The ceiling was too luxurious to be real.
Alex blinked once. Then twice. He was alive… but not in his old, worn-down apartment. The ceiling above him was high and ornate, painted with soft gold accents and framed by delicate plaster carvings that glittered faintly in the morning light. The air smelled faintly of roses and old wood polish. The bed beneath him was massive, the sheets smooth like silk and warm against his skin.
His body felt different—lighter, taller, sharper. Like it had been sculpted for elegance.
Then came the memories. They crashed into his head like a wave: names, faces, etiquette, politics. A lifetime not his own.
He wasn't Alex anymore.
He was Allen Campbell—the son of the Campbell family, a name that carried weight across the nation.
His fingers curled into the silk sheets. This has to be a dream.
But deep down, he knew it wasn't.
He'd fallen asleep to leaking pipes and city sirens. Now he woke to silence wrapped in velvet.
Allen Campbell… That name wasn't unfamiliar. He remembered it from the novel he had read before he died—The Crown of Thorns. A political, slow-burn tragedy where the protagonist, Tony, rises from obscurity and loss to become a powerful leader. But along the way, Tony's path was shaped by grief, betrayal, and one devastating misunderstanding.
Tony had believed Allen Campbell was in love with his sister, Elle.
That assumption, never confronted, turned into hatred. Tony thought Allen was a snake—charming, manipulative, and secretly coveting Elle while pretending to be a friend. But in truth, Allen and Elle had shared nothing but genuine friendship and mutual respect.
No one corrected the misunderstanding. And Tony's growing resentment led to scandal, betrayal, and Allen's ultimate ruin.
And now… Alex was Allen.
"I'm in the body of the guy who got ruined for doing absolutely nothing wrong," he muttered, rubbing his temple. "Fantastic."
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Young Master Allen," a voice called from beyond the door. "The Chairman requests your presence. Lady Sophia—your fiancée—will arrive soon."
Allen exhaled slowly. Right… the fiancée. Another mess that got neglected.
He remembered how Allen—the original Allen—had paid so little attention to his arranged engagement that it became another crack in his support system. Just like with Elle. Just like with Tony.
The name Sophia stirred something faint—an echo of poise wrapped in quiet loneliness. Maybe the old Allen had seen her as a formality. But Alex—no, Allen—knew better now. Overlooking her could cost him more than he realized.
But he wasn't that Allen.
He was Alex, reborn as Allen, and he knew the ending to this story. If he did nothing, he would fall again. Hated. Misunderstood. Alone.
Not this time. Not again.
He rose to his feet, the soft carpet cool under his bare feet, and walked to the tall mirror across the room. The face staring back was noble, refined, framed by tousled silver-blond hair. The icy blue eyes that once carried cold indifference now searched themselves for meaning.
Alex had always thought his eyes were tired. Worn. This version looked untouched by despair—but empty.
Until now.
Resolve sparked in their depths, like frost catching fire.
"If I've got a second life," Allen said under his breath, voice steady, "then I'm not going to waste it repeating someone else's tragedy."