

"If she can't reclaim love within a week… what will become of her?” In a world obsessed with appearances, a fantasy romance thriller unfolds—one that shakes love to its core. After seven years together, she is abandoned by her boyfriend for one cruel reason: she isn’t pretty enough. Consumed by betrayal and rage, she reaches the depths of despair—only to find herself standing in a plastic surgery clinic. That’s when Lucifer appears before her, whispering a tempting offer. “Would you like to be reborn with a new face?” But there’s a catch. If she fails to win back love within seven days, she will be condemned to live forever with a grotesque face. Bound by a devil’s contract, Jung-yun is granted breathtaking beauty. Yet what begins as a simple desire for revenge soon forces her to confront the deepest parts of herself. Between what is seen and unseen, love begins to bloom. What is love? Who am I, really? A chain of endless questions leads into a complex and delicate psychological thriller—where love and revenge collide, both inside and out.

Anne Cooke is about to get married when she discovers her fiance has been cheating. With her mother gravely ill and five years of love too heavy to just drop, she swallows it, until the sleeplessness becomes unbearable and she wanders into a traditional medicine clinic. There she meets James Young,and something shifts. On impulse she propositions him. Just one night. What she doesn't know is that James already knows exactly who she is, and has quietly decided to help her find her way back to herself. Through carefully prescribed remedies and steadier conversations, he walks beside her as she slowly remembers she has a spine. On her wedding day, she exposes her fiance in front of everyone and walks away with her head up. By then the feelings between Anne and James have long stopped being subtle, and the revelation that he comes from money and that his mother once knew hers feels less like a plot twist and more like something that was always going to happen. He proposes in the same clinic where they first met.

On our seventh wedding anniversary, I was straddling my Mafia husband, Lucian, kissing him deeply. My fingers fumbled in the pocket of my expensive silk dress, searching for the pregnancy test I'd hidden there. I wanted to save the news of my unexpected pregnancy for the end of the evening. Lucian's right-hand man, Marco, asked with a suggestive smile in Italian: "Don, your new little canary, Sophia. How does she taste?" Lucian's mocking laughter vibrated through my chest, sending a chill down my spine. He replied, also in Italian: "Like an unripe peach. Fresh and tender." His hand was still caressing my waist, but his gaze was distant. "Just keep this between us. If my Donna finds out, I'm a dead man." His men chuckled knowingly, raising their glasses and swearing their silence. The warmth in my blood turned to ice, inch by inch. The one thing they didn’t know was that my grandmother was from Sicily, so I understood every word. I forced myself to remain calm, keeping the perfect smile of a Donna fixed in place, but the hand holding my champagne flute trembled. Instead of making a scene, I opened my phone, found the invitation I had received a few days ago for a private international medical research project, and tapped "Accept." In three days, I would disappear from Lucian's world completely.