Rain fell softly on Seoul, cloaking the city in a misty blur of gray. Neon lights flickered dimly through the drizzle, casting reflections on puddled sidewalks. Kim Wan, a quiet but brilliant senior at Haneul High School, walked alone, her schoolbag dragging slightly from her shoulder.

She was numb. The words she’d overheard still rang in her ears.

“She’s so easy to manipulate. I only stayed with her to win that scholarship. Come on, I’d never date someone like her seriously.”

Those had been her boyfriend Minho’s words—spoken so casually, like she was a character in a game he had already won. The betrayal cut deep, not just because of his lies, but because she had dared to believe someone could love her without conditions.

She kept walking. Her fingers trembled around her umbrella handle. The city moved on as though nothing had happened.

In her mind, a dull, spiraling thought took root: Maybe I was never the main character of my own life.

Lost in despair, she didn’t see the speeding headlights. A deafening horn, a blinding light—then—

Darkness.

When she opened her eyes, everything was wrong.

The sky above her was impossibly blue, almost too vivid to be real. She blinked, disoriented, as flower petals—soft, pink, and glowing faintly—drifted down from a cherry tree that shimmered unnaturally in the sunlight.

She sat up, gasping.

Her hands were delicate, pale, with fingers too elegant to be hers. Her school uniform was gone. Instead, she wore a flowing gown of crimson velvet, laced with black embroidery and jeweled chains.

Then came the voice.

“Lady Evelyne! You mustn’t sit on the ground! What if His Grace sees you like this?”

Kim Wan blinked. “...Who?”

A maid with tear-streaked cheeks knelt beside her. “You—you collapsed after the Duke refused your invitation. Please, return to the manor before anyone sees.”

Kim Wan rose shakily to her feet. In the reflection of a nearby fountain, she saw a face she didn’t recognize: silver hair cascading like moonlight, blood-red lips, and eyes—amber and cold, filled with cruelty.

Suddenly, memories that weren’t hers flooded her mind.

Evelyne Rosenthal. The villainess of a popular romance novel: Captured by Beautiful, Obsessed Flowers. The woman every reader despised. Poisonous, manipulative, ruthless. She had tormented the heroine, cursed the male leads, and died in disgrace.

A shiver ran down Kim Wan’s spine.

She was inside the novel.

And worse—

She was the villainess.

“No,” she whispered, her fists clenching. “Not again. I won’t be a pawn this time. Not a stepping stone. Not disposable.”

Let them call her evil. Let the world fear her. In this story, she would rewrite everything. She would crush the obsession disguised as love, burn the false heroes, and carve a path of her own.

Her lips curled into a smirk.

“If I’m the villainess… I’ll become the most powerful one they’ve ever seen.”

And with that, Evelyne—no, Kim Wan—took her first step toward vengeance, in a world where beauty was a weapon and love was laced with thorns.

The world outside the carriage window passed in a blur of soft pastels and gilded beauty, but Kim Wan—now Evelyne Rosenthal—kept her amber eyes fixed on her reflection in the polished wood paneling opposite her. Her face was calm, unreadable, but her mind raced.

Every heartbeat pounded with sharp purpose. She was no longer a grieving high school girl betrayed by a smiling snake of a boyfriend. She was no longer someone to be discarded. Not in this world. Not again. Here, she had been given a second chance. She would not squander it.

The manor had not welcomed her awakening. Servants had trembled at her approach. Maids had scattered like frightened birds. Her personal attendant, a girl named Clara, had refused to meet her eyes but followed her commands with unblinking devotion. Whispers filled the halls the moment her back was turned. They thought she had returned from death to haunt them.

In truth, she had.

Kim had spent the night devouring Evelyne’s personal journals, ledgers, and letters. It was a twisted novel come to life, and Evelyne was a beautifully written tragedy. Raised to be a nobleman's perfect daughter, bartered into court life like a jewel on display, and corrupted by politics and betrayal. She had grown desperate, violent, and vindictive. It was no wonder readers hated her. But now that Kim knew her story, she couldn't help but pity her.

Pity, however, was a luxury she could not afford.

She now knew the stakes. In two weeks’ time, the Imperial Court would accuse Evelyne of treason. Her trial would be a farce. Her execution, public. And the worst part? No one would defend her. Not the Prince. Not the Duke. Not the so-called friends who dined at her table. They would all watch her fall.

Not this time.

“Your Grace?” Clara’s timid voice pulled her from her thoughts.

Evelyne turned from the window. “Prepare the carriage. We’re visiting the Imperial Palace.”

Clara paled. “The… the palace?”

“Yes. Today.”

“B-but… you’re not… You’ve been… exiled. You haven’t set foot in the capital in months.”

“And now I’m returning. Make sure they know I’m coming.”

Clara hesitated only a second longer before bowing deeply. “Yes, Your Grace.”

The Rosenthal crest gleamed on the side of the black carriage as it rolled through the capital’s cobbled streets. People stopped to stare. Some whispered. Others pointed. All were stunned. Evelyne Rosenthal had returned from disgrace with her head high.

Inside the carriage, Kim adjusted her gloves with slow precision. Her outfit had been carefully chosen—dark, authoritative, yet undeniably elegant. A high-collared riding coat over a fitted corset and velvet skirts. Her silver hair had been twisted into a coiled braid down her back. Her makeup was subtle but sharp.

The aura she projected was clear: do not cross me.

When the carriage pulled up to the Imperial Palace gates, the guards stepped forward instantly, spears crossed.

“State your business, Lady Rosenthal.”

She offered a tight smile. “I seek an audience with His Highness, Prince Ciel Ardent.”

“He does not take unscheduled visitors.”

“Then tell him this: the villainess he left to rot has returned. I wonder if the court will enjoy the scandal that follows when they hear he refused me an audience.”

The guards faltered. One of them hesitated, clearly recognizing the danger in dismissing her too hastily.

“I will inform His Highness,” the older of the two said, vanishing inside.

Evelyne waited, unmoving. Around her, nobles and courtiers entering the palace began to whisper furiously. She stood like a statue, her presence commanding attention and fear.

Minutes later, the palace doors opened—and there he was.

Ciel Ardent, First Prince of the Empire.

He descended the steps like a blade drawn from its sheath, every movement precise and powerful. Tall, broad-shouldered, clad in an indigo military coat with silver pauldrons. His hair was the color of midnight, and his eyes—those famous violet eyes—were colder than the marble beneath his boots.

“Lady Evelyne,” he said, voice low and sharp. “I was told you were dead.”

“Almost,” she replied. “But death was dreadfully dull.”

He arched an eyebrow. “You’re not welcome here.”

“Then exile me again, publicly. I wonder how the court will react to a noblewoman denied entry without a trial.”

His eyes narrowed. “You haven’t changed.”

“Wrong,” she said, stepping forward. “Everything has changed.”

He studied her face, as if looking for weakness. She gave him none.

“Very well,” he said after a long pause. “Follow me. But one wrong word, and the Empress will have your head.”

“Let her try.”

The palace was as beautiful as the novel had described: domed ceilings painted with constellations, floating chandeliers of flame-less glass, and tapestries that shimmered with enchantments. Kim remembered reading how Evelyne had once walked these halls with pride. Now she walked them with purpose.

Ciel led her through the halls in silence, eventually guiding her to a private balcony in the palace gardens. The wind carried the scent of night-blooming roses and distant storm clouds. From here, the spires of the city glistened under a silver sky.

He turned to face her. “Speak.”

She looked him dead in the eyes. “You and I both know the empire is on the edge of ruin. Political factions are shifting. The Empress is slipping. The Council is fractured. And the heroine? She’s not ready.”

“Lady Lira is the light of the empire,” he snapped. “She’s more than ready.”

“Spare me the fairy tale. You and the others are obsessed with her. And your obsession is going to destroy her.”

He took a step forward, fury in his gaze. “Choose your words carefully.”

“No,” she said, firm. “It’s time someone told the truth. Lira’s kindness will be her undoing. She’ll try to save everyone, and in doing so, she’ll save no one. And you’ll all burn the empire to keep her safe.”

“Where are you getting this?”

“From knowledge no one else has. Knowledge I shouldn’t possess. Because I’m not the Evelyne you knew. I’m someone else entirely. Someone who has seen how this story ends.”

He stared at her. The wind whipped around them, as if the world itself were holding its breath.

“What do you want?”

“A deal. One year. One year of freedom, protection, and political immunity. In return, I give you information. I expose traitors. I help you stabilize the empire.”

“And after a year?”

“I disappear. Or stay. That’ll be up to me. But I won’t interfere with Lira. I won’t play the villainess. I just want to survive.”

Ciel studied her face, searching for deception. He found only resolve.

“Fine,” he said finally. “One year. But if you betray this trust—”

“You’ll kill me. Yes, yes, I’ve heard it before.”

As the carriage rolled away from the palace, Kim Wan leaned back, her hands trembling slightly now that she was alone. The act had worked. She had survived the first test.

But she knew this was only the beginning.

The others would come next. The sorcerer with his cursed eyes. The knight who smiled with blood on his hands. The demon duke who could see through lies. They were dangerous, unhinged, and obsessed.

And all of them had once loved Evelyne.

Now, they would either try to possess her—or destroy her.

Kim looked out the window at the brewing storm.

Perfect.

She wasn’t afraid. Let the world throw its worst. Let the princes and monsters come.

Because this time, the villainess wasn’t here to lose.

She was here to win.

The Rosenthal estate had not changed since the last time Evelyne had seen it—at least, not outwardly. The high iron gates still bore the sigil of the silver rose wrapped in thorns, and the twin gargoyle statues still loomed at the entrance like silent sentinels. Yet, as Evelyne stepped onto the gravel path, escorted by the creak of the carriage door swinging shut, she could sense it: the fear.

Fear that she had survived. Fear that she had returned.

Clara met her at the steps, pale and breathless, bowing too quickly. "Your Grace, your study has been prepared. The staff... they are assembled in the grand hall. Per your request."

"Good," Evelyne said. "Let them wait a little longer."

She ascended the stairs slowly, each step deliberate. Every servant she passed froze and bowed low, not daring to look her in the eye. In Evelyne's previous life—the one she had inherited rather than lived—these halls had echoed with her wrath, her paranoia, her desperation. She had made enemies of allies, had lashed out at those who whispered. And now, that legacy clung to her like perfume gone sour.

She would change that.

Not through apology.

Through power.

The grand hall was silent as she entered. Two dozen members of the household staff stood in a line, their expressions carefully blank. She recognized some. Others must have been hired after her exile.

Evelyne let her gaze travel down the line. "Let us make one thing clear," she said. "I am not the same mistress you once served. But this house will no longer be ruled by fear and suspicion. Betray me, and you will be dealt with. Remain loyal, and I will reward you handsomely."

A ripple passed through the servants. Some lowered their eyes. Others dared to meet her gaze. She saw doubt in them. That was fine. She would win them over with results, not speeches.

"Dismissed. Except you, Clara. Come with me."

The study was a forgotten room. Dust cloaked the shelves. The fireplace lay cold. But the moment Evelyne stepped inside, she felt something stir. Not magic. Memory.

She approached the desk. Old letters still lay in the drawers. One was unopened. She picked it up, hesitated, and broke the wax seal.

It was a letter from Duke Leonhart Vale. The knight.

Her hands tightened slightly as she read it:

"Evelyne, I cannot stand by and watch you destroy yourself. Whatever demons plague your mind, share them with me. Let me be your sword."

He had once loved her. Had tried to save her.

She had thrown him away.

“Burn it,” she whispered, handing the letter to Clara. “And bring me my guest list. I’m holding a banquet.”

Clara blinked. “A banquet, Your Grace?”

“Yes. It’s time the capital remembers who I am.”

Within three days, the Rosenthal estate transformed. Servants worked round the clock. Invitations were sent to nobles, merchants, diplomats. Rumors spread like fire: Evelyne Rosenthal, the disgraced villainess, was throwing a ball.

And not just any ball—one scheduled on the same night as the Empress’s private court dinner.

A declaration.

It was a daring, dangerous move. But Kim knew exactly what she was doing.

Let them talk. Let them whisper.

Let the obsessed ones come to her.

The night of the banquet arrived with rain and thunderclouds. A dramatic sky, perfect for a theatrical resurrection.

Evelyne stood before her mirror in her dressing chamber, her reflection half-obscured by flickering candlelight. Her gown was obsidian velvet, the neckline framed with blood-red lace. Her hair was twisted into a crown braid, set with jet-black stones. Around her throat, she wore a single crimson gem—the Heart of Rosenthal.

It had been her mother’s.

Clara entered, awestruck. “You look... terrifyingly beautiful.”

“Good,” Evelyne said. “Terrifying is what they remember.”

Thunder cracked as she stepped into the ballroom.

Already, it was full. Nobles, scholars, even out-of-favor royals had come. Music filled the air, soft and haunting. Crystal chandeliers shimmered above. It was everything she remembered—yet entirely different.

A hush fell as she descended the staircase. All eyes turned to her.

She smiled.

Let the second act begin.

She didn’t have to wait long.

He arrived with no announcement.

The air itself seemed to pause as the doors opened—and he entered.

Tall, pale, dressed in raven-black robes edged with silver. His hair fell like ink across his shoulders. And his eyes...

Violet flames.

Rael Nox, the Imperial Court’s High Sorcerer. One of the most powerful men in the empire. One of the cursed. One of the obsessed.

He didn’t bow. He didn’t smile. He simply looked at her, and for a moment, Kim felt Evelyne’s memories rise up—hot, painful, frantic.

He had once knelt before her in the snow.

He had once burned cities for her name.

And she had called him a monster.

Now, he walked to her as the crowd parted.

“Lady Rosenthal,” he said, his voice like silk laced with steel. “You’re alive.”

“For now,” she said.

He tilted his head. “Why throw a ball? Why invite me?”

“Because I knew you’d come.”

Rael’s eyes gleamed. “You always were clever.”

“Don’t flatter me. I’m not the girl you once loved.”

“I know.” He stepped closer. “You’re more dangerous now.”

The dance began without music. She offered her hand, and he took it. The crowd watched, stunned.

“You’re playing a new game,” he whispered as they moved.

“I’m rewriting the rules,” she replied.

“And what do you want from me, Evelyne?”

She looked up at him. “Your loyalty.”

His laughter was low and dark. “I never stopped being yours.”

As the music swelled again, she saw him—another figure at the edge of the crowd.

Leonhart Vale.

The knight had come.

Dressed in white and gold, his expression unreadable, eyes locked on her.

The past was returning.

One by one, the flowers from Evelyne’s tragic story were blooming again.

But this time, she would not be plucked and discarded.

She would rule the garden.