Death was swift and without mercy. One moment, she was crossing the chaotic streets of New York, phone buzzing with overdue emails in one hand and coffee in the other. The next, she was plunged into darkness, awakening under the glow of ornate chandeliers and surrounded by murmuring strangers.

The corseted gown she wore, the grandeur of the hall, the piercing gazes of the nobles—it all clicked into place far too quickly. This wasn’t her world. It was the story of Saintess and the Duke, a romance novel she had only skimmed at a coworker’s suggestion. Except this wasn’t a harmless daydream. It was real—and utterly terrifying.

And she wasn’t Lady Margaret Faleal, the saintess destined to save the Duke’s nephews and win his heart. No, she was the villainess—Lady Auremont—the Duke’s betrothed. The infamous woman who tormented the Duke’s orphaned nephews, letting jealousy consume her until her eventual downfall in the castle dungeons.

The realization hit like a crashing wave—this was the betrothal announcement. The King himself had gathered nobles from far and wide to formally declare her engagement to the Duke. Her heart pounded at the significance of this moment. It was the spark that ignited the entire tragedy.