"STOOOOOOOOOOOOPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
I sprinted straight into the path of a massive black carriage, throwing my tiny, dirt-smudged arms out like I was trying to stop a war.
The four horses pulling the thing let out shrill neighs, their hooves skidding against the dirt road. One of them looked personally offended.
Dust flew. Wheels screeched. I nearly passed out from sheer adrenaline.
My chest heaved. My knees wobbled. My tiny, weak, definitely malnourished hands were trembling.
But I stood my ground, eyes locked on the carriage door where an obsidian rose, wrapped in thorned blades, gleamed like some gothic designer's fever dream.
I knew that emblem.
This was his carriage.
Adrien Léonel de Noailles.
The Grand Duke. The Cold Tyrant of the North.
You're probably wondering how I got here—screaming in front of a noble's murder-wagon like I lost a bet with death.
Well, hi. Hello. Ciao.
I'm a transmigrator.
And no, it's not as cool as it sounds.
Waking up in someone else's body is not as magical as the novels make it sound. There were no glowing lights, no sparkly system notifications, and no mysterious goddess whispering, "You have been chosen, oh pure soul."
Nope.
It was waking up to the stench of mold, spoiled soup, and a kid next to me crying because they'd peed the bed—again.
It happened two weeks ago. I opened my eyes, blinked at the rotting wooden ceiling, and muttered, "...Huh? Am I dreaming?"
My voice came out all wrong.
It was high-pitched. Fragile. Like a squirrel with a sore throat.
Not mine.
Cue two full days of panicking, sobbing, and pinching myself until I was convinced this wasn't some messed-up sleep paralysis episode.
I was dead.
And now, I was four years old. And not just any four-year-old—I was an orphan again.
I could accept death. Sure. Bad luck, bad diet, bad men—I saw it coming.
But an orphan again?! No. No, absolutely not.
I've been an orphan. I know how this goes.
You wait every month for potential parents to visit. You get scrubbed up and lined up like jewelry in a store window. Then they pick the prettiest or quietest kid and pat the rest on the head like we're free samples.
It's humiliating. It's soul-crushing.
So yes. When I opened my eyes and realized I was back in that hell, just shorter and poorer... I considered biting God, because some divine being thinks it's funny to put me through this again.
So there I was this morning, chewing a piece of stale bread like it owed me money, while the other kids scrubbed dishes under the screeching of the orphanage owner.
I was in my usual spot—parked by the gate, sulking about god's poor reincarnation policies—when I saw it.
A black carriage.
It glided down the path like a shadow with wheels, pulled by four majestic horses whose eyes gleamed with too much intelligence to be normal.
And then I saw it.
The emblem.
The obsidian rose. The thorns. The silver blade edges.
I nearly choked on my bread. Because that's when it clicked, and I realized this wasn't just any world.
This was Crimson Reign—the gothic, violent BL web novel I binged at 2AM with greasy fingers and a broken heart.
A tale of love, betrayal, swords, and trauma.
Adrien, the villainous Grand Duke, conquers the male lead's land and makes him his knight-slash-captive. Later, the knight falls for a noble count, and together they bring Adrien crashing down in a blaze of betrayal, politics, and sword fights.
But I didn't care about any of that.
Let the plot burn in the background. I had bigger issues.
Like not dying in this hellhole of an orphanage.
So when I saw the carriage turning down the road, I did what any desperate, reincarnated ex-orphan with a working brain cell would do:
I ran.
Straight onto the road. Straight into fate. Straight into the villain's grill.
Now here I am.
Covered in dust. Hair like a bird's nest. Bread still in hand. And staring down the most dangerous man carriage in this entire novel.
The carriage driver, his face pale and furious. "Hey, kid! You got a death wish or what?!"
I didn't flinch. I didn't blink. I just stared him down like the feral little gremlin I was. Because I didn't care what anyone said.
All I knew was I needed to get out of that hellhole of an orphanage.
Even if it meant begging the villain of this twisted, bloodstained story to take me with him.I didn't care if I had to scrub floors or polish boots or mop up blood—I'd survive.
I was already planning my plea when—
I heard the doors slam open.
The orphanage owner and the teachers came charging out like their wigs were on fire.
The moment their eyes landed on the crest on the carriage—the obsidian rose entwined with blades—they froze. Then trembled. Then bolted toward me.
"Hey, you insolent little brat!" the orphanage owner hissed through her teeth, yanking me backward like a sack of potatoes. Her iron grip bit into my shoulder.
Two teachers grabbed my arms, pinning them like I was some kind of criminal.
She dropped to her knees before the Grand Duke's carriage, her forehead nearly touching the dirt.
"M-my deepest apologies, my lord!" She wailed. "This child is utterly mannerless. I'll get her out of your sight right away!"
WHAT?!
No. No no no no.
I could feel it—my chance slipping through their grimy, bony fingers. Panic surged up my throat. They were dragging me away. Dragging me away from my one shot at salvation.
I kicked. I thrashed. I bit someone's arm.
"LET GO OF ME!" I screamed, my voice hoarse and wild."LET ME GO! I WANT TO LEAVE WITH HIM!"
Their hands tightened painfully."Shut up, you ungrateful wretch!" one of the teachers snapped.
But I didn't care.
Tears blurred my vision, but I kept my eyes locked on the Grand Duke. The man still hadn't moved. Still hadn't spoken. Still hadn't even gotten out of that damn carriage.
But I could feel it.
He was watching.
Watching like a predator with nothing better to do than let the mouse squirm.
"LET GO! LET GO!" I screamed, kicking my tiny legs in the air as they dragged me back toward the orphanage gates.
I didn't even get the chance to beg.Didn't get to plead for a scrap of mercy.Didn't get to look him in the eye and say, "I'll do anything."
No one listened
"LET GO OF ME! I'D RATHER DIE THAN STAY HERE!" I shouted, my voice sharp and shaking.
No one listened. Of course they didn't.
I knew exactly what would happen once I was dragged back inside that rotting building—they'd lock me in that dark, mold-infested room again.
No water. No stale bread. Just rats for company and silence thick enough to choke on.
"I WANNA GO WITH HIM! NOT BACK THERE!" I sobbed, kicking wildly.
My vision was shaking now—half from the tears, half from the panic.
I lost.Again.
Until—
"WAIT."
The world stopped.
A single word. Cold. Sharp. Commanding. It sliced through the air like a blade.
Everyone froze.Even the wind dared not blow.
And then I saw him.
Stepping down from the carriage like a shadow torn from night itself.
Black hair. Ice-blue eyes. Tall, lean, terrifyingly graceful.
And handsome.Too handsome to be a villain.But the cold rolling off him said otherwise.
He didn't need to yell. Didn't need to threaten. The chill in his voice was enough to make the earth shiver.
And he was looking—At me.