Chapter 1

The rainy season had arrived. Heavy raindrops pelted the parched ground, the small clouds of dust they stirred vanishing as the rain intensified. Tara Thayer clutched the last of the bedding covers tightly as she hurried through the downpour toward the villa. The sudden storm had caught her unprepared, leaving her without an umbrella. She dashed outside to rescue the sheets she had left drying in the open. Now, with the bedding safely indoors, her clothes and hair were damp from the rain.

Looking out at the relentless rain, Tara exhaled slowly. She could still hardly believe what had transpired-that she had somehow crossed into another world. Just the day before, she had transmigrated into the body of the villainess-a character from a tale centered around a coddled female protagonist. Upon her arrival, the original owner of the body had already succumbed to a sudden illness in her room. In this narrative, the female lead worked as a live-in housekeeper for a renowned boy band.

Her warmth and kindness gradually healed the four members, endearing her to them. Conversely, the villainess, despite holding the same position, was known for shamelessly flirting with the band members, earning their complete disdain. Consumed by jealousy over the female lead's bond with the men, the villainess made repeated attempts to sabotage her, only succeeding in garnering more sympathy for the female lead from the men.

Ultimately, the villainess was expelled from the villa, her devious schemes exposed, leaving her despised and rejected by all. Tara contemplated leaving immediately-to distance herself from the boy band and the female lead. However, the original host's contract still had six months remaining, and she was bound to it until then. Terminating the contract prematurely incurred a hefty penalty, one that the original host had lacked the means to settle.

Reluctantly, Tara resolved to endure and fulfill the obligations of the job. She avoided the privileged boy band, minimized interactions with the female lead, and spoke only as necessary. If she exercised caution, she might just survive the next six months unscathed. The heavy rain continued to deluge the garden, the forceful wind propelling slanted sheets of water. Despite it being midday, the sky was so dark it seemed poised to unleash lightning. Footsteps approached from behind Tara.

Turning, she glimpsed a young woman in a matching uniform collecting the bedding and proceeding into the villa without acknowledging her. It was as if conversing with Tara was deemed pointless. Aware that everyone in the villa harbored animosity toward the original body's owner, Tara cast a brief, indifferent glance at the retreating figure before assessing her own damp uniform.

The black and white fabric clung semi-transparently to her fair skin, her legs appearing softly radiant in the dim light. Adjusting the wet hem of her skirt, Tara acknowledged the need to return to her quarters to change. She couldn't continue working in her current drenched state. As she took a few steps toward the first-floor wing, urgent footsteps echoed from the entrance.

Gemma Wolpert, the manager, called out sharply, "Tara, come help." Without awaiting a response, Gemma pivoted and hurried back outside, her demeanor and expression exuding urgency. Reluctantly, Tara followed, her uniform still uncomfortably moist. Outside, the downpour had abated to a drizzle. The villa's garden, vibrant and bathed in rain, appeared almost ethereal in the mist, but Tara had no time to admire the scene. A sleek van was parked at the entrance.

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Gemma flung the door open, and two assistants emerged, visibly strained as they endeavored to support a tall, inebriated man between them. Together, they struggled to maintain his unsteady, towering frame upright. Gemma grew visibly impatient at their faltering efforts. "Quit standing around. Aid us in getting Lance to his room," she commanded, motioning for Tara to assist. Reluctant to touch Lance Swain, Tara found herself with no choice but to help convey him inside.

Observing the others supporting Lance by his arms, she positioned herself behind him, uncertain of how best to contribute in that scenario. Lance scowled, his handsome features contorted with irritation as he attempted to push them away. Yet his intoxicated state caused him to sway backward. As Tara moved to steady him from behind, he stumbled, prompting her to press her hands against his lower back to prevent him from toppling onto her.

The warmth of her touch permeated the thin fabric, brushing against his sensitive waist. Lance bowed his head, emitting a subdued groan. The others, preoccupied with upholding his balance, remained oblivious to the interaction. Unsettled, Tara nudged him forward. Fortunately, they succeeded in ushering him into a second-floor chamber without incident. Gemma released her grip, wiping perspiration from her brow. They couldn't afford for Lance to sustain an injury.

How would she face the Swain family if such a mishap occurred? "Very well. Someone must stay and watch over him," Gemma instructed Tara, who was still catching her breath, silently lamenting how, despite his slender appearance, Lance was actually tall and robust. Transporting him up the stairs had been arduous. "Me?" Tara queried, taken aback. As she caught her breath, she silently complained about Lance's stature, which belied his weightiness. Ascending the stairs had left her exhausted.

The two assistants exited the room without protest. Gemma then recollected a recent comment regarding Tara potentially being "a little too forward." Gemma hesitated before advising, "You should not handle this alone. Enlist Stella to aid you." She was convinced that with two housekeepers present, there would be no room for impropriety. Tara complied without objection, texting Stella Lyttle, the female lead, to convene on the second floor.

Meanwhile, Tara needed to carve out time to change into a fresh uniform downstairs. Her present one, damp and discomforting, was diminishing her spirits. Gemma scrutinized Tara, contemplating whether to terminate her employment. Yet, observing that Tara exhibited no covert interest in Lance, she hesitated. Initially surprised by Tara's reaction when tasked with Lance's care and her prompt agreement to involve Stella, Gemma couldn't discern any disappointment on Tara's part.

Perplexed, Gemma decided to defer any action for now. The recruitment of live-in housekeepers demanded thorough scrutiny, and with one recently ousted and no immediate replacement, she couldn't afford to lose another. She resolved to revisit the matter subsequently. Shortly after, Gemma and her aides departed, leaving Tara and Lance, who was now reclining on the couch in the room. Tara's gaze drifted to Lance, his form sprawled on his back with his shirt slightly unbuttoned.

One leg rested on the couch, the other hanging off the edge. His disheveled hair, far from detracting, added to his allure, imparting a laid-back, enticing aura. For a fleeting moment, her mind went blank. Meanwhile, Lance furrowed his brow, gradually rolling over on the couch. Earlier, when the group had assisted Lance indoors, someone must have knocked into the coffee table in front of the couch. Should Lance roll off, he risked striking his head against it. Tara was seized by alarm.

She swiftly pushed the coffee table away, its legs screeching against the floor, and seized Lance just before he teetered over. Before she could marvel at her swift reflexes, Lance's hand closed around her wrist, dragging her down with him. Losing her balance, she plummeted to the floor beneath him, his weight pressing against her as the faint scent of his cologne enveloped her senses. Her vision momentarily blurred, the impact expelling the air from her lungs.

Subsequently, she felt Lance's exhalation against her neck, sending a surge of warmth over her skin. Her neck and ears tingled with sensitivity. She pushed against him, but his bulk restrained her firmly, unwavering. "Lance... Please get up. You're smothering me," she gasped. Yet, despite her efforts, he remained immobile, seemingly ensconced in an inebriated slumber.