The cold, sterile air of the agency’s meeting room still clung to me, a ghost of the past seventeen years. I gripped the contract termination document, the paper a symbol of my newfound freedom, and walked out into the biting Korean air. Goodbye, practice rooms. Goodbye, recording studios. Goodbye, the life of Cho Sarang, idol. A heavy weight lifted, replaced by an unbearable loneliness that success had only amplified.

My escape was short-lived. A sudden, violent impact—the screech of tires, the crush of metal—and then, darkness. When I opened my eyes again, it wasn't a hospital room, but a lavish, unfamiliar bedroom. A maid in a frilly uniform shrieked, calling me “My lady.” My hands, my hair, my eyes… they weren't mine. Platinum blonde hair, vibrant purple eyes, a face of ethereal beauty. A terrifying realization dawned: I was Belladonna Reigna Astaseul, the villainess from the web novel I’d just finished, destined to die by guillotine at twenty. Only three years left. I wasn't going to die again. Not this time.