Annabelle's eyes fluttered open, and an ominous presence loomed over her. Panic hit instantly. Her heart pounded as her groggy mind jumped to the worst possible conclusion—the New York serial killer. He had finally broken into her room. He was standing over her, waiting to strike.
But… wait.
Something wasn't right.
Her dim, cramped apartment was gone. In its place was a room so luxurious it looked like something straight out of a palace.
Gold-trimmed walls stretched high above her, and an enormous chandelier—so dazzling it could probably blind someone—hung from the ceiling. Was that actual diamond?!
Her eyes darted toward the presence she had felt earlier, and what she saw made her breath hitch.
A woman.
Not just any woman—a goddess.
Soft pink hair cascaded over her shoulders, glowing under the warm light, and her bright green eyes shimmered with warmth as she smiled down at Annabelle. Annabelle gulped.
Who… was this?
She tried to speak. "P-please, ma'am, where am I?" Except—what came out of her mouth was an embarrassing mix of gurgles and whimpers. Her breath caught in her throat. That wasn't normal. She tried to move, only to realize she couldn't. Her arms and legs felt tiny and weak. A horrible realization settled in as she finally took in her surroundings—she was lying in a crib. Not just any crib, though. A crib made entirely of glistening gems, floating in the air. Her stomach dropped.
Oh. Oh no.
She had transmigrated.
A tidal wave of emotions crashed over her. As an avid novel reader, she had devoured thousands of books about transmigration, reincarnation, and second chances. But never—not even in her wildest, most caffeine-fueled book binges—had she expected to be in one herself. And yet, here she was. A baby. Then it hit her. She had died. Memories of her past life flooded in.
A headache. A book. Her tiny, miserable bed. Then—nothing.
She died from a migraine in her sleep?! No betrayal. No tragic accident. Not even truck-kun?! What kind of pathetic death was that?!
Before she could fully spiral into despair, a gentle voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
"Jake, isn't she beautiful? She looks so much like you," the pink-haired woman—her supposed mother—cooed, gently rocking Annabelle in her arms.
Annabelle, still struggling with her existential crisis, barely processed the words.
Like him? That seemed unlikely.
Her gaze shifted toward the man standing beside the woman. Messy, dirty-brown hair. Sharp gray eyes. A rugged yet kind face. He exuded strength but had a certain softness as he reached out and pinched Annabelle's tiny cheek.
"She's beautiful," he agreed, eyes filled with warmth. "But like you, Paula." He chuckled. "What do you want to name our little princess?"
The woman's smile brightened. "Annabelle… Annabelle Dorne. Don't you think it's perfect?"
Annabelle's tiny body stiffened. Annabelle?!
Couldn't they at least give her a fresh start with a new name?! But 'Dorne'… that was unfamiliar. Had she read a novel with that surname before? What kind of world had she landed in?
Romance? Tragedy? Fantasy? Or, worse—one of those worlds where the protagonist is hunted down by a tyrannical emperor?!
Wait. Would there be a Grand Duke with cold red eyes and black hair?
She tensed. Was she the female lead… or the villainess?
Before she could unravel the mystery, Paula turned toward the door.
"Boys, come meet your sister!"
Loud footsteps echoed in the hall. Wait. Boys? Siblings?!
In an instant, three figures burst into the room, each with different shades of brown hair and striking gray eyes like their father.
"She has pink hair, just like you, Mother!" one of them exclaimed excitedly, peering down at her with wide, curious eyes.
Annabelle blinked. Pink hair?
Paula turned toward a large mirror, shifting Annabelle slightly so she could see herself.
And there it was. Soft pink hair, just like her mother's. Annabelle groaned internally.
So, she wasn't just reborn—she was reborn as a little pink-haired princess with three older brothers.
Too much information. She needed a nap.
Being a baby sucked.