Elara Stone had always been a woman of ambition, determination, and the occasional caffeine-fueled meltdown. After a particularly grueling week of court cases, where she had to navigate through a labyrinth of legal jargon, a few emotional meltdowns, and a rather nasty rivalry with her former colleague, who, by the way, had the audacity to steal her lunch, she felt completely spent. In her cozy apartment, surrounded by stacks of case files, her brain screamed for rest.

She sank into her worn-out couch, a colorful explosion of cushions and throw blankets, and tried to drown out the world with a cup of chamomile tea. "I need a vacation," she mumbled, glancing at the chaotic pile of paperwork on her coffee table. The endless reminders of court dates and deadlines loomed over her like storm clouds ready to burst.

And then, her phone buzzed.

With a sigh, she picked it up, half-expecting another insipid work email. Instead, a notification popped up from her favorite reading app. Destiny's Veil.

"Ah, the epilogue's out. I wonder if the main couple will have children," she mused, recalling the story she had devoured with far too much enthusiasm. She could almost hear the dramatic music crescendoing in the background. "Maybe I should just read the whole thing again before the epilogue."

But before she could dive into another binge-read, exhaustion took over. "Just a quick nap," she promised herself, resting her head against the couch. "I'll wake up in an hour and then... definitely read the novel."

Famous last words, right?

She groaned as she cracked open her eyes, squinting against the harsh morning light. Her head throbbed like she'd had too much to drink, though she clearly remembered just taking a nap sober. The last thing she had done was was open her reading app and that's that.

"Ugh, what time is it?" she muttered, fumbling for her phone. But her hand didn't land on the cool glass of her phone screen. Instead, it sank into... silk?

Elara froze.

Her heart pounded as her brain finally registered the weight of the heavy quilt covering her. The smell of lavender filled the air—strong, too strong—and the sheets were way too luxurious for her sad little apartment in the city. And where were the familiar sirens and car horns outside?

She bolted upright and immediately felt dizzy. The room around her was massive, a sea of gold-framed mirrors and velvet curtains, with furniture that looked like it had stepped straight out of a Victorian estate sale. A chandelier glittered above her, and across the room, an intricately carved vanity stood with a fancy porcelain brush set.

Elara blinked rapidly, looking around for some logical explanation.

"This... is not my bed," she whispered, panic seeping into her voice. "This is definitely not my life."

Then she saw her reflection.

She stared at the tall, gleaming mirror on the opposite wall, her mouth falling open. The woman staring back at her wasn't herself—not the Elara Stone with wild curls and coffee-stained pajamas. Oh no. The woman in the mirror had waist-length silver hair, high cheekbones, and a face so perfectly symmetrical it was almost unfair. Her nightgown was silky, the kind a princess would wear to bed, and the embroidered pillows behind her were the size of small dogs.

Her mouth worked silently for a moment as she processed what the heck was going on.

"Oh no... No, no, no, no, no!" Elara shot out of bed, nearly tripping over the long hem of her nightgown as she staggered to the mirror. She reached out, her fingers trembling as they touched the cool glass. "This... this can't be real!"

But it was real. She was real. And the silver-haired woman in the mirror was—she knew exactly who that was.

"I'm Seraphina Devereaux?!" she yelped, her voice echoing in the cavernous bedroom. 

This was not happening. This could not be happening. Seraphina Devereaux was the villainess in Destiny's Veil, the novel Elara had been reading last night. She was rich, powerful, cruel—and on a one-way express train to the gallows in a few years. 

Elara had seen Seraphina die in the book. She knew her fate. It was all ugly execution speeches, public humiliation, and a gleaming guillotine. 

She turned back to the mirror, her eyes wide. "Okay, okay. Think. Maybe this is just a dream. A really, really vivid dream. I'll wake up in my apartment any minute now. Just gotta pinch myself."

She squeezed her arm, hard. Nothing.

"Of course not," she muttered darkly, rubbing her arm. "Because that would be too easy."

A knock on the door startled her, and before she could even answer, it swung open, revealing a young maid with wide brown eyes and an apron so crisp it might as well have been ironed onto her.

"Lady Seraphina, good morning!" The maid curtsied so low that Elara feared she might tip over. "Your bath is ready, and I've prepared your breakfast, just the way you like it."

Elara stared at her. "Oh, uh… cool. Thanks." 

The maid blinked, her smile faltering. "Cool?" she echoed, clearly confused.

Oh, right. Seraphina doesn't say 'cool.' She says things like 'splendid' or 'wonderful' or 'off with their heads,' Elara thought, forcing a weak smile.

"Splendid!" Elara said, awkwardly throwing a hand in the air. "That will be... lovely, yes. Very lovely."

The maid gave her a strange look, but she merely curtsied again and gestured to the door. "I'll draw the bath for you."

As the maid scurried off, Elara sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, her mind spinning. How in the world had she ended up in this novel? She wasn't even supposed to like Seraphina. The woman was the villain, for crying out loud. And now... she was the villain? The one everyone hated, the one who was going to be executed?

"Well," she muttered to herself, "if I'm in the book, I guess I know how this ends. And it's not with me living a long, luxurious life in this creepy mansion."

Her reflection caught her eye again, and a stubborn, familiar fire lit in her chest. There was no way she was going down like Seraphina. If she had one advantage, it was knowing how the story played out. 

"Alright, Seraphina," she said to the reflection in the mirror, pointing at herself with determination. "You're not dying today. We're going to change the plot. Rewrite the script. I am not getting guillotined in this universe."

With a deep breath, she stood up straight, squared her shoulders, and practiced her most refined, snobby expression in the mirror. 

"Step one," she whispered to herself, "Don't get executed. Step two, don't blow your cover as a villainess." 

A smile tugged at her lips as a glimmer of hope flickered to life in her chest. She could do this. 

After all, she was a lawyer. How hard could playing the villainess be?