It was just another dazzling day in my perfectly curated life. I stood poised under the flashing lights at an exclusive event for one of the world’s top luxury brands. My lips curled into a flawless smile, every movement calculated—elegance in motion. I could already imagine the headlines: Style Icon of the Year, Goddess on the Red Carpet. My face would flood social media feeds within the hour, and I loved every second of it.

Then, out of nowhere, a deafening crack of thunder shattered the air.

My smile faltered.

I glanced up, expecting stage effects—something chic and dramatic. But no. The lights flickered. My vision blurred. Then—darkness.

Total, suffocating black.

My head throbbed as consciousness crept back in. A dull ache pulsed behind my eyes. I groaned, lifting a shaky hand to shield myself from the piercing brightness above. The light felt raw, unnatural—too real.

“Ugh… Why is it so damn bright?” I whispered, my voice hoarse and foreign in my own ears.

As my sight adjusted, confusion twisted in my gut. This wasn’t the penthouse suite or a backstage lounge. I was lying on a floor—smooth, cold wood beneath silk bedding embroidered with intricate patterns. The air smelled of old paper and cherry blossoms. The room… it looked like something out of a historical drama. Gilded screens. Carved furniture. Antique lanterns flickering with real fire.

Panic gripped my chest.

What the hell was this?

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps—soft, deliberate—echoed from beyond the door. I jolted upright, heart hammering. Then came voices, murmuring urgently. I held my breath.

“Lady Shin Soo-hwa,” a woman’s voice called respectfully from the other side.

My brow furrowed. Who?

“The Crown Prince has arrived,” she added.

The door slid open.

And there he stood.

Tall, cloaked in a robe of deep indigo and gold thread, eyes sharp like a blade yet unreadable. A presence that silenced the room—and my thoughts.

I swallowed hard.

What was happening?

Who was Shin Soo-hwa?

And why did he look at me like I’d just come back from the dead?

———————-

They said Lady Shin Soo-hwa had fallen from her horse during a simple morning ride—an accident. Yet whispers in the court always had teeth. An heir of the Shin family nearly dying days before our wedding? A little too convenient.

I stood in the outer chamber, arms behind my back, gaze fixed on the rice-paper door. Beyond it, she lay unconscious. Or so they claimed.

A physician bowed beside me. “She shows no sign of head trauma, Your Highness. No visible wounds.”

“And yet she does not wake,” I replied coldly.

“She breathes steady,” the man added nervously. “But perhaps… the mind is—confused.”

Confused.

No. I had read this before—sudden illnesses before political unions, mysterious disappearances of evidence, forged symptoms. The Shin family had always been clever, but desperation makes clever men reckless. Perhaps they wanted to delay the wedding. Perhaps she had seen or heard something she shouldn’t have.

Or perhaps this was part of the act.

“Let me see her,” I said.

The physician paled, bowed, and quietly retreated.

I stepped into the chamber. The scent of ink, herbs, and perfumed silk clung to the air. She lay still beneath the patterned covers, her face as pale and placid as porcelain. Just like I remembered from the formal meetings—silent, expressionless, unremarkable. Another pawn in her family’s ambition.

And then—she stirred.

A low groan escaped her lips. Her hand lifted slowly to shield her eyes from the morning sun. I stiffened, studying her movement. Strange. Too unguarded.

Then she spoke.

“Ugh… Why is it so damn bright?”

I froze.

Not Your Highness, not even a whisper of Joseon courtesy.

Damn bright?

I took a step closer, quietly, watching her eyes flutter open. They darted around the room like she had never seen it before. Panic bloomed across her face—real panic.

Her gaze snapped to me as I entered fully. I saw it: the confusion, the fear, the total lack of recognition.

She didn’t know me.

Or she was pretending not to.

“How you feeling?” I asked