The amended contract lay on the glass coffee table, a crisp stack of paper that held my future in its legalese.
I'd already flipped past the boilerplate, the asset lists, the terrifying penalty clauses. My finger traced down to the section that mattered.
ARTICLE III, SECTION 1. (AMENDED): Upon the signing of this agreement, Austra Law shall be granted a provisional seat and a Managing position as a Special Executive Director on the Board of Directors of Han Department Stores, with full access to non-confidential reports, strategic meeting minutes, and departmental overviews, effective immediately. Full directorship will be conferred upon the legal solemnization of the marriage.
I read it out loud, my voice a whisper in the sunlit silence of the penthouse.
"…Austra Law shall be granted a provisional seat…"
My name. Not 'a designated representative of the Law family.' Not 'an appointee.' My name. My condition. My ridiculous, brilliant bluff, printed in official, binding ink.
A slow, triumphant smile spread across my face, one I didn't have to force.
It had worked. Against all odds, against the entire script of Love at First Spreadsheet, I had carved out a space for myself.
I wasn't just the villainess-fiancée anymore.
I was an Executive Observer. I had a job. A real one, with access and a title. It was a foothold. A tiny crack in the gilded cage, and I had put it there.
I looked up. Butler Kim stood a respectful distance away, having delivered the documents himself. His expression was, as always, unreadably polite, but his eyes held a quiet, watchful light.
"It seems satisfactory, Young Miss?" he inquired, his voice a soft rumble.
"More than satisfactory," I said, the smile still tugging at my lips. "It's perfect. Pen, please?"
He produced a heavy, sleek fountain pen from his inner pocket, not the cheap ballpoint I'd used for a thousand temp job forms and presented it to me on a small velvet tray. The gesture was so solemn it felt historic.
I took the pen. It was cool and weighty in my hand.
My signature.
This was the moment the original Austra had dreamed of—signing her life away to Han Eun Woo with a flourish of desperate obsession.
I positioned the tip over the stark, empty line at the bottom of the last page.
I remembered the scene from Episode 2—a quick, dramatic flashback.
The original Austra had signed her initial engagement agreement with a sharp, aggressive slash, her head held high, a smirk of possessive victory on her face.
My hand moved. It wasn't a slash. It was careful. Deliberate. The ink flowed dark and sure as I wrote Austra Law in my best, clearest handwriting—the one I used for important forms.
It was a signature that said, I have read the terms. I agree. This is my choice.
I set the pen down on the velvet tray with a soft, final click.
It was done. The marriage contract was signed. I was officially, legally, the fiancée.
And I was officially, legally, an employee of Han Group.
Butler Kim retrieved the tray, his eyes briefly scanning my neat signature. That familiar, almost imperceptible flicker of something—approval? curiosity?—passed through his gaze before he bowed slightly.
"I shall see that this is delivered to the family offices immediately," he said. "The car will be ready at seven to take you to Han Manor."
Right. The dinner. The lions' den.
But as he turned to leave, I didn't feel the cold dread I expected. I looked at my name on that contract, right beside Han Eun Woo's sharp, authoritative script.
For the first time since I woke up in this world, I didn't feel like a character who'd lost her place in the story.
I felt like a player who had just successfully negotiated her opening move.
"So which department are we going today?" Butler Kim asked, making me confused.
"Excuse me?" I said, blinking.
"Oh, the dinner tonight," he clarified, his tone ever-patient. "Aren't you going to go buy some new attire for the occasion? I was just asking so I could make the necessary calls to have them ready for you."
'Right. Austra liked shopping. She even said it was her way of letting out stress once, right? Hmm...'
"Right. Of course," I said, looking down at my silk pajamas. It wasn't like I could show up to the Han Manor in sleepwear, no matter how expensive. "Okay, call my... favorite. I'll get changed and we can go out."
Butler Kim gave a slight bow. "Very good, Young Miss."
As I hurried back to the bedroom to find something—anything—presentable to wear out, I muttered to myself, "Let's see how rich people like to shop, shall we?"
* * *
Or so I said, not knowing what was waiting for me.
An hour later, the car didn't stop on a bustling shopping street. It glided into a private, cobblestone courtyard, silent and secluded.
A single, discreet plaque by a pair of imposing doors read: L'Atelier de Beaufort.
Butler Kim held the door open for me. "Your designer is expecting you, Young Miss."
I stepped inside, and my breath caught in my throat.
This wasn't a store. This was a cathedral dedicated to fabric.
The air was hushed, smelled of sandalwood, and was completely, utterly silent. No racks. No price tags. No other customers.
Just a vast, minimalist space where a few exquisite gowns were displayed like museum artifacts on individual stands under soft spotlights.
A woman who looked like she'd been sculpted from elegance itself glided forward, a tablet in her hands. "Miss Law. A pleasure, as always. We received the brief for this evening. A family gathering with the Han conglomerate. We have some initial sketches based on your profile."
She gestured, and two assistants appeared as if from the walls, holding up a large digital screen. On it were stunning, detailed renderings of dresses that probably cost more than my old apartment.
I couldn't believe my eyes. "Is this place really just for clothing?"
The designer—Madame Beaufort, as I read from the name plate on her chest—smiled a razor-thin, knowing smile. "This way, Miss Law," she said, leading me to a private viewing room in the back.
And there it was.
Hanging in a beam of light, it was the most beautiful dress I had ever seen in either of my lives. My mouth fell open for a full second.
"Wow..."
Madame Beaufort allowed a genuine smile. "It seems you like it."
"Yes. Very much." I stepped closer, drawn in.
It was a deep, midnight violet, the color of a sky just after sunset.
It had a sleek, elegant V-neck silhouette, but the true magic was in the intricate, subtle beading that traced down the bodice like scattered stardust, catching the light with every imagined movement.
"It's perfect. I'll take it," I said, the words leaving my mouth on a wave of pure, fangirl awe.
But then, a deeply ingrained habit from my previous life—the habit of checking a bank account that was always perilously close to zero—surfaced with a vengeance. A practical, mortal curiosity plunged into my euphoria.
"Just… how much is it, though?" I asked, turning toward her.
Madame Beaufort's perfectly composed face did something extraordinary. It froze. Her polite smile slipped into a look of pure, unadulterated confusion, as if I had just asked her to explain the theory of relativity in pig Latin.
"Is there something on my face?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious.
"N-No," she stammered, the first crack in her impeccable professionalism. "I was just… surprised. You have never inquired about a price before."
'Never asked for a price?' The thought was mind-boggling. 'Just how obscenely rich are the Laws?'
She recovered smoothly, her voice dropping into a confidential tone. "For this exclusive, hand-beaded piece from our autumn collection, it is one hundred and twenty thousand dollars."
The number hit me like a physical blow. My vision swam. 'One hundred and twenty… thousand?' A high-pitched ringing filled my ears. 'I could have bought a small apartment in Incheon with a deposit like that! That's a decade of my old salary! For a single dress!'
"E-hem," I cleared my throat, the sound alarmingly squeaky. I forced my spine straight, channeling every haughty villainess vibe I could muster. "Please have it sent to my residence. I have… somewhere to be."
Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and marched toward the exit, my steps only slightly unsteady. I could feel Butler Kim's silent, perceptive presence fall into step behind me.
Not a word was spoken until the car doors closed, sealing us in quiet, leather-scented safety. I slumped against the seat, staring blankly ahead.
"To the penthouse, Young Miss?" Butler Kim inquired gently from the front seat.
"No," I said, the word firmer than I felt. The image of that price tag was still burning a hole in my sanity. "Can you take me to a cafe called Daeho's Corner? Do you know it?"
Butler Kim's brow furrowed slightly. "I-I am not sure of that one, Young Miss. But I will check." He pulled out a sleek tablet, his fingers gliding over the screen.
'That's right...' I thought, the plot points clicking into place in my head. 'If my memory is correct, this is the time—after a stressful morning with the cold CEO, after seeing something confusing—she goes to his cafe. They'll be there. And he'll be there.'
"Ah, found it," Butler Kim announced. "It is in the Seongsu-dong area. A bit... off your usual path."
"Perfect," I said, a smile touching my lips. "Let's go."
As the car navigated away from the world of private ateliers and back into the lively hum of Seoul's streets, I watched the city blur past, my nerves humming with a new kind of anticipation.
I muttered under my breath, "Let's see some side characters, shall we?"