It's been three days since I arrived in this world.
I was an ordinary person, working in a small grocery store, until one day, while walking home with my 50%-off snacks, I got hit by a car.
I was an orphan—no family, no friends. The orphanage was my home until I turned 18 and had to say goodbye. All the other children got adopted into rich families, but I was the one left behind. Still, I never cursed God for it and accepted my fate. Life wasn't perfect, but I was content—until death came knocking. Even then, I accepted it with grace.
Who would have guessed I'd wake up in a completely different world?
Three days ago, I was reincarnated into this body, living in what can only be described as a palace. This house is enormous, with countless maids and workers addressing me as "my lady," as if I were some kind of princess.
That might have been manageable, but what's beyond comprehension are the handsome men surrounding me.
"You look like you're under mental stress," a man said, sitting in front of me with a cold expression.
"Yeah, I guess so," I replied, forcing a smile.
The man in front of me is Richard. He's supposedly my—or rather, this body's—secretary. The man standing next to him is Ray, Richard's secretary. That's right—my secretary has a secretary. Just how rich is this body?
"We have an important shoot at 8 a.m. tomorrow. If you refuse, I can cancel it," Richard said indifferently.
On top of everything, I appear to be some kind of actress. These people come in every day to tell me I have shoots scheduled, and when I don't reply for a few minutes, they leave as if nothing happened.
Is this some kind of elaborate joke? Or is this just how things work in rich families?
Frustratingly, I've realized that if I stay quiet long enough, they'll just walk out.
"Are you planning to abandon your career?" Richard suddenly asked.
That question was unexpected. He'd never asked that before. Oh, God, please help me.
"What are you talking about?" I asked, trying to sound as composed as possible.
"What am I talking about? You've canceled almost twelve shoots now. If you're not planning to abandon your career, then what are you doing?" he said with the same indifferent tone.
"Let's talk about this tomorrow," I said, standing and walking toward my bed, hoping he'd leave without further questions.
"Do whatever you want," Richard replied coldly, picking up his laptop and files from the table. "I won't be coming tomorrow to see you acting spoiled. Just message me when you're in the mood to work," he added, walking out and slamming the door shut.
I flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.
A big house, a handsome secretary, an acting career—isn't this too good to be true?
Maybe this is just a dream, a simulation to fulfill my last wishes before I die. I'm sure there's a time limit, and when it's over, God will finally take me to heaven.
Yeah, this is just a long, vivid dream.
***
For three days, I've been avoiding talking to any of the servants. The only person I couldn't avoid was Richard, who barges into my room even when I explicitly tell him to stay outside.
As if things couldn't get worse, all they send me for meals are salads and greens. No potatoes, cauliflower, spinach, or beans—just grass. Don't tell me all this wealth is just for show, and I'm actually drowning in debt.
Tonight, under the cover of darkness, I decided to sneak down to the kitchen. The moonlight filtered through the glass windows by the stairs as I tiptoed my way down, making sure not to make a sound.
The kitchen was pitch-black, but as soon as I stepped inside, the lights flickered on. I hurried to the fridge and was greeted by heaven itself—a fridge packed with snacks and chocolates. Jackpot!
Grabbing as much as I could carry, I prepared to escape when someone yanked me back, pinning me against the counter. My arm was twisted behind my back, and a solid weight pressed me down.
Warm breath brushed against my ear, and a deep, low voice sent chills down my spine. "Who are you?"
My heart raced as I stammered, "L-let me go."
The grip on my wrist loosened, and the weight lifted. When I turned around, I saw him—broad-shouldered, muscular, and dressed in a black shirt that clung to his frame like a second skin. His messy hair only added to his intimidating presence.
But why was he kneeling?
Before I could process anything, he spoke again. "Please punish me, my lady."
My jaw nearly hit the floor. Punish him? For what?
"You should get up first," I said awkwardly.
He stood, and he just kept standing until I couldn't even meet his eyes anymore. He towered over me like a literal giant.
"Please punish me," he repeated, curling his shoulders inward.
"How should I punish you?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. "Let's talk about this tomorrow. Right now, I'm going to sleep."
I brushed past him, desperate to escape.
Little did I know, those words would come back to haunt me.
***
The next day, I found myself standing in a dimly lit room. Hercules—yes, the same man from the kitchen—was lying on a bed that looked straight out of a torture chamber. Tools hung on the walls, stained with old and fresh blood.
"You can punish me like usual," he said, cuffing his hands to the bed.
This woman—no, this monster—used to do this to him?
"You really like this?" I asked
"I... I don't like pain," he said, like a child pleading for mercy.
"Then why?"
"Because my lady never made exceptions before. So I thought..." His voice trailed off.
"What's your name?" I asked.
His eyes widened slightly before he answered, "Adam Maddow. But my lady calls me Rat."
Rat? What a peculiar word to address someone?
"Adam," I said, removing my gloves. His pupils widened again.
I don't know how long I'll stay in this body, but while I'm here, I refuse to live the way she did. This lifestyle is a slap to my morals. Even if they call me crazy, I won't continue her cruelty.
Uncuffing his hands, I looked around the bloodstained room, the old snow-covered by the new one and the new ones-covered by the fresh ones. The old me—no, her—was a monster in human flesh.