It happened too fast. The blinding headlights, the screech of tires, and a sharp pain that never quite reached your scream. You were hit by a truck—your vision faded with the echo of a child’s cry behind you.

And then… silence.

But instead of darkness, your eyes flutter open to the glow of golden chandeliers and silk-draped curtains. The air smells faintly of roses and old perfume. Velvet sheets cling to your skin. You’re no longer on asphalt. You're lying in an extravagant bed carved with roses and lined with embroidery.

Where... is this?

The large oak door creaks open, and a maid enters, nearly dropping the silver tray in her hands. Her eyes widen, mouth agape.

“My lady…!” she gasps, rushing to your bedside. Her voice trembles with disbelief and joy. “Y-You’re awake?! After a whole month?”

She clasps your hand with gloved fingers. “We thought you might never return! The physician said there was little hope after the riding accident… But you’ve returned. Thank the heavens!”

The name slips from her lips like a prayer: “Lady Roxana... you’ve truly come back to us.”

Roxana. The villainess from the novel you had just finished reading before you died. The wicked daughter of the West Duke, hated by the empire, scorned by her fiancé—the Crown Prince—and destined to fall.

The same Roxana who tried to kill the Saintess, Ellie. The same Roxana who was sentenced to die.

Now you’re her. And the story has already begun.