The office lights were the only stars shining in Sylvaniah's bleak universe. Her fingers flew across the keyboard with frantic speed while the digital clock in the lower corner of her monitor mercilessly ticked past midnight.
The glowing screen registered twelve forty-seven in the morning. There was always another report demanding her attention, along with another impossible deadline hanging over her head. She glanced at the mug of cold coffee resting near her mousepad, unable to remember when she had actually brewed it.
"Just one more revision," she muttered under her breath.
She reached up to rub her aching temples in a futile attempt to soothe the pounding headache that had been following her for days. Her apartment remained dead silent, save for the rhythmic tapping of her keyboard against the desk.
Her phone buzzed against the hard laminate surface, interrupting her concentration. The screen illuminated with a familiar label: Mom Calling...
Sylvaniah stared at the blinking words for a long moment before quietly pressing the decline button.
I'll call tomorrow, she thought, leaning back into her chair.
She whispered those exact words to herself every single week without fail. At twenty-eight years old, her life had devolved into an endless cycle of mandatory overtime, cheap instant noodles, and sleepless nights. Every corporate promotion brought more suffocating work rather than any genuine happiness.
Without warning, her vision began to blur into a soft smear of colors. The words typed across her monitor doubled and shifted out of focus before her eyes.
She blinked hard, expecting the fatigue to clear, but the entire room began to spin out of control. A sharp, agonizing pain pierced through the center of her chest, stealing the air right out of her lungs.
"No," she gasped, her voice barely a whisper.
Her hand jolted sideways, causing the forgotten coffee mug to slip from her trembling fingers. It hit the floor with a loud shatter, splashing dark liquid across the tiles.
Her breathing turned shallow and erratic as a strange numbness spread through her limbs. A chilling frost seemed to creep through her veins, making everything feel unbearably cold.
The last thing her fading vision registered was the unfinished report still glowing brightly on the monitor. Darkness swallowed her completely, pulling her down into an absolute, soundless void.
"Miss Dreraye?"
"Miss Dreraye!"
A sharp, booming voice jolted her back into consciousness with a sudden shock.
Sylvaniah sat upright in a panic, her lungs expanding as she took in a ragged breath.
"Where am I?" she blurted out, her voice echoing strangely.
Her surroundings were entirely unfamiliar and overwhelming. Bright vanity lights lined a massive, crystal-clear mirror directly in front of her. Expensive cosmetics and crystal perfume bottles cluttered the sleek dressing table, while rows of elegant designer dresses hung neatly inside an expansive wardrobe.
This glamorous room was definitely not her cramped, mess-filled apartment.
A young woman wearing a slim headset was standing nearby, staring down at her with a mixture of anxiety and impatience.
"Sylvaniah, are you alright?" the assistant asked, resting a hand on her hip. "You've been sitting there staring into space for almost ten minutes."
"I..." Sylvaniah stammered, unable to form a coherent response.
Before she could offer a real answer, a flood of memories crashed into her mind. Countless unfamiliar scenes, emotions, and voices flashed behind her eyes in rapid succession, forcing her to grasp the edge of the vanity table.
The memories belonged to a woman named Sylvaniah Dreraye, who was twenty-four years old. She was a notorious C-list actress, widely recognized across the entire country for playing cruel, scheming villainesses on television.
Her public reputation was an absolute disaster. People mocked her terrible acting skills, endless social media scandals, and the millions of anti-fans who actively campaigned against her online.
I transmigrated? she thought, her mind reeling from the absurdity of the realization.
She instinctively lifted her hands to touch her face before leaning closely toward the illuminated mirror. The reflection staring back at her was striking, featuring long chestnut hair framing delicate, high-born facial features and a pair of wide hazel eyes that looked utterly bewildered.
She was undeniably beautiful. Yet, beneath that stunning exterior lay a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. Faint dark circles lingered beneath her hazel eyes, suggesting that this body's original owner had also forgotten how to properly rest.
The assistant let out a heavy sigh of relief and tapped her headset.
"You really scared me for a second," the assistant said, turning toward the door. "The director is waiting outside on set."
"I'll be there soon," Sylvaniah managed to reply, forcing her voice to sound steady.
The assistant gave a quick nod and slipped out of the dressing room, leaving her in complete solitude.
The moment the door clicked shut, Sylvaniah grabbed the smartphone resting beside the makeup brushes. She needed to understand the rules and reality of this strange new existence as fast as possible.
Her fingers tapped the screen to open a web browser, instantly typing in the actress's full name. Within seconds, tens of thousands of articles and gossip columns flooded her screen.
Headline after headline painted a ruthless picture:
[#Nation's Favorite Villainess]
[#SylvaniahDrerayeScandal]
[#WorstActressAward.]
"Ouch," Sylvaniah murmured, wincing at the sheer amount of vitriol.
She scrolled silently through the search results, noticing that every single article seemed worse than the one before it. However, one specific trending tag near the top caught her attention.
[#WhoIsSylvaniahHusband]
She blinked, her eyes widening as she read the words again.
"Husband?" she asked the empty room.
As if triggered by the word, another layer of buried memories surfaced within her mind. The original Sylvaniah had secretly gotten married two years ago.
It was not a romance built on love or affection, nor was it ever revealed to the public. People only knew through leaked rumors that she had signed an official marriage certificate with someone.
No reporter or fan had ever managed to capture a single photo of the groom. The internet had long since turned this hidden mystery into a giant, ongoing joke at her expense.
Curious, she opened the active comment section under the trending topic to read what people were saying.
[LOL. Her husband has to be seventy.]
[Imagine hiding your husband because he's ugly.]
[He's definitely living off her paycheck.]
[Maybe he's unemployed and leeching off her acting salary,] another user wrote.
A third comment added, [He is definitely ugly. Otherwise, why would she keep him hidden from the camera?]
[Poor guy,] a fourth netizen chimed in. [Imagine waking up every day and realizing you're married to Sylvaniah Dreraye.]
Reading the absolute absurdity of the speculations, Sylvaniah couldn't help but let out a soft laugh.
"So... I'm actually married," she whispered to herself.
She looked down at her left hand, tracing the smooth texture of the simple platinum wedding band resting snugly on her ring finger.
When she tried to dig deeper into her mind, the memories regarding her legal spouse were surprisingly vague and fragmented. His name was Stephen.
He was a man who was always busy, always traveling for business, and rarely ever returned to their shared residence. The two of them barely exchanged a dozen sentences a year, functioning as husband and wife strictly on paper.
What kind of marriage is this supposed to be? she thought, shaking her head in mild amusement.
Before she could dwell on her absent husband any longer, her phone rang loudly in her hand, vibrating against her palm.
The caller ID displayed a formal contact name: Star Horizon Productions.
She hesitated for a split second before swiping the screen to accept the incoming call.
"Hello?" she answered cautiously.
A cheerful, overly enthusiastic voice burst through the phone's speaker immediately.
"Miss Dreraye, congratulations!" the producer announced loudly. "Our production team has unanimously selected you to join this upcoming season of Back to the Countryside, the nation's number one farming reality show! Please prepare to bring one of your close family members with you for the shoot. Official filming begins in three days."
Without waiting for her to accept or decline the offer, the producer abruptly ended the call, leaving only a sharp dial tone behind.
Sylvaniah lowered the phone and stared blankly at the dark screen for a few moments, processing the rapid turn of events.
"A farming reality show?" she asked softly, letting the concept settle in her mind.
A small, genuine smile slowly bloomed across her lips as she looked back at her reflection in the mirror. Leaving the chaotic city to pull weeds, tend to crops, and live a quiet rural life sounded like an absolute dream compared to dying at a desk.
Perhaps this strange, unexpected transmigration wasn't a punishment after all. It felt like a fresh start, offering her a real second chance to finally live life on her own terms.