I’m standing on a balcony.

The air is crisp, the breeze brushing against my face. Below, the city stretches out, glittering softly like someone spilled a handful of diamonds across black velvet. Somehow, I know I’ve been here before.

Go back inside, I think, but my body doesn’t move. 

From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of white. I turn my head, and there she is. The woman in the wedding dress. The dress is gorgeous, with little embroidered flowers and layers of tulle.

She steps closer, her face completely blurred out, like my brain can’t process the details.  She places a hand on my shoulder. Her grip is ice-cold.

“I tried to warn you,” she whispers, her voice warped, like it's being filtered through water. Her smile twists, and before I can move—before I can even think—she shoves me.

I’m falling.

Down, down, down—until I’m not. Suddenly, I’m in a small, dingy room. In front of me stands a woman with sunken features and long black hair, her skin pale like candle wax. I know her. Lee Hyun-seo. 

“I hate you,” she says, and then she slaps me. Her hand slices across my cheek, but there’s no pain. Just this empty numbness that wraps around my limbs like fog.

“I hate you,” she repeats, voice trembling now. “Why did I have to end up with you? Why couldn’t I have a perfect daughter? Why?”

Tears blur my vision against my will, but it’s rage twisting in my chest. I clench my fists, fighting the urge to punch something. I hated her. She had no right to call herself my mother. 

My mother was the one who pulled me out of that hellhole—Not the woman who kept me trapped in it for ten years.

She raises her hand again, but this time I catch it, my fingers closing against her wrist. She glares at me, like she wants to kill me on the spot, and suddenly, the world shifts again.

Now I’m seated at a desk in a stuffy office. A man is towering over me, shoving a folder down onto the table with a loud smack.

“Pack up your things,” he snaps.

I blink. “What?”

“You heard me. Your little mistake cost us the investment. The company’s shutting down. Congratulations.”

“That’s not—” I start, but his fist slams onto the desk, cutting me off.

“Don’t you dare talk back to me. I was this close to naming you VP. You should be thankful I’m just firing you.”

I nod. “Yes, sir.” My hands are trembling above the keyboard.

What am I supposed to do now? Who’s going to pay for the hospital bills? Who’s going to keep the lights on? Who’s going to—

I jolt upright in bed, lungs seizing, heart hammering in my chest like I’d just run a marathon.
Sunlight filters through the curtains, spilling into the massive bedroom. 

I press a hand to my forehead, damp with sweat, and try to breathe through the chaos in my head. Ever since I got here, the same dream’s been showing up every night. And the worst part is, I’m almost sure they’re not just random things my brain made up.

Two of them—I recognize. They’re memories from my old life. But that first one, on the balcony…

 That had never happened to me. At least, not that I can remember.

Still, it feels familiar in a way I can’t explain, like it belongs to some version of me I haven’t met yet.

 If I were still Ahn Eun-seo, I probably would’ve laughed it off. But now that I’ve somehow ended up inside a webnovel?

I flop back onto the bed with a groan, throwing an arm over my eyes. It takes a full minute before I can convince myself to move again.

When I finally glance at the bedside clock, my stomach drops.

9:00 a.m.

Shoot.

Sang-hee had very specifically told me to be ready by eight so we could go shopping together. But thanks to that nightmare, I overslept—big time.

I scramble out of bed like my life depended on it–actually, it might. My feet hit the floor with a dull thud, nearly slipping on the ridiculous fuzzy rug by the edge of the mattress. Who even needs rugs this soft? 

I grab my phone off the nightstand—9:02 AM.

Nice. Amazing. This is perfect.

Sang-hee’s going to murder me. Or worse, disown me and ship me to Antarctica.

I step into the walk-in closet and am immediately hit with the luxurious scent of expensive vanilla perfume. 

The space is huge. The kind of closet that can easily double as a small apartment. Floor-to-ceiling racks, perfectly spaced shelves, full-length mirrors. 

Most of the clothes are designer, obviously. But not the stiff, look-but-don’t-touch kind. Everything looks comfortable and breathable, but still classy. Tailored coats, wide-leg trousers, silky blouses, soft knits in muted colors. 

For once, I don’t have to dig through a pile of outlet sale hoodies to find something clean enough to wear. All I have to do is pick which perfectly steamed, curated piece of fashion I feel like wearing today.

I take my time sorting through the racks, finally settling on a cream-colored blouse and tailored black slacks, paired with matching black stilettos. 

When I finally make it downstairs, one of the maids rush over.
“Miss Sera," she greets, bowing politely.

"Where's my mother?" I ask her.

"Madam has already left with Miss Yuri." she says.

“What?”

No. That can’t be right. Today was supposed to be my shopping day with Sang-hee—while Yuri stayed behind at the house.That way, it’d be her Kang Minjae proposed to, just like in the original story.

So then why is she shopping with Sang-hee?

“She was quite upset that you overslept, and said she was going to ‘teach you a lesson,’” the maid explains gently.

“You should’ve woken me! I need to be there—I can’t—”

“Madam specifically ordered us not to let you leave the house. She said it’s part of your punishment.”

I swear, if murder wasn’t a crime, that woman would be six feet under.

She’s going to ruin the entire storyline. If Yuri and Minjae don’t meet today, then when will they? How badly is this going to mess everything up?

In the original story, Minjae had come to the house under Father’s orders. Yuri had been the only one home at the time, so she was the one he made the deal with. 

But now, if I’m the only one in the mansion…then wouldn’t it make sense for him to ask me instead?

“Fuck.” I sink to the ground.

“Miss! Are you alright? Please don’t sit on the floor,” the maid says, alarmed, crouching beside me. Her hands flutter around, unsure whether to help me up or give me space.

After a few seconds of dramatic silence, I sigh and push myself up. “I’m fine.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but nods anyway.

“I’m going to my room. Don’t disturb me for the next few hours,” I say, already turning away.

I head upstairs, heels clicking way too sharply against the polished floors, and as soon as I step inside my room, I shut the door and lock it. My brain’s still reeling, spinning with every possible worst-case scenario.

If Kang Minjae asks me to fake date him, like in every web novel, he’ll fall for me. And that means, I’ll become the main character.

That can’t happen.

So yeah, Sang-hee might’ve tried to lock me in, but I need to get out. One way or another. I stalk over to the window and pull the curtain aside just enough to peek out. The front gate’s locked tight. Two body guards are posted outside the gate, standing as still as statues.

I grab a few bed sheets from the linen closet—thankfully, designer sheets are long and seem sturdy enough—and start knotting them together like I’ve seen people do in the movies. In real life, the knots look way more questionable, but whatever. Desperate times, desperate measures.

I secure one end to the leg of the fancy armchair in the corner, then set some books I grabbed from the bookshelf on top just in case. I give it a few test tugs. Solid enough.

The window groans as I push it open. Outside, the back garden stretches out beneath me, the trees swaying like they’re judging my life choices.

“Okay, Ahn Eun-seo. You were in track in high school,” I whisper to myself. “You can do this.” 

The sheet rope dangles down but comes up just short of the ground. Like, maybe two meters. Still, I’ve done worse. Probably.

I throw one leg over the window ledge and begin my descent, inching down slowly, hands gripping the makeshift rope like my life depends on it. Because, well. It kind of does.

I’m halfway down when I hear it—a snap.

No. No no no. The bedsheet must’ve slipped from where I’d tied it around the armchair leg.

And then I’m falling.

Except, I don’t hit the ground.

Instead, I slam into something solid. Someone solid. Strong arms wrap around me just before we both go crashing to the grass below, me landing sprawled across something that is...definitely not the grass.

The wind’s knocked clean out of me.

There’s a beat of silence.

And then a low voice says, “Miss Yoo. Care to explain what exactly you were doing climbing out of your bedroom window?”