"Alright, everyone, that's all for today. Don't forget—your literature essay is due next week."
Professor Hawthorne's sharp voice cut through the classroom as she snapped her laptop shut and walked out without sparing us another glance.
I groaned internally.
Another essay. Another sleepless night. Another reason to question every life decision that led me to college.
College was supposed to be exciting—freedom, independence, dreams slowly turning into reality. Instead, it felt like a never-ending cycle of deadlines, caffeine, and mental breakdowns.
I stretched my stiff back and shoved my notebook and textbooks into my bag. Honestly, I didn't even know why I bothered bringing half of them. They were more decorative than educational at this point.
Dragging myself outside, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glass door—messy hair, dark circles, and the unmistakable look of someone running purely on stress and instant noodles.
Ignoring it, I headed straight for the convenience store down the street.
I need food. Real food. Or at least something that won't kill me immediately.
My fridge at home was basically a graveyard of expired leftovers and forgotten dreams.
I grabbed a cart and pushed it through the aisles, tossing in bags of chips, instant ramen, canned soup, chocolate bars, and—after a moment's hesitation—two cans of beer.
Healthy? No. Survival-worthy? Absolutely.
The professors were doing this on purpose. I was convinced of it. Somewhere, they were plotting how to crush students' souls through group projects, surprise quizzes, and oral recitations.
By the time I reached the cashier, the line was painfully slow. The woman in front of me had a cart overflowing with groceries, so I pulled out my phone to distract myself.
Then—
Ding!
A notification popped up.
My eyes widened.
"Omg—finally!" I yelled before I could stop myself, earning several judgmental stares.
I didn't care.
The novel I'd been obsessively following all week had finally updated.
Heart racing, I paid for my groceries, grabbed my bags, and practically sprinted back to my apartment.
After greeting a few neighbors, I unlocked my door and stepped into my usual disaster zone. I dropped the bags, took a quick shower, and changed into my comfiest clothes before cleaning just enough to make the place livable.
Food prepared and phone in hand, I collapsed onto the couch and opened the novel's website.
The page loaded.
Slowly.
Painfully.
"Come on… don't do this to me now," I muttered, cursing my terrible Wi-Fi.
When the update notification finally appeared, a smile bloomed on my face—only to freeze.
Delayed.
"…Delayed?"
"What?! You're kidding me!"
This was every fangirl's nightmare. Delayed updates. Author burnout. Cliffhangers left to rot.
I clenched my phone, then sighed.
It's fine. A true fan rereads the whole thing anyway.
I scrolled through the comments, trying to calm myself down.
But something felt… wrong.
My chest tightened. My vision blurred.
"Why do I feel dizzy all of a sudden…?"
My body felt light, like I was falling—then suddenly, something soft caught me.
Darkness swallowed my vision.
When I opened my eyes, the ceiling above me wasn't mine.
Gone were the dull gray walls of my apartment. Instead, light blue walls adorned with elegant patterns greeted me.
"…What?"
I sat up too fast, my head spinning.
This wasn't my couch.
This wasn't my room.
Heart pounding, I stumbled toward a tall mirror near the window.
And froze.
The person staring back at me wasn't Rhea Collins—the exhausted college student with tired eyes and uneven bangs.
She was… beautiful.
Soft, fair skin. Large sapphire-blue eyes framed by long lashes. Wavy black hair cascading down small shoulders.
A child's body.
"…Who is this?"
I pinched my arm.
"Ow—!"
Pain shot through me.
This wasn't a dream.
"This face… I look like a kid. A cute kid, sure—but what the hell?!"
I barely had time to process before the door burst open.
"Miss?! What happened?!"
Several unfamiliar people rushed in—maids, judging by their uniforms.
"Y-Young miss, are you alright?"
Young miss?
Panic surged.
"Call the Duke and Duchess!" someone shouted.
Moments later, a dignified man and woman entered the room.
"Evelyn? Sweetheart, what's wrong?" the woman asked gently.
I stared at them, terror clawing at my chest.
"Who… who are you people?!" I screamed, tears spilling uncontrollably.
Their faces filled with confusion and fear.
"Call the doctor immediately," the woman said shakily. "Our daughter—she's not acting like herself."
They left, and the room felt suffocatingly silent.
I cried until my chest hurt.
This has to be a nightmare.
Eventually, exhaustion dragged me under once more.
Darkness.
Then—
A familiar image.
The book cover of the novel I'd been reading.
Glowing words appeared before my eyes.
Welcome.
Rhea Collins—
or should I say, Lady Evelyn Ravenshade.
Did you enjoy your transfer?
My breath hitched.
This is the world of "The Crown's Beloved."
And you…
You are the villainess.
A soft, mocking laugh echoed.
Let's see how long you survive, my sweet villainess.