The phone slipped from her fingers.
It hit the ground with a dull crack, but she barely heard it. The words on the other end of the call echoed far louder in her head—heavy, cruel, and impossible to accept.
Your mother has passed away.
Her legs felt weak. The world tilted, lights blurring into long streaks as she stumbled backward. She didn't notice the sound of a car horn. Didn't notice the sudden flash of headlights rushing toward her.
Pain never came.
Only darkness.
When she opened her eyes again, the first thing she noticed was how quiet everything was.
No sirens. No shouting. No crowd.
Instead, there was the gentle hum of an engine and the rhythmic movement of a car gliding smoothly over the road. She blinked, disoriented, staring down at her hands. They were smaller than she remembered, pale and neatly folded in her lap. She was wearing a plain black-and-white uniform—simple, modest, unfamiliar.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"This isn't… this isn't right."
She turned her head toward the window. Tall iron gates rose ahead, intricate and imposing, guarding an estate so massive it looked more like a palace than a home. Stone walls stretched endlessly on both sides, and beyond them stood a mansion that radiated quiet authority. A name surfaced in her mind, uninvited yet certain. The Black family mansion. Before panic could fully take hold, a cold, mechanical voice echoed inside her head.
[Rewrite fate System successfully bound to new host.]
She froze. Her breath caught halfway through her lungs. "No. No way," she whispered under her breath. "This kind of thing only happens in novels." But the voice didn't disappear.
[Host consciousness stabilized.]
Her fingers trembled. Memories that weren't hers hovered at the edges of her mind—fragments of a life she had never lived. A teenage girl. Eighteen years old. On her way to apply for a job. A maid. Reality slammed into her all at once. "I… transmigrated?" she thought. The word barely finished forming when another thought struck her, sharp and terrifying. Wait. In stories like this… someone always hears the protagonist's thoughts. Her pulse skyrocketed. What if the boss can hear me?Panic surged. Without hesitation, she focused on the system. System, check for bugs. Is there any possibility that someone can hear my thoughts? For the first time, the system hesitated.
[…]
[Initiating comprehensive diagnostic scan.]
The silence that followed felt endless. Her chest tightened with every passing second.
Then—
[Warning.]
[Critical system glitch detected.]
Her blood ran cold.
[Thought-perception link confirmed.]
[Affected parties: Black family members…]
[…and the biological family of the original body.]
Her vision darkened at the edges. "You mean," she thought slowly, dread creeping into every word, "they can all hear me?"
[Affirmative.]
Not just her future employers. But them. The people the owner had been looking for. As if sensing her distress, the system spoke again.
[Compensation granted.]
[Unlocking original host's complete memories.]
Pain exploded behind her eyes. She saw a little girl standing in a grand living room, her small hands clenched tightly at her sides.
Her name was Clair Winter.
She had once been special—so special that a powerful family had adopted her, showering her with attention and praise The Morgan family. Clair could see the future. Not fragments. Not dreams. The future itself. But at three years old, overwhelmed and afraid, she told them she had lost her powers. Everything changed. The warmth vanished. Smiles turned cold. Praise became silence, then mockery. She was no longer a miracle—she was a disappointment. Years of neglect followed. Bullying, Cruel words hidden behind polite smiles. A family that only loved her for what she could give. By eighteen, Clair had finally chosen herself. She cut ties. But freedom demanded a price.
500,000.
Money she didn't have.
That was when the opportunity appeared—the Black family, offering 200,000 for a maid's position. Suspicious. Dangerous. Necessary. The memories faded, leaving her breathless. "So that's it…" she murmured. She wasn't Chloe anymore. She was Clair Winter. As the car slowed to a stop before the towering mansion gates, she straightened her posture, forcing her racing heart to calm. The original owner wasn't foolish. She had endured, planned, and waited. And Chloe—now Clair—would finish what she started. This time, no one would use her. Not her family. Not the system. And certainly not the Black family. The car door opened. And her new life began.
Wait system can't I have my own personal thoughts separated from the ones everyone can hear?
[Wish granted, host all you have to say is off, then they will not be able to hear your thoughts anymore]
[But remember host say it don't think it]