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... uld only be described as an eruption of desolation and fire.

It was a scene painted with the most twisted and nightmarish brush strokes; a place where the air was so thick with heat, metals would weep into oblivion instantaneously, succumbing to the relentless, unyielding temperature.

Above, there was no sky, no cerulean expanse painted with clouds or stars. Instead, a fractured mirror hung, an endless ceiling reflecting the hell below.

The land, if it could be called suc ...

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I had thought that my life couldn’t get worse when I walked in on my fiancé cheating on me with my best friend. But after a series of unfortunate events, I opened my eyes in a world that I had only read about in a webnovel, the Erudian Empire, ruled under the domineering, bloody reign of Emperor Helio.

The worst part?

I’m not even the main character! Reborn as Winter Royberg de la Erudian, I am the pitiful side character who is discovered to be a royal bastard princess due to a certain physical trait only the imperial bloodline possesses. But I know the end of Winter’s story and the unwanted royal punching bag is framed as a witch and killed at age 16 on the guillotine due to the scheming of the cruel empress.

An aloof, murder happy father? Check.

Psycho half-sister? Check.

Meddlesome author who wants me to follow the script? Double check!

I don’t want to die an early death again, so I’m determined not to ever be discovered as a royal again. But before I know it, I’m trapped in a palace of blood and opulence playing tricky games of power, games I have no clue how to win. How will I survive to adulthood in the imperial palace and get my happily ever after? And am I really the only person who fell into this world?

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I am Racist.…I mean, my name is Racis T.I was a stand-up comedian. The flop kind. The type who only got laughs when someone else was roasting him.One night, I was doing a gig at a shady, run-down bar—the kind where tattooed bikers drink motor oil for breakfast. I went in with my usual dark humor, but my jokes were getting the same reaction as my dating profile: complete silence.That didn’t sit right with my inner artist, who was already starving to death. So I did what any committed comedian would—I went darker.Turns out, one of my jokes (or all of them?) triggered a guy so hard that he pulled a trigger. Headshot. Instant death.But hey, look at this: A guy got triggered, so he pulled the trigger. That’s wordplay. But who cares? I’m dead anyway.All I wanted was a successful show, people laughing, and maybe a few girls swooning over my wit. I never cared about money. The millions I’d have made would have gone to charity—specifically, 0.001% of it. See? I’m generous like that.Anyway, death is death. My story should’ve ended there.But… if there is an afterlife, I had a simple wish: become a successful comedian, find a loving wife, and have just enough money to afford three meals a day… and maybe a humble little private yacht. Or a jet. But that’s it. Because, like I said, I don’t care about money.Unfortunately, wishes don’t work that way.Because, well—there was an afterlife.And it was absolutely not what I wished for.

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He is the emperor of the business world. Rumor has it that he was fond of men and because of this, Song Wen Xin agreed to marry him.

After their marriage, he proved to her that he has the ability of a normal man!

“You are not allowed to hide when fulfilling the obligation of husband and wife. You are also not allowed to refuse the gifts that I send you. And, when you take the initiative to come to me… you are not allowed to stop!” He ordered her overbearingly.

Song Wen Xin immediately said: “In your dreams!”

He laughed enigmatically: “What a coincidence! I’m best at making a dream into a reality!”

He dotes on her, dotes on her with no bottom line at all…

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