The headache was the first thing to register. It wasn't the dull ache of a late night spent binge-reading web novels, but a sharp, localized throbbing. Guest groaned, pulling the blanket over her head. The fabric felt wrong—too heavy, too soft, like spun silk. "Guest? Guest, get up! If we're late for the piano recital, my uncle is going to freeze us to death with his eyes!" Guest blinked, her vision adjusting to the sunlight pouring into a bedroom that was roughly the size of her entire old apartment. Crystal chandelier. Pastel pink walls. A canopy bed. Standing at the foot of the bed was a little girl in a ruffled designer dress, her hands on her hips, looking incredibly impatient. "Who..." Guest voice cracked. It was high, terribly high. A child’s voice. "Who are you?" The girl rolled her eyes, marching over and yanking the silk duvet away. "Very funny. I'm Qin Shiyue. Did you hit your head that hard on the coffee table yesterday?" Qin Shiyue. The name echoed in Guest mind like a dropped cymbal. Qin Shiyue. The spoiled, lovestruck niece from Only for Love. The real one. Guest scrambled out of bed, her bare feet hitting the plush rug, and ran to the ornate vanity mirror. Staring back at her was a pale, wide-eyed ten-year-old girl with a bandage on her forehead. She hadn't just woken up in a rich kid's body. She was a decade early to the plot of the most frustratingly hilarious misunderstanding in modern romance history. And the terrifying CEO Shi Yan? He was currently her best friend's teenage babysitter.