WITH TIME

Dorothy's eyes fluttered open in a daze, her vision instantly colliding with a stern face. Sharp eyebrows, piercing eyes, a high-bridged nose, and lips pressed into a tight line. He wore what looked like a military uniform from the '70s or '80s, his expression cold and laced with suppressed anger.

Struggling to sit up, Dorothy's voice was hoarse. "Who are you? Let me go!"

The man in uniform loomed over her, his gaze chilling.

"Dorothy! What madness have you concocted this time?" His deep voice carried an unmistakable edge of fury.

She flinched, momentarily stunned. Just a second ago, she had bumped her nose against his rib, sending stars bursting in her vision. Now, hearing him say her name so familiarly, she grew even more bewildered.

Did this man... know her?

"Nicholas, let's deal with that later. Get her to the medical room first-she hurt her leg just now."

The voice belonged to a bald man standing beside the uniformed figure, his tone more relaxed.

Dorothy forced herself to take in her surroundings. A high wall towered in the distance, and beyond it, a large cage-like structure. A red sign hung prominently: "Revolutionary Army, the Loyal Guards of the People." Inside the enclosure stood rows of cylindrical buildings, soldiers in green uniforms patrolling in precise formations. Further back, military-green trucks were parked in neat rows.

Her breath caught as she looked down at herself. Gone was the tailored suit she had meticulously chosen for the seminar. In its place was a yellow dress, worn and patched at the hem-something she would never have owned. Even her hands looked different, softer, lacking the calluses from years of handling surgical tools.

Panic clawed at her chest.

Nicholas.

She swallowed hard, her voice unsteady. "Is... is your last name Parker?"

The man let out a mirthless laugh. "What, playing the amnesia card this time?"

His lack of denial was answer enough.

Dorothy's world tilted.

The high walls. The old-fashioned uniforms. The cage. The name Nicholas Parker.

A body that wasn't hers.

No. No, no, no.

Memories flooded in like a dam breaking. Before the plane crash, she had been reading a book-Endearing Love. And now... everything around her matched that book's setting.

She had transmigrated.

Her stomach dropped as she recalled the novel's plot.

Nicholas Parker, the book's male lead, was a second-generation military and political elite. Righteous. Stable. Loyal. A perfect gentleman. But his life had one stain-his ex-wife.

Dorothy.

A shudder ran through her.

The Dorothy in the book was the most despised character, a spoiled and malicious woman who had blackmailed her family into marrying Nicholas just to avoid being sent to the countryside. She had thought herself set for life-until she discovered Nicholas had adopted his late friend's son. A fresh high school graduate, suddenly a stepmother.

Nicholas, frequently away on duty, had treated her with nothing but indifference. Frustrated and resentful, Dorothy had taken her anger out on the boy, growing increasingly unstable.

Then, she made a fatal mistake.

Desperate to force Nicholas into retirement, she had conspired with foreign spies to sell military secrets. When the plan unraveled, she was arrested and executed for treason. Nicholas, dishonored and injured in the ensuing battle, lost his legs in an explosion. He spent the rest of his life in a wheelchair, haunted by nightmares of his ex-wife's twisted smile-until the novel's heroine, Agatha, healed his wounds with love.

Dorothy squeezed her eyes shut.

Please, let this be a dream. Let me wake up in my world, where I have a house, a car, and a career. Where I'm a renowned dentist, about to deliver a groundbreaking patent speech. Where I'm not some villain doomed to die.

But when she opened her eyes, she was still here.

Nicholas was still here.

And his gaze was still filled with loathing.

He crouched down, scanning her injuries. The moment his eyes landed on her exposed skin, he tensed.

In the book, Dorothy had traveled deep into the mountains to find Nicholas's superior, intending to sabotage his work. But she had gotten lost, panicked at the sounds of wild animals, and in her blind fear, she had stumbled into the base's electric fence.

And died.

Dorothy's breath hitched. That's how I ended up here.

The realization was jarring.

Her dress was tattered, the fabric ripped in places. The moment Nicholas noticed, he jerked back as if burned, disgust twisting his features.

Without warning, he grabbed his military coat and threw it at her. "Put this on."

Dorothy blinked. Then, realizing just how much skin she was showing, she quickly covered herself. The coat was heavy and smelled faintly of soap-clean, but impersonal.

Nicholas watched her with barely concealed frustration. To him, this was just another one of her schemes. Another desperate ploy to force him home, to destroy him.

His patience had run out.

"Get up," he ordered. "Follow me."

Dorothy tried, but the moment she put pressure on her left leg, pain shot up her spine. She whimpered. "I can't stand."

The young soldier next to Nicholas sighed. "You're gonna have to carry your wife."

Nicholas's jaw tightened. For a long moment, he didn't move. Then, with an expression as if he had been handed a death sentence, he crouched in front of her. His back was broad and straight, as unyielding as a soldier standing at attention.

"Get on."

Dorothy hesitated. "You're serious?"

Nicholas's voice was clipped. "Hmm."

Not waiting for him to change his mind, she scrambled onto his back, wrapping her arms around his neck. The warmth of his body was startling, his scent overwhelming-a mix of sweat, soap, and something distinctly masculine.

But she had bigger concerns.

"My surgical kit-it's on the ground!" she pointed urgently.

Nicholas didn't even glance back. "I know."

Dorothy exhaled in relief, finally letting herself rest against him.

Nicholas, however, remained rigid. The feel of her breath against his neck, the warmth of her body pressed to his back-it unsettled him in ways he didn't want to admit.

His muscles tensed, his jaw locked.

This woman...

No matter what she was planning this time, it wouldn't work.

Nicholas picked up the silver iron box, testing its weight in his hand. It was heavier than he expected, but he didn't bother asking Dorothy what was inside. Without another word, he carried the box and walked ahead, expecting her to follow.

Dorothy stole a glance at him. His sharp features were set in a disciplined, unreadable expression. Sweat traced down his temple, highlighting the strong cut of his jaw. His Adam's apple moved slightly as he swallowed. With the crisp lines of his military uniform and that ever-present air of restraint, he exuded an odd, magnetic appeal.

Despite the grueling hike spanning several kilometers and the additional weight he carried, his pace remained swift and steady-a true soldier.

Neither of them spoke. Nicholas had no interest in conversation, and Dorothy feared revealing too much if she asked the wrong questions. But Caleb-the chatty young soldier with the buzz cut-had no such reservations.

Through his constant chatter, Dorothy learned that Caleb was one of Nicholas's comrades, a free-spirited man with a surprising artistic streak. He had a reputation for being popular with the ladies.

Eventually, Caleb had to part ways with them. Before leaving, he shot Nicholas a knowing look. "Make sure to take her to the medical room."

Nicholas responded with his usual curt nod.

They finally arrived at the military compound. The low-rise buildings and rows of old-fashioned watchtowers carried a distinct vintage atmosphere. Soldiers in army-green uniforms moved about, their boots crunching against the dirt paths. The walls bore signs of age, and red banners displaying revolutionary slogans fluttered in the breeze.

A group of soldiers stopped and saluted as Nicholas passed.

"Deputy Commander Parker!" they greeted in unison.

Nicholas barely acknowledged them with a nod.

Dorothy, still perched on his back, drew curious stares. The presence of a woman-especially one as striking as her-was clearly an unusual sight here.

A middle-aged man with a commanding presence approached them. Dorothy instinctively noted the multiple red stars on his rank insignia.

Nicholas halted, standing at full attention. "Sir! Commander Charles, this is my wife, Dorothy. She came to visit me at the base today."

The commander's sharp eyes flickered between them. His voice was stern. "Did you report this in advance?"

Nicholas hesitated briefly before lowering his gaze. "No, sir."

Charles's expression darkened. "This is a military zone, not a place for personal visits. You've acted recklessly, Comrade Nicholas."

"I take full responsibility, sir," Nicholas said, his voice steady.

Charles crossed his arms. "Write a self-reflection report and run ten laps around the training field as punishment."

"Yes, Commander," Nicholas responded without hesitation.

Dorothy quickly spoke up. "Commander, I'm terribly sorry. I twisted my ankle on the way here, and Nicholas had to carry me. Please don't be too harsh on him... My husband and I-" she blinked dramatically, "we've been apart for so long, and I just missed him too much."

The older man huffed in mild amusement before shaking his head. "Alright, take your wife to the infirmary first. Get her checked out. After that, have a meal and send her home. Don't let this interfere with afternoon training."

Nicholas saluted. "Yes, sir."

Dorothy felt a small sense of relief. The commander seemed fair and reasonable. What she didn't realize was that his leniency had nothing to do with kindness-it was respect for Nicholas's powerful family background. An ordinary soldier who smuggled a woman into a restricted zone wouldn't get off so easily.

Once the commander left, Nicholas turned to her. "How's your leg?"

Dorothy blinked. "Still hurts."

Without another word, Nicholas resumed carrying her.

They reached the infirmary, a simple room with a bed and a medicine cabinet. Nicholas carefully set her down. Lifting the curtain, he called out, "Doctor? Doctor Reuben?"

Silence.

A soldier peeked his head through the door. "Captain Parker, Doctor Reuben is on emergency leave. Won't be back until next month."

Nicholas stood still for a moment before turning to the cabinet. He grabbed a bottle of disinfectant, some gauze, and cotton swabs. Without asking, he knelt by the bed and reached for Dorothy's foot.

She stiffened. "I can do it myself."

He ignored her.

His fingers worked efficiently, untying her shoes and peeling off her socks. His gaze flickered over the bruises blooming on her fair skin, darkening slightly.

Dorothy inhaled sharply as he dabbed the disinfectant onto the wound. "Ow! Be gentle!"