answered.
"Sophia?" It was Derek's mother, Linda. "Derek told me you're threatening divorce over nothing."
"Nothing?" I repeated.
"Men have needs, sweetheart. If you'd been a better wife—"
"$8,000 deposited. Attractiveness +5%. Congratulations, Host. Current rating: 7.9."
I let her finish her rant. Every word was pure gold.
When she finally paused for breath, I said sweetly, "Thank you, Linda. That was really helpful."
I hung up on her mid-sentence.
Diana stared at me. "Was that his mother?"
"Yep."
"And you're... smiling?"
I stirred my coffee. "Let's just say I've found a way to make their bullshit work for me."
Diana studied me for a long moment, then shook her head. "I don't know what happened to you overnight, Sophia. But I like this version."
So did I.
Lying in the too-white bed, I had a proper conversation with the system.
"Okay, explain the rules," I said mentally.
"Certainly, Host," the system replied. "The Glow-Up System activates when you experience emotional or social humiliation from your spouse, his associates, or anyone connected to the betrayal.
"Each instance of humiliation generates two rewards: monetary compensation and physical enhancement.
"The more public the humiliation, the higher the payout.
"Private insults: $1,000–$5,000.
"Public humiliation: $10,000–$50,000.
"Viral-level embarrassment: $100,000+."
My brain short-circuited at those numbers. "So you're telling me... the more people who watch me get humiliated, the more I earn?"
"Correct, Host."
"And my appearance keeps upgrading?"
"Yes. Attractiveness, body composition, skin quality, hair health—all improve with each event. There is no upper limit."
No upper limit.
I sat up in bed, heart pounding.
All those years of being plain, invisible, overlooked—Derek's family calling me "the mousy one" at every holiday dinner—it could all work in my favor now.
"Is there a catch?" I asked. "A penalty?"
"Yes, Host. If you do not experience any qualifying humiliation event within 14 days, your most recent upgrade will be reversed."
I chewed my lip. That meant I couldn't just hide away. I needed regular contact with Derek and his circle.
Which meant... I couldn't disappear completely.
Not yet.
The next morning, I woke up and nearly screamed at the bathroom mirror.
The woman staring back was undeniably beautiful. High cheekbones, full lips, clear skin with an actual glow—not the fake filter kind.
My phone buzzed. Derek. Twelve missed calls and a wall of texts.
"Come home. We need to talk."
"You're overreacting."
"It was a mistake."
"Sophia, answer me."
The last one made me laugh: "Fine. Be dramatic. You'll come crawling back when you realize no one else wants you."
The system chimed. "Degrading text received. $1,500 deposited. Attractiveness +2%."
Even his texts counted.
I typed back one word: "Divorce."
His response was instant: "LOL. With what money? You think any lawyer will take your broke ass seriously?"
"$2,000 deposited."
I smiled and blocked his number.
Then I called the one person I knew could help—my college roommate, Diana, who happened to be a divorce attorney.
"Diana. I need a lawyer."
"Finally," she breathed. "I've been waiting six years for this call."
We met for coffee. Diana's eyes went wide when she saw me.
"Holy shit, Sophia. What did you do? You look incredible."
"Spite," I said. "It's a hell of a skincare routine."
She laughed and pulled out a legal pad. "Alright. Tell me everything."
I told her about the affair—leaving out the system part, obviously.
Diana's pen moved fast. "Eight months. That's plenty. We'll nail him."
As we talked strategy, my phone lit up. An unknown number.
I answered.
"Sophia?" It was Derek's mother, Linda. "Derek told me you're threatening divorce over nothing."
"Nothing?" I repeated.
"Men have needs, sweetheart. If you'd been a better wife—"
"$8,000 deposited. Attractiveness +5%. Congratulations, Host. Current rating: 7.9."
I let her finish her rant. Every word was pure gold.
When she finally paused for breath, I said sweetly, "Thank you, Linda. That was really helpful."
I hung up on her mid-sentence.
Diana stared at me. "Was that his mother?"
"Yep."
"And you're... smiling?"
I stirred my coffee. "Let's just say I've found a way to make their bullshit work for me."
Diana studied me for a long moment, then shook her head. "I don't know what happened to you overnight, Sophia. But I like this version."
So did I.