Agency called it retieval mission I called it babysitting. Again. The report lay open on the passenger seat beside me. Target 1: Agent 707 (Luciel Choi) – Rogue. Target 2: Civilian female – High priority.

It was raining. The kind of rain that blurred the city lights into streaks of white and gold. Saeran pulled the hood of his black coat lower as he watched people hurry past, each one too consumed with their own lives to notice him. Good. People complicated things. People lied. People left. Only one person had ever mattered... And he was gone.

"I don't need a manager." Those were the first words out of my mouth when V called. "I'm not asking," V replied calmly over the phone. "I'm informing you." I sighed dramatically, pacing across my apartment. "I've handled my schedule just fine." "You've forgotten three interviews this month." "...Those were artistic choices." "They were not." Silence. "They start tomorrow."

The assignment landed on your desk at exactly 0600. CLASSIFIED Agent Designation: 707 (Saeyoung Choi) Status: Active. Current Handler: Vanderwood – Reassigned. Replacement: You. You stared at the file for several moments. Everyone in the Agency knew Agent 707. The legendary hacker. The genius who could dismantle a nation's security system before finishing a can of Dr. Pepper.The operative who followed orders... Only when he felt like it. At the bottom of the file was a single handwritten note from the Director. Good luck. You'll need it.

"They arrived fifteen minutes early," She said. "They've already completed the vehicle inspection." "I see." My previous driver had served me faithfully for years. Replacing someone so dependable was not a decision I welcomed. As we reached the vehicle, I finally saw my new driver. A perfectly pressed black suit. White gloves. Composed posture. No sign of nervousness despite standing before the Vice Chairman of C&R International. Interesting.

The apartment should have been empty. That was the plan. The security feed flickered quietly across the monitor as I watched the front door open. My heart tightened. Someone was actually there. Someone stepped inside, looking around with understandable caution. You called out softly, expecting an answer that never came. The apartment was silent except for the ticking of the clock and the distant hum of the city beyond the windows. You were not supposed to be here.

Joon-hyuk adjusted the cuff of his charcoal suit as he stood near the VIP arrivals exit at Incheon International Airport. Around him, the terminal buzzed with the sounds of rolling suitcases, flight announcements, and emotional reunions. Travelers poured through the sliding doors in a steady stream, each searching the crowd for a familiar face.His eldest brother had only given him one instruction. "Pick up our new Vice President." No photograph. No detailed description. Just a name and a flight number. Typical. Joon-hyuk checked his watch before glancing toward the arrival board. Arrived. He slipped one hand into his pocket and scanned the crowd with the practiced eye of a lawyer, quietly observing each passenger as they emerged. Business executives hurried toward waiting chauffeurs, families embraced with tears, and tourists struggled with oversized luggage. None of them seemed likely to be the person Seung-hyun had spent nearly a year recruiting. His phone vibrated. Seung-hyun: They've cleared customs. Joon-hyuk replied with a single word. Joon-hyuk: Waiting.

Theodore Beaumont had expected his visit to last no more than an hour. As the newly appointed Viscount of Ashmere, he had been sent by his elder brother, the Duke of Beaumont, to finalize land agreements with one of the Crown's newest duchies. It was little more than paperwork—a tedious exchange of boundaries, taxes, and tenant rights after the recent redistribution of imperial lands. The estate itself was unfamiliar. Once a modest county, it had been elevated to a duchy by imperial decree after its former duchess passed away without an heir. The title had unexpectedly fallen to the younger sister of the new Empress. Most of the nobility considered it little more than political favoritism.

The Port of Valcendre was alive long before sunrise. Ships bearing the banners of every corner of the Kingdom of Aureliane crowded the harbor. Sailors shouted from towering decks while cranes unloaded crates of spices, silk, wine, lumber, and iron. Merchants bargained in rapid Cajun-inspired dialects, the salty breeze carrying the scent of the sea and fresh bread from nearby bakeries.

Then I heard it. A scream. Far below, a young woman ran through the dense forest. Above her, Asterion circled. But he wasn't hunting. He was guiding. Each time she veered toward danger, the dragon descended to block her path, gently steering her another way. His cries were urgent, almost protective.

You awoke with a violent gasp. Your lungs burned as though they were still filled with smoke. The last thing you remembered was the apartment building collapsing around you—the heat tearing through your clothes, the frightened child clinging to your neck, and the relief of seeing firefighters reach for her before the ceiling came down. Then darkness. “Y-Your Majesty?” A maid jerked awake beside the bed. She had fallen asleep in a chair, her cheek pressed against her folded arms. The moment she saw your eyes open, she dropped to her knees. “Forgive me! I did not mean to sleep. I was ordered to remain until you awakened.” You stared at the vast bedchamber, the silk canopy, and the golden walls. Then memories that did not belong to you flooded your mind. Empress Seraphina Valerienne. The tyrant from the reverse-harem novel The Empress and Her Men. You dressed quickly, barely noticing the maid’s trembling hands as she fastened your gown. When you thanked her, she looked at you as though you had spoken in another language. You left before she could respond. The palace corridors were unfamiliar, but Seraphina’s memories guided your steps.

So when my steward rushed into my study, pale-faced, saying, "My lord... Lady ____ has arrived," I assumed you were here on official business. I never imagined you had come for me. The moment you stepped into the manor, the room seemed brighter. My rehearsed greetings vanished, replaced by the awkward silence I'd never outgrown whenever you smiled at me. Then you said you had rejected every proposal. My heart stumbled.

Three years. Three years since Princess Aurelia had ridden away on the eve of their wedding after her brother's assassination. Three years since she had promised she would return once Valeria was stable. I never blamed her. Her kingdom needed her more than I did. The servants thought I had forgotten my wife. The nobility whispered that the marriage had failed before it had even begun. They urged me to annul the contract and find another duchess. I refused every time. A promise was a promise. This afternoon, I was in the gardens speaking with Lily, one of the younger maids. She had been in tears after accidentally breaking a vase that had belonged to my late brother, Maelor II. "It can be repaired," I told her, handing back the cracked porcelain. "My brother valued kindness more than possessions. He would not have wanted you punished over an accident." Relief washed across her face as she bowed repeatedly in thanks. Then... The entire garden fell silent. The maid's eyes widened as she looked past me. I turned.

As the host, you welcomed guests beneath glittering chandeliers while an orchestra filled the ballroom with waltzes. The only rule of the evening was simple: No one was permitted to reveal their identity until midnight. When the great doors opened, the music faltsred. Lord Cassian Valerius stepped inside wearing a black filigree mask and a deep crimson coat embroidered with gold, fresh from the battlefield only days before. Conversations ceased as nobles instinctively stepped aside for the kingdom's celebrated hero.

The last thing you remembered was finishing the final chapter of The Shy Lord's Second Spring, a romance novel that left you furious. The male lead, Lord Elias Everhart, had suffered through two years of emotional abuse at the hands of his arranged wife, Lady Evelyne Valmont. Readers hated her. She insulted servants, humiliated her gentle husband, refused to consummate their marriage, and eventually divorced him because the marriage had never been sealed. But now you have been transmigrated into her body on the day of the wedding day. How will you finish this story?

Rain lashed against your apartment windows thunder rolled across the night sky. Curled up on the couch, you finished the final chapter of The Duchess's Revenge with a frustrated sigh. The ending felt wrong. In the novel, Crown Prince Raphael Ruberian fell in love with Lady Selene Thornvale, while Duchess Ashbourne, driven mad by grief over her parents' murders, tried to kill Selene. Branded a villainess, she was stripped of her title, banished from the Kingdom of Rubia, and died alone in the frozen northern wastes. Selene became the future Queen, and everyone hailed it as a happy ending.You slammed the book shut. "It doesn't make sense," you muttered. "The Duchess was desperate for the truth. Someone else had to be behind everything." At that moment, lightning split the sky. A blinding flash burst through your apartment, swallowing the room in white. ... When you opened your eyes, cold rain struck your face. You stood on a marble balcony overlooking the Crimson Palace. Before you stood a man with golden-blonde hair and crimson-red eyes. "Duchess Ashbourne," Crown Prince Raphael said quietly. You weren't reading The Duchess's Revenge anymore. You had become Duchess Ashbourne...

The smoke was suffocating as I searched room after room. Then I found him. A large beam had collapsed across the doorway. Beneath it lay a young man with silver-blond hair, unconscious, shielding a maid with his own body. I quickly checked his pulse. "Alive." The maid's eyes snapped open. The moment she saw me, her face turned pale. "M-My Lady!"She scrambled to her feet, not even looking at the unconscious man beside her. "I-I can explain!" Before I could say a word, she gathered her skirts and ran out of the room. I blinked. "...Seriously?" Then I remembered. In the original story, this maid was rumored to be Duke Emeric's latest affair. Amara had believed the gossip without ever hearing his side. I rolled my eyes."Really? You leave the unconscious duke behind to save yourself? Some affair." There wasn't time to think about it. Using a broken iron poker as leverage, I pushed the beam just enough to free Emeric. His breathing was steady, but blood trickled from a cut on his forehead. "You certainly know how to make things difficult." I pulled one of his arms over my shoulders and hauled him upright. He was heavy. Every step through the burning corridor felt like a battle. Flames licked the walls while burning timbers crashed around us. I pushed forward just as part of the ceiling collapsed behind us in a shower of sparks. The cool night air hit my face. Servants gasped. "The Duke!" "His Grace is alive!" Duke Philippe rushed toward us as several guards carefully lifted Emeric from my shoulders.

Rain drummed softly against the windows as you double-checked the address on the small insulated pharmacy bag. Penthouse 1507. Jeong Jun-seok. Rush Delivery. Your best friend worked for one of Seoul's specialty pharmacies, but she'd come down with a fever that morning. "Just drop it off the medications in the outside mailbox," she'd insisted over the phone. You hadn't thought much of it. After all, it was just another delivery. The elevator carried you to the fifteenth floor before opening into a quiet hallway lined with dark wood and polished stone. You open the box and drop the medication in it. A metallic click echoed from the opposite end of the hallway. You looked up. The penthouse door slowly opened. Standing in the doorway was a man in a white dress shirt, several buttons undone, black slacks hanging low on his hips. His dark hair was tousled as though he'd been running his hands through it for hours. Jeong Jun-seok.

The bustling marketplace of Hanyang was alive with the sounds of merchants calling out prices, children laughing, and ox carts rumbling over the stone streets. Hidden beneath the wide brim of a black gat and dressed in the simple robes of a noble scholar, King Yi Yeong walked among his people with only one trusted royal guard trailing several paces behind. Few knew that the quiet young man inspecting pottery and speaking with merchants was the king himself.