Chapter Text
Sophie Baek was tired.
Not ordinary tired.
Not "I need a nap" tired.
She was the sort of tired that came from spending years trapped in an endless cycle of work, overtime, deadlines, and managers who believed every problem could be solved by assigning it to someone else.
Usually that someone was Sophie.
At twenty-six, she worked for a large corporation in Seoul. The salary was respectable. The benefits were decent.
The workload was inhumane.
Most mornings began before sunrise.
Most evenings ended after dark.
Sometimes she wondered whether she lived in her apartment or merely visited it between shifts.
Her coworkers coped in different ways.
Some drank.
Some traveled.
Some dated.
Sophie read romance novels.
Specifically, the Bridgerton books.
The Bridgertons were her escape.
Whenever life became unbearable, she disappeared into Regency England and spent a few precious hours with Anthony's stubbornness, Daphne's kindness, Colin's charm, Hyacinth's chaos, and Gregory's endless enthusiasm.
Anthony Bridgerton remained her favorite.
Always.
The Viscount was a walking collection of anxiety and responsibility.
Sophie adored him.
Gregory was a close second.
The boy was adorable.
Absolutely adorable.
She would defend Gregory against anyone.
Including Gregory himself.
The only Bridgerton she never quite understood was Benedict.
Perhaps it was unfair.
She knew it was probably unfair.
But every time Benedict appeared in the previous books, he seemed charming, attractive, artistic, and entirely too comfortable flirting with everyone around him.
Anthony carried the family.
Benedict smiled at people.
At least that was Sophie's completely unbiased opinion.
On a rainy Tuesday afternoon, after surviving yet another twelve-hour workday, Sophie found herself walking home while staring at her phone.
An article had appeared online barely an hour earlier.
She had already opened it fifteen times.
The headline made her heart race.
Upcoming Release: Offer of the Gentleman
Benedict Bridgerton's story.
Finally.
"About time," Sophie muttered.
A passing pedestrian glanced at her.
Sophie ignored them.
This was important.
The article described a Cinderella-inspired romance involving a mysterious young woman named Sophie Beckett.
A bastard daughter.
A cruel stepmother.
A hidden heiress.
A servant.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
The heroine's name caught Sophie's attention immediately.
Sophie.
The same name.
A strange coincidence.
The article continued describing the romance.
A masquerade ball.
A lost love.
A fairy-tale ending.
Everything sounded promising.
Still.
Anthony remained superior.
Sophie was mentally preparing a very reasonable argument defending that position when the pedestrian light changed.
People began crossing.
She followed automatically.
Her attention remained fixed on her phone.
The article mentioned Sophie Beckett again.
The heroine.
The woman Benedict would eventually fall in love with.
A blonde-haired Englishwoman with green eyes.
Kind.
Gentle.
Patient.
Everything Sophie Baek was not.
Sophie laughed softly.
Then someone screamed.
A horn blared.
Tires shrieked.
The world lurched.
Sophie looked up.
Directly into the headlights of an approaching truck.
For a split second, time slowed.
The truck.
The rain.
The screams.
Her phone slipping from her hand.
"Oh."
A pause.
"That's bad."
It was.
Very bad.
Truck-kun agreed.
The universe agreed.
And then everything disappeared.
Darkness.
Silence.
Nothing.
Then voices.
Distant at first.
Muffled.
Arguing.
"...you know what Lady Araminta will say!"
"We cannot simply leave her!"
"Posy!"
Another voice answered.
Gentle.
Soft.
"I'm only trying to help."
Sophie frowned.
She didn't recognize any of them.
Which seemed strange.
Dead people probably shouldn't hear arguments.
Then pain exploded behind her eyes.
Her eyelids fluttered open.
Everything hurt.
The room spun.
A pounding headache settled behind her temples.
The ceiling above her was unfamiliar.
So was the wallpaper.
So was the furniture.
Candles illuminated the room.
Actual candles.
Not decorative ones.
Real ones.
The sort people used before electricity.
Panic arrived immediately.
Slowly, Sophie sat upright.
The headache doubled.
"Ow."
She looked around.
Every detail felt wrong.
The room looked old. Not old-fashioned. Old.
As though she'd stepped into a historical drama.
Then she saw the mirror.
A small mirror hung beside the wardrobe.
Something about it made her nervous.
Her pulse quickened.
Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet.
The room swayed around her.
Her head pounded.
Every instinct screamed at her not to look.
Yet she found herself moving toward it anyway.
One hesitant step.
Then another.
Then another.
Until she stood before the glass.
And looked.
The world stopped.
The face staring back wasn't hers.
The girl reflected in the mirror was beautiful.
Young.
Delicate.
Golden hair framed an elegant face.
Bright green eyes stared back at her.
The sort of beauty found in fairy tales.
The sort of beauty found in novels.
The sort of beauty Sophie had never possessed.
Her breath caught.
"No."
The reflection whispered the same word.
"No."
Her heart began hammering against her ribs.
Because she knew this face.
Impossible.
Absolutely impossible.
Yet she knew it.
She had been reading about her only moments before the truck hit.
The blonde-haired heroine.
The Cinderella girl.
The bastard daughter.
The image of the woman promoting the book Offer of the Gentleman.
The woman Benedict Bridgerton was supposed to fall in love with.
Sophie Beckett.
The original Sophie.
The real Sophie.
The heroine.
"No..."
Then something changed.
At first Sophie thought her vision was blurring.
Perhaps she was about to faint.
Perhaps she had suffered a concussion.
Perhaps death had finally decided to finish the job.
But the image in the mirror continued to shift.
Slowly.
Gradually.
The blonde hair darkened.
Golden strands becoming black.
Green eyes deepening into warm brown.
The delicate English features softened.
Changed.
Reshaped.
Until the face staring back at her was no longer Sophie Beckett.
It was her.
Sophie Baek.
Her face.
Her eyes.
Her hair.
The face she had seen every day for twenty-six years.
The face that belonged in Seoul.
Then it changes again.
From matures features, from the face of a twenty-six years old.
Her face morphs into a softer, younger face. Someone younger then 18, younger than even 13.
The woman- no, girl looking back at her from the mirror is her Korean self - Sophie Baek at 10 or 12.
Asian. Korean.
A small scream escaping her lips.
"No."
She rushed forward again.
The reflection remained.
Dark hair.
Dark eyes.
Korean features.
Her.
Entirely her but younger.
Yet when she looked down—
Her clothes weren't hers. The shoes weren't hers.
The place wasn't hers.
But the face in the mirror belonged to her- Sophie Baek.
Two people occupying the same space.
The same life.
The same identity.
Then the memories arrived.
Not one memory.
Thousands.
They slammed into her mind without warning.
A little girl running through a garden.
A man lifting her into his arms.
His warm laughter.
His gentle smile.
Richard Gun.
Father.
The realization struck instantly.
Not Sophie's father.
Her father.
The little girl loved him.
The woman she had become loved him.
And somehow Sophie loved him too.
Then came grief.
The memory of his death.
The funeral.
The loneliness afterward.
Araminta's cold eyes.
Her colder voice.
Cruel words.
Cruel punishments.
Cruel commands.
Again and again.
Over and over.
As though she intended to erase a person through repetition.
"You are not Sophie Gun."
"You are Sophie Baek."
"You have no right to his name."
"You have no right to this family."
"You are Sophie Baek."
"You are Sophie Baek."
"You are Sophie Baek."
The memories became overwhelming.
Sophie grabbed the dresser to keep from collapsing.
Because suddenly she understood.
The original heroine no longer existed.
Sophie Beckett was gone.
Not dead.
Not erased.
Changed.
Transformed.
The moment a Korean office worker died beneath the wheels of a truck, something in this world had shifted.
Sophie Beckett.
Benedict Bridgerton's heroine.
The blonde English girl with green eyes.
Had become Sophie Baek.
Richard Gun's illegitimate daughter.
A girl forced to abandon her father's surname.
A girl carrying memories from another world.
A girl who remembered modern Korea.
And Regency England.
At the same time.
The irony was almost offensive.
In one life she had been Sophie Baek.
A Korean woman.
Dark hair.
Dark eyes.
Overworked.
Exhausted.
Then she died.
Only to wake up inside Sophie Beckett's body.
And somehow turn Sophie Beckett into Sophie Baek.
Not merely in memory.
Not merely in spirit.
But in identity.
As though the world itself had rewritten the heroine.
As though fate had taken one Sophie and replaced her with another.
Sophie stared at her reflection.
Her reflection stared back.
Not Sophie Beckett.
Not entirely.
Not Sophie Gun.
Not entirely.
Not even Sophie Baek.
Not entirely.
She was all three.
And none of them.
A Korean woman.
An English heroine.
An illegitimate daughter.
A servant. A reader. A survivor.
A stranger in her own skin.
For the first time since waking up, genuine fear settled inside her chest.
Because she wasn't in Korea.
She wasn't in 2026.
And she wasn't even certain who she was anymore.
Was she Sophie Baek?
The office worker?
Was she Sophie Beckett?
The heroine Benedict was meant to love?
Was she Sophie Gun?
Richard Gun's forgotten daughter?
The answer came from somewhere deep inside her.
Quiet.
Uncertain.
Painfully honest.
Yes.
All of them.
Unfortunately.
All at once.
Silence filled the room.
Then Sophie did the only reasonable thing available.
She screamed.
Very loudly.
Somewhere downstairs, a servant dropped a tray.
Someone else screamed in response.
A maid crossed herself.
And Sophie Baek.
Or Sophie Beckett.
Or Sophie Gun.
Whichever she currently was.
Realized she had one very important problem.
She knew Anthony's story.
She knew Daphne's story.
She knew Colin's story.
She knew Penelope Featherington was Lady Whistledown.
She knew Gregory Bridgerton was adorable.
She knew entirely too much about the Bridgertons.
Except for one thing.
One very important thing.
She had never actually read Benedict Bridgerton's book.
And unfortunately.
She appeared to be the heroine.