After I Transmigrated, My Dog Became Someone Else's Lackey

I transmigrated into a historical romance novel as the vicious supporting woman, the kind who'll be sentenced to death in three years.

And my corgi is missing.

I've decided to turn over a new leaf. I'll find my dog, then figure out how to get back to reality.

But now the dog is in the arms of a scheming strategist, wagging its tail and pretending not to know me.

He says, “Your dog is with me. So you... should stay too.”