Chapter 1: Coffee, Overtime, and a Very Sharp Guillotine
The last thing Lee Seo-yun remembered was the bitter, metallic taste of her fifth espresso and the flickering glow of her Excel spreadsheet. Then, a sharp pain in her chest, a flash of white, and… silence.
“Lady Seraphina? My Lady, please wake up. The High Priest is waiting.”
Seo-yun opened her eyes, but she wasn’t in her cubicle. She was lying on a bed draped in silk so fine it felt like water against her skin. Above her hung a crystal chandelier that probably cost more than her soul.
She sat up, her head spinning. A young girl in a maid’s uniform stood by the bed, trembling.
“Who…?” Seo-yun started, but her voice caught. It wasn’t her voice. It was lower, melodic, and dripped with an accidental arrogance.
“It’s Yuna, My Lady! Please don’t throw the vase! I’ll bring the lavender tea immediately!” The maid scurried back, shielding her head.
Seo-yun looked at her hands. They were pale, slender, and unmarred by the calluses of a keyboard warrior. She caught her reflection in a standing vanity mirror across the room. A woman with hair the color of midnight and eyes like cold emeralds stared back.
Seraphina von Astrea.
The name hit her like a freight train. She wasn’t just in a new body; she was in the world of The Rose of the Empire, a web novel she’d binged during her commute. Seraphina was the “Villainess of the North,” a woman who poisoned the female lead out of jealousy and ended up losing her head on a snowy Tuesday.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Seo-yun—now Seraphina—muttered.
She did a quick mental calculation. If the High Priest was here, it meant today was the Engagement Anniversary Gala. In the novel, this was the night Seraphina would publicly slap the female lead, Eara, and cement her downfall.
“Yuna,” Seraphina called out. The maid froze. “Cancel the High Priest. I’m not going to the gala.”
“But… but the Crown Prince…”
“The Crown Prince can dance with a cactus for all I care,” Seraphina snapped, then softened her tone as she saw the maid’s eyes go wide. “I have a headache. A terminal one. Bring me a ledger of my personal liquid assets instead.”
If she was going to die in six months, she wasn’t going to spend it chasing a man who hated her. She was going to spend it being rich, quiet, and very, very far away.
