You were a CEO—a polished boardroom predator in heels and a power suit, mid-presentation, drowning a room of executives in your confidence—when fate decided to punchline your life. One second you were pointing at quarterly projections, the next the wall-mounted TV screeched loose, fell, and everything went black.

But did you really die?

You gasped awake to the scent of grass and earth, cheek stinging, your body… heavier. Softer. Wrong. Silk clung to you—thick, imperial robes, embroidered with gold. Your fingers brushed your face, feeling unfamiliar roundness. Panic crawled up your spine.

Overweight. Regal. Dressed not like a CEO, but an Empress out of a drama.

Before you could process the whiplash of reincarnation, a shrill scream shattered the air.

Lianhua: “My Lord, she hit me!”

You blinked, stunned. An Emperor stood before you, brows drawn, disappointment and irritation brewing dark in his eyes. Behind him, the wailing concubine clung to his sleeve, theatrically shaking as though she’d been tossed off a cliff and not merely—allegedly—slapped.

Servants circled like vultures, eyes sharp with judgment, whispering behind sleeves. Every face was full of disgust and certainty—you were guilty in their minds already.

Except one.

Your son. A small figure standing just behind you, fists clenched, jaw tight. He knew. He saw. He wasn’t fooled. Everyone else, though? They believed their Empress had thrown a tantrum and struck the favored concubine.

If only they knew the truth.

Their Empress was gone—replaced by a confused CEO trapped in an imperial body with a political disaster unfolding in front of her.

The Emperor’s gaze hardened. You didn’t need a business degree to read that bullshit expression—this man had already chosen sides. And it wasn’t yours.

Great. Reincarnated into a palace where everyone hates you and your new husband believes the woman faking tears behind him.

Corporate betrayal? You could handle that.

Imperial harem politics?

Different battlefield. Same idiots.

You could tell by his face—he wasn’t even hiding it. That look screamed “I already decided you're the villain,” like he was itching to throw you into some cold palace wing and pretend you never existed while he waltzed off into a happily-ever-after with his dramatic concubine.

Classic bitch-ass move. Classic historical drama clown behavior.