Darkness.

It stretched endlessly, swallowing everything in its depths. There was no sound, no warmth—just an unsettling stillness, as if I had been cast adrift in a void.

Then, pain.

A sharp, relentless throbbing bloomed in my skull, spreading like wildfire. My breath hitched, and my body shuddered as sensation returned—foreign, unfamiliar, and wrong. My limbs were heavier than I remembered. My chest rose and fell with slow, steady breaths that didn't feel like mine.

Something was wrong.

My eyes fluttered open, and the sight before me shattered any lingering hope that this was a dream.

A grand chandelier loomed above, its golden glow casting soft light across a ceiling adorned with intricate carvings. The bed beneath me was absurdly soft, layered with silk sheets far too luxurious for someone like me. The scent of expensive incense hung in the air.

This wasn't my room.

I forced myself to sit up, my movements sluggish, my head spinning. My hands trembled as I clutched my forehead, struggling to make sense of the flood of unfamiliar memories surging through my mind.

And then, realization struck.

I wasn't… me.

The memories weren't mine.

Noble banquets. The weight of expectations. A family name spoken with both reverence and contempt. A younger brother—cruel, power-hungry, and destined for ruin.

A name surfaced in my thoughts.

Alden Astoria.

I stiffened.

That name… I knew it.

Because Alden Astoria wasn't just anyone.

He was the older brother of the villain—Isaac Astoria, the man fated to clash with the hero and meet a gruesome end. The Astoria family was cursed with tragedy, and Alden was no exception.

In the story, he was a stepping stone—a character whose death pushed Isaac further down the path of darkness. A man remembered only as a warning, a lesson, a tragedy.

And the ones who ensured his downfall?

The hero. His harem.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry.

They wouldn't let me live.

Not because I was a villain. Not because I had done anything wrong.

But because I was the villain's brother.

And that was enough.

The so-called righteous would cut me down before I ever had the chance to stand in their way.

My heartbeat pounded violently in my ears. If I panicked, I would die. If I made the wrong move, I would die.

There was no tutorial. No second chances.

I had no choice but to survive.

No matter what it took.