I pace around my room, the weight of reality crashing down on me like an avalanche. I can't believe I'm stuck as Irina Helgrave, a character I never wanted to be. It's hard to accept the truth-I'm in a world where my future is already written, and it's anything but bright. But there's a flicker of resistance within me, a desire to carve my own path.
As I rummage through the clutter in my room, I search for a journal. Writing has always been my escape, a way to express the thoughts and feelings that often went unheard. I've always felt invisible, especially as the youngest daughter in my past life. People assumed I had it easy, spoiled and pampered because of my position in the family. But that couldn't be further from the truth.
In my past life, I craved attention like a starving animal. My parents showered me with love and affection, but I often sensed the exhaustion in their eyes. My mother was burdened with caring for my sick grandmother, whose kidneys had failed due to diabetes, and my stubborn grandfather, who refused to leave her side. My mother juggled all this while I clung to her, yearning for her affection, even when I could see her fatigue. My siblings had their own lives, and I felt isolated, as if I were a shadow trailing behind them.
Every argument with my father felt like a crack in our relationship, but he was my hero, always ready to grant my wishes. Yet, my grandfather didn't appreciate him, despite all the help he offered. When money troubles hit, I was sent to live with my aunt. She treated me well, but I never felt at home. I was constantly worried about my parents and the struggles they faced. The worst moment came when I learned my older sister and her husband had moved away without even telling me. I cried the whole night, feeling abandoned despite our fights. My second sister worked hard to support us, leaving me feeling helpless and alone.
Now, I'm trapped in this world, this body, with a future I never asked for. I shake my head, trying to dispel the memories, focusing on the present. I need to write-something, anything-to regain some sense of control.
Just as I'm about to give up the search, I hear a soft knock on my door. "Lady Irina?" It's my maid, a timid girl with kind eyes who always seems to know when I'm in distress.
"Come in," I call out, forcing a smile as I try to hide my turmoil.
She enters, clutching a letter tightly in her hands. "This came for you, my lady," she says softly, her eyes darting to the floor.
I take the letter from her, a wave of curiosity washing over me. It's sealed with a familiar emblem-the Everhart crest. My heart skips a beat. Could it be from Ezra?
I break the seal and unfold the letter, my eyes scanning the elegant yet scathing script.
Dear Lady Irina,
It is my solemn duty to inform you that my feelings toward you remain unchanged. I find the thought of marriage to you utterly repugnant, and i assure you that I will never come to care for you. Your incessant attempts to win my affection are laughable, and frankly, quite pathetic. You may be a noble's daughter, but your behavior is unbecoming of your station. I wish you the best in your futile endeavors to charm me, but i recommend you save your energy for something more worthwhile. Good day.
- Ezra Everhart
The words hit me like daggers, each one piercing deeper than the last. Anger bubbles up from within me, and before I can even process my emotions, I rip the letter in half, my hands trembling. "Who does he think I am? A fucking horse? Or a piece of glass that shatters at the slightest insult?"
I pace the room, my thoughts racing. The audacity of that man! How dare he think he can belittle me like this? His words sting, igniting a fire inside me. This isn't just an insult; it's a challenge.
"Forget running away from the wedding," I mutter, determination flooding my veins. "Let's face it head-on, Ezra. If you think you can push me around, you're sorely mistaken."
I stop in front of the mirror, glaring at my reflection-Irina Helgrave, the spoiled villainess. But what if I'm not her? What if I could change the narrative? I take a deep breath, steadying my racing heart.
"I'll show you," I say to my reflection, a fierce determination glinting in my eyes. "You may think I'm weak, but I'm not going down without a fight. I will not be the victim of this story."
With newfound resolve, I begin to formulate a plan. If I'm going to challenge Ezra, I need to gather strength and allies.
As I scribble notes in my journal, ideas flow like a river, and I can feel the weight of uncertainty lifting.