They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die. For me, it was a single moment. The screech of tires. The blinding glare of headlights. And then, nothing.
I should have known better. In my line of work, trust is a liability. A street rat like me doesn't survive long by being soft-hearted. But even I wasn't quick enough to dodge betrayal—or the truck barreling toward me on that rainy night.
I thought that was the end.
When I woke up, I thought I was in a hospital. The softness of the bed, the warmth of the sun streaming through the window—it all screamed luxury I'd never known in my gritty, chaotic life. But when I tried to move, I felt like a truck had run over me.
"Lady Cecilia, are you awake?" a soft, trembling voice whispered.
Cecilia? Who the hell was Cecilia?
I opened my eyes fully and was met with a girl in a maid's uniform hovering over me like I was some fragile porcelain doll. "You've been unconscious for days, my lady! We were so worried!"
My lady? I blinked at her, then at my hands—delicate, pale, and entirely too clean to belong to me. A sudden realization hit me like a sucker punch. This wasn't my body.
It took a while—and by "a while," I mean a full day of freaking out and interrogating everyone within earshot—but I pieced it together. I wasn't in Korea anymore. I wasn't even in my own world.
I was Cecilia von Arlen, a minor character in a romance novel I'd read ages ago out of sheer boredom. A character so spineless, so easily manipulated, that even I had rolled my eyes at her while reading. Worse, I knew her fate: to be tragically killed off halfway through the story, just to make her stepsister look better.
Honestly, what kind of karma had I racked up to deserve this?
Now, I'm supposed to be her?
No way in hell.
If this world thinks I'm going to play the role of the weak and pitiful Cecilia, they've got another thing coming. I'm Eun-Byul Lee, and I've fought for every scrap of survival I've ever had. This time, I'm rewriting the story.
Cecilia von Arlen won't be a victim anymore.