Chapter 1
The rainy season had begun. Heavy raindrops struck the dry ground, and the small clouds of dust they raised disappeared as the rain grew stronger.
Tara Thayer held the last of the bedding covers tightly as she rushed through the downpour toward the villa. The sudden storm had given her no time to grab an umbrella.
Instead, she sprinted outside to rescue the sheets she had left drying in the open. Now, with the bedding safely inside, her clothes and hair were damp from the rain.
She looked out at the relentless rain and exhaled slowly. Even now, she could hardly believe what had happened—that she had somehow crossed into another world.
Only the day before, she had transmigrated into the villainess’ body—a character from a story revolving around a pampered female lead. By the time she arrived, the original owner of the body had already died of a sudden illness in her room.
In this book, the female lead worked as a live-in housekeeper for a famous boy band. Her warmth and kindness gradually healed the four members, making her their beloved favorite.
The villainess held the same job, but her reputation couldn’t have been more different. She’d shamelessly flirted with the boy band members, earning their utter disdain.
Later, consumed by jealousy over the female lead’s bond with the men, the villainess repeatedly tried to sabotage her. Instead of succeeding, she only made the men more sympathetic toward the female lead.
In the end, they expelled the villainess from the villa. When her schemes were exposed, she became a hated figure, scorned by everyone.
Tara wanted to leave right then and there—to get away from the boy band and the female lead. But the original host’s contract still had six months left, and she couldn’t quit until then.
Breaking the contract early meant paying a massive penalty, and the original host hadn’t been wealthy enough to afford it.
Tara was usually laid-back, but the thought of paying that fine made her think that she’d rather die again than deal with it. Left with no other option, she decided to keep the job.
She avoided the privileged boy band, limited her interactions with the female lead, and spoke only when necessary. If she remained cautious, she might just make it through these six months in one piece.
Heavy rain poured over the garden, the fierce wind driving slanted sheets of water. Despite it being midday, the sky was so dark that it seemed ready to split with lightning.
Footsteps approached from behind Tara. When she turned, she spotted a young woman in the same uniform gathering the bedding and walking past her into the villa without so much as a glance. It was as if speaking to her were a complete waste of time.
Tara knew that everyone in the villa disliked the original owner of this body. She gave the young woman’s retreating figure a brief, indifferent look before examining her own damp uniform.
The black and white fabric was half-transparent where it clung to her fair skin. Her exposed legs looked softly luminous in the dim light.
Tara adjusted the wet hem of her skirt. She’d have to go back to her room and change. She couldn’t work like this, soaked to the skin.
She had taken just a few steps toward the right side of the first floor when hurried footsteps sounded from the entrance.
Gemma Wolpert, the manager, called out sharply, “Tara, come help.”
Without waiting for a reply, Gemma turned and rushed back outside, her face and movements tense with urgency. Tara reluctantly followed Gemma, her uniform still uncomfortably damp.
Outside, the earlier downpour had lightened to a drizzle. The villa’s garden, vibrant and rain-soaked, looked almost dreamy in the mist, but Tara had no time to appreciate it.
A luxury van was parked at the entrance. Gemma pulled the door open, and two assistants stepped out, their expressions strained as they struggled to support a tall, drunken man between them.
Even together, they could barely keep his unsteady, six-foot-two-inch frame upright. Gemma grew visibly impatient as she watched the assistants falter.
“Stop standing around. Help us get Lance to his room,” she ordered, gesturing for Tara to step in.
Tara didn’t want to touch Lance Swain, but at that moment, she had no choice but to help carry him inside. When she saw the others holding Lance by the arms, she stepped behind him. Her hands hesitated as she wondered how she was meant to help in that situation.
Lance frowned, his handsome face tense with annoyance as he tried to push them away. But his drunken body swayed, forcing him backward.
Just as Tara moved to guide him from behind, he stumbled back. She quickly pressed her hands against the firm muscles of his lower back to stop him from falling onto her.
The warmth of her touch seeped through the thin fabric, brushing his sensitive waist. Lance lowered his head, a quiet groan escaping his lips. The others, too focused on keeping him upright, didn’t notice.
Tara didn’t hear it either. Still feeling uncomfortable, she nudged him forward. Fortunately, they managed to get him into the room on the second floor without any trouble.
Gemma released her hold and wiped the cold sweat from her forehead. They couldn’t let Lance fall. How would she ever face the Swain family if he got hurt?
“Alright. One person should stay and watch over him,” Gemma told Tara, who was still breathing heavily.
Tara looked confused. She was catching her breath, silently complaining about how Lance, though he appeared lean, was actually tall and solid. Carrying him up the stairs had been exhausting.
“Me?” She pointed at herself, surprised.
The two assistants walked out of the room without question. Then, Gemma remembered something. Someone had mentioned to her recently that Tara might be “a little too forward”.
Gemma hesitated before saying, “You shouldn’t handle this alone. Get Stella to help you.”
She was certain that nothing inappropriate would happen with two housekeepers present.
Tara agreed without argument. She texted Stella Lyttle, the female lead, requesting her to come to the second floor.
As for herself, Tara needed to find time to go downstairs and change into a fresh uniform. Her current one was damp, and it was making her miserable.
Gemma observed Tara, initially considering whether to fire her. But now, when she observed that Tara had shown no signs of any hidden interest in Lance, she hesitated.
Earlier, when Gemma had told Tara to take care of Lance, Tara had reacted with surprise. And when Gemma changed her instructions and told Tara to call Stella instead, Tara didn’t appear disappointed at all. She quickly agreed, as though she wanted to avoid any delay.
Gemma frowned, confused, then decided to let it go for now. Hiring live-in housekeepers required thorough vetting, and with one recently dismissed and no replacement yet, she couldn’t afford to lose another. She would need to revisit the issue later.
Soon, Gemma and the two assistants left, leaving only Tara and Lance, who was now lying on the couch in the room.
Tara’s gaze drifted to Lance, who was stretched out on his back with his shirt slightly undone. His right leg rested on the couch while the other dangled off the edge.
His hair was a little messy, but it only added to his appeal, lending him a relaxed, seductive air. For a few seconds, her mind went blank.
Meanwhile, Lance creased his brow and slowly turned over on the couch.
Earlier, when the group had helped Lance inside, someone must have bumped into the coffee table in front of the couch. If Lance rolled off, he would likely hit his head on it.
Tara felt a jolt of alarm. She immediately pushed the coffee table away, its legs screeching against the floor, and grabbed Lance just before he could fall.
Before she could even marvel at her quick reflexes, Lance’s hand closed around her wrist, pulling her down with him. She lost her balance and landed on the floor beneath him, his body pressing against hers as the subtle spice of his cologne filled her senses.
Her vision blurred momentarily, the impact driving the breath from her lungs. Then, she felt Lance’s exhale, warm against her neck, sending a rush of heat over her skin.
Tara’s neck and ears were unbearably sensitive. She shoved against him, but his weight held her firmly in place, solid and unyielding.
“Lance… get up. You’re suffocating me,” she gasped.
But no matter how hard she pushed, he didn’t move. It was as if he’d already sunk into a drunken sleep.
