Chapter 1
554 Words
The air was thick with perfume—floral, overly sweet, suffocating. The bed beneath her felt too soft, like clouds dipped in guilt. As her eyes fluttered open, Mirrianna Lianne—the former Captain of the Unified Military Forces—found herself staring at a satin canopy trimmed in gold.
She sat up with a jolt.
Wrong place. Wrong air. Wrong body.
Her fingers trembled as she touched her face—soft, smooth skin. Pale. Fragile. This wasn’t her. Her body was built with muscle, shaped by years of combat and command. But this… this was delicate. Feminine. Weak.
“Where the hell am I?”
The door creaked open. A maid peeked in, her expression bored and annoyed. “Oh. You’re finally awake, Young Miss.” The tone was dry. Dismissive.
Mirrianna narrowed her eyes. “Miss?”
The maid stepped in without bowing, without offering any respect. “You fainted again. Honestly, it’s exhausting. You have a meeting with your fiancé at the Rose Garden. I suggest you try to wear something that doesn’t make you look like a tragic scarecrow this time.”
Mirrianna blinked slowly. Excuse me?
She opened her mouth to respond but was distracted by the mirror on the far wall. A girl stared back. Long chestnut hair, wide amber eyes, a frail build. The name came to her like a slap:
Elirianna Athanasie Geniva.
The weakest daughter of the most powerful mafia boss. The one mocked by her own bloodline. The girl set to die.
Mirrianna slowly stood, testing the body’s strength. As expected—no muscle memory, no coordination. Just bones and grace. A porcelain doll dropped into a pit of wolves.
“Interesting,” she muttered. “I’ve been reincarnated into a mafia soap opera.”
She opened the wardrobe, revealing a mountain of outdated, frilly dresses. Pink ruffles, mismatched patterns, and... bunny embroidery?
“Dear god, is this why no one takes her seriously?”
She chose a sharp black dress shirt tucked into high-waisted tailored pants she had to hem herself. Then she tied her hair into a sleek ponytail. No makeup, just tinted lips and confidence. She stepped out of the room like a new woman—and the mansion staff paused to stare.
“Who…?” one of the maids whispered.
“Elirianna?” a butler said, shocked.
She walked past them without a glance. No more timid footsteps. No more stuttering. Just heels clicking against marble floors like gunfire.
At the rose garden, her “fiancé” waited.
Lucien Caelum Vortaire. The male lead.
He leaned against a stone column, dark hair tousled, expression indifferent. Cold eyes flicked up as she approached—and something flickered in them.
“Elirianna?” he asked, tone flat.
She stopped a few feet away, arms crossed.
“You seem disappointed to see me conscious, Lucien.” Her voice held no tremble.
He straightened slightly. “You… look different.”
“Do I?” She tilted her head. “Maybe I finally got tired of looking pathetic.”
He said nothing, lips slightly parted, clearly thrown off. In the original timeline, Elirianna would’ve blushed. Apologized. Clung to him like a lifeline.
Mirrianna—now Elirianna—smirked.
Let them all wonder what changed.
Because starting today, Elirianna Athanasie Geniva wasn’t weak.
She was dangerous.
- Writer
