I groaned. "Great. So it's enemies-to-lovers, but make it felony edition."
[Affirmative.]
Silence settled like a heavy coat after that word. Affirmative. Just the one. As if we were talking about spreadsheets and not my impending doom via a slow-burn lesbian blood feud.
My forehead rested against the cool desk surface. I stayed like that for a minute. Maybe five. Long enough to think about all the life choices I didn't make but was now paying for. Alessia Ryvenhart wasn't just a villainess she was the villainess. The kind who gave alpha CEOs a worse name than they already had. She didn't just ruin people; she turned reputations into mulch and smiled while doing it.
[Now that you're calm, we should discuss your current predicament.]
"Shouldn't you have started with that?"
[You were in rut. Clarity was unlikely.]
"Great bedside manner, thanks."
[As of now, you are Alessia Ryvenhart, 32 years old, alpha, CEO of Ryvenhart Entertainment Group. It is one of the top five entertainment corporations in this world. You manage film divisions, musical artists, talent agencies, and media production. You are… unpopular.]
"I'm shocked."
[Your villainess reputation is rooted in corporate aggression, alpha dominance displays, and several failed 'romantic' advances on employees.]
"Failed? So she was bad and unsexy?"
[Unethically persistent.]
I winced. "Ugh. HR must have a dartboard with her face on it."
[Correct.]
I sat up, letting the info drip through the caffeine-deprived cracks of my brain. Entertainment CEO. Alpha. Problematic as hell. Still, I'd worked with terrible bosses before. I could do corporate. I'd watched Succession four times and survived two unpaid internships. How hard could this be?
[You've also had several... encounters with the heroine.]
"Of course I have."
[Her name is Sera Lin. She's a rising talent signed to the music division. She's an omega.]
I perked up. "Wait, that's the heroine? The feisty one with the backstory? The violinist turned pop star who punches her manager in Chapter 28?"
[Yes.]
"And Alessia the real one already tried to seduce her?"
[She was rejected.]
"Obviously."
[Alessia attempted to retaliate by denying her promotional access, redirecting funding, and assigning her to a storage closet office.]
My jaw dropped. "That's not even villainy. That's just petty."
[Fortunately, you have taken over the body at an earlier point. You have time.]
"Time for what? Damage control?"
[Survival.]
Charming.
I rubbed my temples. A headache throbbed between my eyes like a persistent door-to-door salesman. "You said you'd help?"
[Yes. I have access to skill packages related to leadership, finance, public speaking, and emotional regulation.]
"Emotional regulation sounds fake, but I'll take it."
[Install completed.]
I blinked. "Wait, what—"
Suddenly, I knew exactly how to run a profit analysis, how to neutralize a hostile boardroom, and how to suppress the urge to cry during budget meetings.
"Okay," I whispered, heart pounding. "That's terrifying. But useful."
[You will need every advantage.]
I leaned back, exhaling through my nose. It was late. Everything ached. My body was still adjusting to the hormonal chaos, and I had just learned I was the villain in a webnovel with one job: don't get murdered by the protagonist.
I stood this time with stability and straightened the sleek, tailored suit jacket I now apparently owned. "Right. I'm going home."
[Would you like me to guide you to the elevator?]
"You think I can't find a—actually, yes. Please guide me."
[Turn right.]
I followed the translucent screen down the absurdly luxurious hallway of my office floor. The floors gleamed. The lighting was too perfect. Everything smelled faintly of bergamot and power imbalance.
[Elevator ahead.]
I pressed the button, the doors slid open and then my heart promptly nose-dived into my stomach.
She was inside.
Sera Lin.
Even in sweatpants and a hoodie, she radiated a kind of quiet intensity that made the air feel heavier. Her hair was up in a messy bun. Headphones hung around her neck. A tablet rested in her arms like a shield. Her eyes locked with mine and narrowed instantly.
If looks could kill, the Ryvenhart empire would've crumbled into capitalist ash.
"Oh," I managed.
She stepped aside, reluctantly. Like it physically hurt her to share this confined space with me. Like she'd rather chew glass than breathe the same air.
I swallowed and entered. "Midnight rehearsals?"
No answer.
The elevator began to move.
Silence bloomed like poison. I shifted. She didn't. Her glare was a constant, burning thing.
God. Had I glared like that before? Was this karma?
"I'm not going to bite," I muttered.
Her eyes snapped to me. "You've tried worse."
I flinched. Her voice was cold. Sharp. And absolutely justified.
"Right," I murmured. "I deserved that."
She looked startled for a fraction of a second, then scoffed and looked away. The elevator dinged.
We exited in unison, tension trailing behind us like a bad cologne.
She walked ahead, brisk and dismissive. I almost called after her but didn't. She looked like she'd rather stab herself with her stylus than engage with me again.
I let her go.
[Your car is waiting.]
A sleek black car was parked near the private lot entrance, gleaming beneath the moonlight like a shadow given form. A long-bodied Maybach, tinted windows, armor-plated, quiet engine. Of course the villainess drove a car that probably cost the GDP of a small island nation.
A suited chauffeur opened the door. "Miss Ryvenhart."
I slid in. Leather. Cool. Quiet. Impossibly expensive.
[Now is a good time to explain the ABO system.]
"Oh joy. Let's hear it."
[This world operates on secondary genders: Alpha, Beta, and Omega. You are an alpha, and your physiology reflects this. You possess scent glands ]
"Where?"
[Behind your neck, lower abdomen, inner wrists.]
"Creepy. Continue."
[Alphas enter rut periodically. Physical symptoms include heightened aggression, possessiveness, libido spikes, and pheromonal release. Suppressants and inhibitors help regulate.]
"And the patch on my neck?"
[Pheromone blocker. Prevents involuntary release.]
I reached up. A discreet, transparent patch sat behind my ear like a nicotine strip for emotionally volatile predators.
[Omegas enter heat. Symptoms include hormonal surges, scent amplification, and biological drive to bond.]
"And they're not just walking around falling into people's arms?"
[Not unless poorly managed.]
"Great. That makes this whole elevator encounter even more awkward."
[You were wearing a blocker. She was not in heat. Conflict was emotional.]
"Oh, good. She really just hates me."
[Correct.]
I exhaled, leaning against the seat.
The car turned into a private drive flanked by iron gates. Beyond them stretched something that could only be described as an architectural thesis on "money = silence."
My house no, Alessia's was a stone-and-glass mansion surrounded by trimmed hedges, pools, and flickering lights. Massive. Cold. Gorgeous. Empty.
The car stopped. The chauffeur opened the door. I stepped out and walked up the slate steps. The front door recognized my biometric signature.
Inside, the space was polished to soulless perfection. Vaulted ceilings. Walls in muted grays and whites. A fireplace that probably turned on via voice command. Art that cost more than most medical degrees.
I was home.
Alone.
[You have no family in this world.]
The sentence landed heavier than it should have.
[Alessia Ryvenhart was orphaned at sixteen. She acquired the company through legal manipulation and hostile takeover. All known relationships: transactional.]
"Lovely," I muttered.
[Your mission remains unchanged. Survive. Avoid heroine hostility. Manage the company. And, if desired... change your fate.]
I looked out the towering glass window at the city below.
The lights shimmered. The skyline buzzed. Somewhere out there, the woman who hated me was probably writing lyrics that would win her a Grammy someday.
And me?
I was an imposter in the villain's skin. Learning how to breathe with the weight of a legacy I didn't ask for. Trying not to get eaten alive by a world that wanted me to fail.
Well.
At least the bathroom probably had heated floors.