Where am I...?
What happened to me...?
When I blinked awake, the world assaulted my senses—a penthouse suite sprawled before me, floor-to-ceiling windows framing a glittering abyss of neon-lit skyscrapers piercing the night sky.
What the fuck?! I lived in a pathetic house! So, why am I in this palace?!
Electric blues and pulsing pinks bled through the glass, casting erratic shadows across silk sheets tangled around my legs. My heart hammered as a torrent of memories crashed in—not mine, but hers. Emily Leonhart. Villainess extraordinaire.
How could this be possible? Do things like transmigration really exist?
I bolted upright, bare feet slapping cold marble as I stumbled to the full-length mirror dominating one wall.
My reflection stared back, alien and intoxicating—raven hair tumbling in glossy waves to my waist, emerald eyes sharp as cut glass, skin milky white and smooth as porcelain under the violet glow. My body curved in ways that screamed power and allure: full breasts straining against a sheer lace camisole, hips flaring into thighs toned from years of high-stakes runway struts, and a waist so huggable it begged for possessive hands.
I turned sideways, fingers tracing the dip—god, this was elite perfection, the kind that toppled empires. Oh, my god... I am a goddess!
Yeah, me—Emily the broke barista, slinging lattes for tips—had transmigrated into Alphas' Eternal Knot, that guilty-pleasure novel blending cutthroat corporate intrigue with raw romance.
Alphas ruled boardrooms and bedrooms with iron wills; omegas surrendered to lavish indulgence or delicious drama. As Emily Leonhart, heir to the Leonhart fashion dynasty, I was the "rare" female alpha villainess—doomed to obsess over the sweet omega heroine, demanding a contract marriage to bind her to my empire.
When the heroine refused, I'd lash out with sabotage, only to get exposed and ruined by the four scorching alpha male leads. Cliché as hell—villainess falls, heroes win, everyone knots happily ever after. It was reverse harem novel after all.
But Emily was no fragile flower. She wielded power like a blade—ruthless business tactics that crushed rivals. Well, I was a normal barista. Our names were the only thing that probably matched.
All of a sudden, a reckless impulse surged through me. My hand slipped under the camisole to check if I had a dick now or not.
But there was no dick in sight. Wait. I'm the alpha? How the hell did that work?
Heart racing, I thought over it. The book glossed over it, but maybe... like the other books—in this world, female alphas didn't need dangling parts—their biology adapted with internal ridges and swells that locked during heat, dominating and breeding omegas in raw, grinding ecstasy.
Yes, it's plausible.
Thrusts from fingers, toys, or an alpha's knot; it was all about control, flooding your omega with your essence until they begged.
I shook my head sharply, raven strands whipping across my cheeks, as a flicker of the twisted cravings invaded my thoughts—a male omega, all soft submission. But not me. Unlike my predecessor, who chased skirts with ruthless hunger, I was wired for men only. OG Emily had fixated on the heroine because of it, her alpha dominance twisting into possessive obsession.
The heroine—Lily Warren, the darling of the silver screen, her face plastered on every holo-billboard from here to the arcologies. Porcelain skin, doe eyes that melted audiences, curves that sparked tabloid scandals. Her parents owned Warren Foods, a mid-tier empire churning out synth-gourmet meals for the masses—profitable enough to tempt, but no match for Leonhart Fashion's global stranglehold.
OG Emily's pitch had been brutally simple—"Marry me, be my obedient wife, and I'll funnel billions into Voss Foods—elevate your family to elite status."
Lily's refusal had ignited the sabotage spiral. But I had zero interest in that drama. No forcing contracts, no catfights over some omega popstar.
My plan? Crystal clear and deliciously selfish. Sidestep the cliché entirely—dodge the four alpha male leads circling like sharks, ignore Lily's inevitable harem glow-up.
I didn't want to compete for her, and the male leads? Buff corporate gods with chiselled jaws and egos to match—zero spark for me.
No, what I craved was simpler, sweeter—a male omega. One with warm hazel eyes that crinkled in shy laughter, lithe muscles under sun-kissed skin, a scent of fresh rain and honey that begged to be claimed.
Not the heroine's drama, but my perfect knot-match—a male omega crinkling in shy laughter, lithe frame yielding under my touch, building a quiet life of two amid the neon chaos. Okay, don't think... about these things. If I continue thinking over this, I will definitely get horny/
I'd play the aloof heiress—cool nods at galas, razor-sharp deals with investors—letting the original plot implode without its scheming villainess. I mean, back home I was just Emily the broke barista, dreaming of fashion sketches on napkins between coffee rushes, fingers stained with espresso and envy.
Transmigration handed me the keys to Leonhart Fashion on a silver platter—why not dive in? Runway shows under throbbing spotlights, fabrics whispering like secrets, turning heads in couture that could conquer worlds. Hell yes, I'd enjoy every stitched seam.
A thrill coiled low in my belly, heat blooming anew between my thighs with promise. I paced the suite, bare feet sinking into plush rugs, the city's electric hum vibrating through the glass like a siren's call.
But confusion gnawed at the edges—why only recent memories? No childhood tantrums in boardrooms, no cutthroat mergers from some years ago, just the last few months' venomous schemes against Lily.
It was as if I had woken mid-stream, predecessor's playbook half-erased. I clenched my fists, nails biting porcelain skin. Emily, just forget it. Did it matter? Nah. Fresh slate meant no baggage, just power to wield. I'd fake the rest—smile through the gaps, charm the gaps into irrelevance. My target is to find a perfect male omega, who I will bully relentlessly.
"I will find you, my perfect omega." Just the thought of 'him,' makes my mouth water. Maybe, this transmigration will be good for me. "I will live your life to the fullest in your place, Emily. So, rest assured."