I woke up to the distinct impression that someone had replaced my bones with molten steel and stuffed my brain full of bees.
And then there was the woman.
Tall. Glossy red lips. Silk blouse halfway unbuttoned, like a perfume ad had come to life and was trying to climb onto my desk.
Which was strange, considering I didn't have a desk. Or a silk blouse. Or cheekbones sharp enough to cut through capitalism.
"What the hell "
"Miss Ryvenhart," she purred, her voice practically vibrating with suggestiveness, "You seemed tense during the meeting. I thought you might need… help unwinding."
She stepped closer, her heels clicking on marble like the countdown to my imminent heart failure. The scent hit me then spiced honey and ozone, heady and impossible to ignore. My stomach twisted violently, not in attraction, but hunger. Deep, gnawing, primal.
I was going to eat her.
No, wait. That wasn't right. That was :
"What in the hell is going on?" I whispered, mostly to myself, because the only alternative was screaming.
She smiled. Unbuttoned another button. The third one.
This was definitely a striptease. And it was happening in slow motion, like a car crash, except I was in the driver's seat, and I really wanted to crash into a wall.
"Please stop." I tried to sound authoritative. Came out as a wheeze.
She leaned in. "You're in rut, aren't you? Don't worry. I don't mind. I volunteered, remember?"
I blinked. "You what?"
Was I hallucinating? Drugged? Dreaming? Last thing I remembered was reading My Omega's Triumph on my phone, eyes bleary from scrolling through a particularly ridiculous chapter where the alpha villainess cornered the heroine in an elevator and tried to wait.
No.
No no no.
The desk. The office. The name she just used.
Alessia Ryvenhart.
I was inside the damn novel.
And not just anyone I was her. The villainess. The ice queen alpha CEO. The walking HR lawsuit. The lesbian version of a Bond villain in a Dior suit.
"Get out," I croaked.
She paused. "I'm sorry?"
I shot up from the desk or tried to. My legs buckled like wet noodles, and I crumpled to the marble floor with all the grace of a dying Victorian noblewoman.
"Oh my god," she gasped, rushing toward me.
"Don't touch me!"
She froze.
"Out. I said get out." The words came out sharp and raw, fury laced with panic.
"But Miss Ryvenhart "
"I SAID GET OUT!"
She flinched and stumbled backward, then ran heels clacking wildly as she disappeared down the hall, sniffling.
And then I was alone.
Collapsed on the cold floor. Breathing like I'd run a marathon inside a sauna. Skin flushed, nerves alight. My body felt like it was eating itself alive, every cell demanding something I didn't understand.
Heat? Rut? Alpha biology?
What the hell kind of genre was I trapped in?
My forehead hit the floor with a dull thud. "This isn't happening. This cannot be happening."
I tried to push myself up again. No use. My arms were trembling, spine liquefied. I was overheating from the inside out, and my instincts which had never existed before—were practically shrieking for me to hunt, claim, devour.
Not in that fun way. In the feral way.
And then came the voice.
[System initializing. Please remain still.]
My breath caught. "Who the fuck said that?"
No answer.
But then ding a translucent blue screen blinked into existence above my head like a bad sci-fi interface, and honestly? I'd have screamed if I had any oxygen left.
[Welcome, User. Compatibility check in progress.]
"What—what the "
[System compatible. Sync rate: 92.3%. Warning: abnormal physical condition detected. Status: Active Rut. Hormonal overload. Imminent neurological crash.]
"Oh, for fuck's sake," I hissed. "You think I don't know something's wrong?! Fix it!"
[Searching for stabilizers... Stabilizer located: Inhibitor shot. Office cabinet, upper left drawer.]
With the grace of a drunken koala, I clawed my way toward the nearest cabinet. Every movement burned. Every breath was a war. I yanked the drawer open and fumbled through files and something that might've been a sex toy I didn't want to know and finally found it: a small injector labeled "ALPHA-RX: EMERGENCY INHIBITOR."
Screw it. I didn't even check the dosage.
I jabbed it into my thigh.
Five seconds later, the fever began to fade. The room stopped spinning. My brain, previously on fire, dialed itself back to "mildly confused" instead of "screaming void."
I collapsed backward, gasping.
[Stabilization: 78% complete. Full lucidity expected in 2.4 minutes.]
"You better explain what the hell is going on," I snapped, still sprawled like roadkill.
[User has been transmigrated into the world of the webnovel My Omega's Triumph. Host body: Alessia Ryvenhart, primary antagonist. Mission: Survive. Optional objective: Avoid original death route.]
"Transmigrated?"
[Correct.]
"So I'm Alessia now?"
[You are in possession of her body, yes.]
"And her body," I groaned, "is a hormonal nightmare in designer heels."
[Affirmative.]
"And that woman just now?"
[Secondary character. Name: Cassidy Tran. Original plot role: recurring entanglement. Prior dynamic with Alessia: transactional. Voluntary heat companion.]
I gagged. "She volunteered to?!"
[Alessia's previous self arranged such encounters routinely.]
"Well, I'm not Alessia," I snapped. "I'm not seducing interns and collapsing in heat mid-afternoon!"
[Your scent signature and physiological responses suggest otherwise.]
"I swear to god, if this body so much as twitches again"
[Current hormonal state suppressed. Further outbursts possible under stress.]
Perfect. I'd landed in a reality where my body was a traitor and my predecessor had the moral compass of a shark with a credit card.
I dragged myself into the massive leather chair behind the desk and tried to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Ignore the fact that someone had just tried to have sex with me in my office. Ignore the fact that I'd nearly let it happen.
"I'm in an ABO world," I muttered. "In a novel I was reading. As the villainess. Who tried to assault the heroine in chapter twelve and got her ass kicked on livestream by chapter thirty."
[Correction: Heroine rejected Alessia's advances publicly, causing social scandal. Alessia retaliated. Heroine exposed evidence of manipulation. Alessia was arrested and her assets seized.]
"Oh, even better."
[You are currently two weeks before the first major incident.]
I blinked. "Two weeks until I ruin my own life."
[Unless prevented.]
I looked at my reflection in the glass wall of the office harsh cheekbones, expensive suit, cold eyes that weren't quite mine but now belonged to me. I looked terrifying. And exhausted.
"So what you're telling me," I said slowly, "is that I have two weeks to not screw up, avoid becoming an international scandal, survive alpha biology I don't understand, and not get arrested."
[Correct.]
"And if I don't?"
[You will follow Alessia's original fate. Imprisonment. Ruin. Possible death.]
Wonderful.
I buried my face in my hands. "I just wanted to finish my novel, eat some noodles, and ignore my emails."
[Your current goals have changed.]
"You think?"
[Would you like assistance with memory integration, behavioral analysis, or relationship threat detection?]
"I'd like a lobotomy."
[Request denied.]
I sighed. Closed my eyes. Let the silence settle.
The scent of that woman still lingered faintly in the room, but the hunger was gone. Mostly. I still felt unsteady, like my skin didn't quite fit. But I was alive. Conscious. In one piece.
And I had two weeks to undo a villain's legacy.
Slowly, I opened my eyes. "Fine. I'll play. But we do this my way."
[Understood.]
"One more thing."
[Yes?]
"Tell me everything I've ever done to the heroine."
[Warning: Data file extensive. Initial summary: unwanted advances, emotional blackmail, public sabotage, two lawsuits, and one attempted car 'accident.']
I groaned. "Great. So it's enemies-to-lovers, but make it felony edition."
[Affirmative.]