When I finally stumbled through the grand oak doors of the Leonhart estate, the foyer echoed hollow under my flats—empty save for the soft shuffle of maids polishing silver and butlers adjusting crystal vases with practiced silence.
No Viktor barking orders from his study, no Elena gliding past with icy disdain, no Alexei lurking like a nose-sniffing shadow. Just the staff, their eyes flicking curious to my puffy, red-rimmed emerald ones as I sniffled loud, tears still drying sticky on porcelain cheeks.
They paused mid-task—a feather duster hovering, a rag frozen on marble—but I ignored them, chin high despite the wreck inside.
Are they enjoying my pain? I am pretty sure that they would discuss about my appearance after I move upstairs.
No pity show for the help. I don't need their help.
Raven hair hung limp from the cab ride, mask tucked in purse like a shameful secret. I climbed the curving staircase slow, each step jarring my throbbing wrist.
Why did everything fight me? What did I even do? Transmigration books sold dreams—they always show the protagonist's easy dealing of things, which work in their favour. Happy endings on page one.
But here? Since my soul slammed into OG Emily's body, it was blow after blow—I was removed by Viktor, investor blacklists choking my dream, unknown men trying to kidnap me, Kien's rabid grip. Why am I suffering like this?
My room waited at the end of the east wing—lavish prison of gold-trimmed walls, four-poster bed draped velvet, floor-to-ceiling windows framing manicured gardens under gray skies.
I kicked the door shut, leaning back against carved panels, breath hitching fresh sobs. Why me? The question clawed endless.
Kien's attack replayed vivid—his eyes were wild, hair yanked scalp-fire, wrist crushed bone-grind.
Alphas scrapped territorial sure—pheromone clashes, dominance scraps—but his rage screamed personal—like he hated me. Lily-obsessed knight seeing 'stalker' threat everywhere.
Unfair didn't cover it; his brutality marked my skin purple-ringed, pulsing hot with every heartbeat. I hate him more than Lily and Alexei.
There was a fresh cup of chamomile tea on the table, sitting on it as if waiting for me would make me drink the tea. I ignored it, putting a strand of my hair behind my ears.
I sniffled harder, collapsing onto the bed's edge, mattress yielding plush under my weight. My breasts heaved ragged, hips sinking into duvet, shorter frame curling foetal despite the fire.
Viktor hated my 'disgrace,' Elena's frost screamed disappointment, Alexei's creep vibes vowed avoidance forever. Unknown men trying to kidnap me? Why can't I just move on?! Maybe it's because I am not like the protagonists in the book who are unbeatable. Unlike them, I am pathetic.
The maids who were cleaning downstairs whispered no doubt—poor Miss Emily, crying again. But tears kept coming, hot and helpless. I couldn't stop crying as I was feeling really bad.
My wrist throbbed vicious now, red welts swelling angry, fingerprints bruised deep like accusations. Why chase unknown men in midnight lots? Why fake parents who eyed me like trash since day one? Stepbrother Alexei's nose buried too-close that dinner.
Why did I have to transmigrate in a world where almost everyone hated me?
I uncapped the bedside water bottle with my good hand, gulping cold relief down parched throat, droplets spilling chin to blouse.
Rubbing puffy eyes raw with knuckles—I stood shaky, peeling clothes like I was shedding my skin. Blouse unbuttoned slow, silk sighing off shoulders to pool floor, revealing bra hugging full swells flushed pink.
Jeans shimmied down flaring hips, panties kicked aside—bare now, porcelain glowing soft in light. The mirror mocked me, showing m my pitiful image.
With a deep breath, I went into the bathroom—marble haven of heated floors, infinity shower gleaming chrome.
I twisted knobs, water erupting steaming cascade, fog blooming thick jasmine-scented. Stepped under without wait, spray slamming shoulders like punishment, rivulets tracing every curve—down pebbled nipples softening slow, over waist's inward kiss, between thighs clenching old tensions.
Shiver wracked deep—not just chill, but bone-exhaustion crashing full. Scald rinsed alley grit, Kien's spit, cab vinyl, but wrist screamed fresh under jets, welts purpling vicious.
Painkillers? Should I take some painkillers? Aspirin in cabinet, suppressants for flares, but head throbbed too—concussion risk? That bastard really hurt me without mercy. Can't he see that I can't fight him at all? If I hadn't hit his crotch, he would have never left me, hurting me even more.
I lathered slowly as suds foaming creamy over breasts heavy in palms, hips swaying unconscious under hands reclaiming control, scalp massaged tender where my hair pulled.
Minutes stretched without stopping—steam veiling mirror secrets, my eyes closing unconsciously.
The towel caught on my sore wrist as I rubbed too fast, sending a sharp reminder of Kien's grip throbbing through me. I winced but kept going, patting gentler now over the purple welts blooming angry around the red fingerprints.
My breasts rose and fell with each breath, nipples still pebbled from the temperature shift, waist dipping inward before flaring to hips that felt heavier than usual from all the running and stress. I tossed the damp towel into the hamper with a sigh, watching it land into a basket in a soggy heap.
From the drawer under the sink, I fished out a gel ice pack—its blue plastic cold and slick against my palm. Cracking it to activate, I pressed it hasty to my wrist, the chill biting deep into the swollen skin. Throb dulled almost right away, a fraction less vicious, numbing the bone-deep ache to a manageable hum.
Flexed fingers tested—stiff, tender, but workable. Good enough. I didn't need to have painkillers yet.
Robe hung on the hook nearby, silk-soft ivory whispering as I slipped it on. Fabric glided cool over my bare skin, tying loose at the waist to hug curves without clinging—comfort after chaos. Bare feet padded silent on heated marble, leaving wet prints that faded quick.
The bed called from the bedroom like a siren's promise, visible through the open archway—it's massive size with velvet drapes tied back, sheets turned down crisp in the afternoon light slanting gold through tall windows.
I walked toward it slow, each step easing the tension coiled in my legs—calves still knotted from the parking lot sprint, thighs chafed faint from soaked jeans. Room smelled faintly of lavender from the linens, mixed with my own body wash's smell lingering post-shower.
Collapsing onto the edge felt like surrender and relief at once, mattress yielding plush under my weight, robe pooling open at the thighs. Deep breath in, out—chest rising full, raven waves spilling wild over one shoulder. Wrist elevated on a pillow now, gel pack secured with a loose wrap.
Should I find a new home for me? I don't really safe here—not with Alexei, and my predecessor's parents.
"It would be better if I leave this place, and find a new home for me. A place where I will feel really safe."