Leona's eyes fluttered open, her head pounding as though she'd been hit by a train. Except she really remembered going to bed in her tiny apartment after binge-watching dramas to her heart's content. She had fallen asleep with the soft glow of her laptop still burning against her eyelids, the messy remains of takeout littered upon the counter.
Now, none of that was here.
The air was warm, carried on the faint scent of fresh roses. Above her, a canopy of golden silk framed a bed large and opulent enough to belong to royalty. She sat bolt upright, her heart hammering against her chest. This wasn't her apartment. Heck, this wasn't anywhere she'd ever been.
Her gaze darted around the room. It was nothing short of majestic. Chandeliers dripped with crystal teardrops, refracting light that danced on polished marble floors. The walls were painted with intricate murals of knights, princesses, and epic battles.
"What in the…" Her voice came out in a whisper, her words cracking under the weight of confusion.
Suddenly, a sharp ding reverberated in her ears, freezing her mid-thought.
"Welcome to the world of Destined Hearts. You have been chosen to stabilize this abandoned narrative. Failure to do so will result in an immediate collapse of the story. and you along with it."
Leona practically jumped out of her skin. The voice was robotic, disembodied, and terrifyingly emotionless. She clutched the covers, her fingers trembling.
"What? Destined Hearts? The novel?" she blurted, though no one was there to hear her.
It had been one of those books she found during one of her late-night searches on the web: a fantasy romance about a noble heroine destined to save a crumbling kingdom with the help of a dashing prince. She hadn't even finished it. The story had been abruptly dropped by its author after just a few chapters, leaving plot threads dangling like unfinished embroidery.
The robotic voice returned, eerily calm:
"Your mission is to correct the paths of the central characters, restoring their alignment with the intended narrative. Success ensures the stability of this world. Failure results in permanent erasure."
Her pulse quickened. This wasn't a joke. The warmth of the air, the solid weight of the silk sheets, and the distant hum of life outside the room felt too real to be a dream.
What do you mean by 'permanent erasure'?" she asked, her voice catching on the last word, in a shaky tone.
"Your consciousness will cease. Begin immediately. First target: Cedric-the male lead."
She opened her mouth to argue, to demand an explanation, but before she could utter a single word, the voice cut off with a soft chime, leaving behind a deafening silence.
She closed her eyes, clenching at her temples as if that alone would make this some kind of reasonable nightmare that she was living. Someone had taken her life-plain vanilla-and thrown it in the blender on puree.
This creak of the door made her head jerk back upright. A young girl in a maid's uniform bustled forward with a tray of steaming tea and screeched to a halt as those wide brown eyes found and locked onto Leona.
"Oh, good heavens, Miss Leona! You're awake!" the maid said, spilling a bit of tea in her hurry to put down the tray.
"Miss?" Leona echoed, blinking at her.
The maid fussed over her, fluffing pillows and adjusting the covers as if Leona were some fragile porcelain doll. "You collapsed last night after the Duke's banquet. The doctor said you needed rest."
"Wait, wait!" Leona waved her hands, her mind racing. "Duke's banquet? What are you talking about?"
The maid's face paled. "Oh dear, did you hit your head? Should I fetch the doctor?"
Leona tried to push herself up, only to realize something strange. The moment her hands brushed against her body, she felt the texture of coarse fabric. Glancing down, her heart dropped.
She was not attired in the silken gowns of a noblewoman but a plain black dress of a maid, with an apron of white tied at her waist.
"What.?" she breathed, catching her breath. "This can't be right.
She was in Destined Hearts; she should've woken up as Vivienne, the story's noble heroine, beautiful, kind, and fated to save the kingdom. But no, the reality staring back was painfully clear: she was a lowly servant.
Leona staggered out of bed, wobbling slightly as her bare feet made contact with the cold marble floor. "I need answers," she muttered, "and not from some creepy, disembodied voice.
The maid tried to steady her. "Miss Leona, please, you're not well!"
"I'm fine," Leona lied. "I just… need some air."
Ignoring the maid's protests, she shuffled toward the nearest window. Pulling aside the heavy velvet drapes, she stared out, and her breath caught in her throat.
The view was breathtaking: lush green gardens stretched to where the eye could see, dotted with fountains and hedges in the shapes of mythical beasts. Beyond the estate's gates lay a sprawling medieval city, its rooftops glinting under the midday sun.
This was no dream. This was the world of Destined Hearts, come to life.
Leona's stomach churned as she tried to think. She had to go along with this-at least until she understood what was going on. The robotic voice said something about Cedric, the male lead. If she remembered correctly, he was a prince known for his sharp wit and brooding nature. He was supposed to fall for Vivienne, the heroine, and together they'd save the kingdom from political upheaval.
But if she was here, in the wrong role, who was Vivienne?
She turned back to the maid. "What's your name?" she asked, her tone softening.
"Marie, Miss," the maid replied, fidgeting nervously.
"Marie, who else is staying in this mansion?" Leona pressed, trying to sound casual.
Marie tilted her head. "Well, the Duke, of course. And his esteemed guest, Prince Cedric. He arrived two days ago.
Leona's heart skipped a beat. Cedric was here. Her first task was practically being handed to her.
"Where is the prince now?" she asked.
Marie hesitated. "I believe he's in the study, going over documents with the Duke."
Leona nodded, determination hardening her features. "Thank you, Marie. I'll be fine from here."
She walked the great halls, the sound of her feet like a clock's tick, while her simple maid's shoes clicked upon the floor. She passed gilded portraits of nobles; their eyes, as painted, watched her with silent judgment.
By the time she reached the study, her footsteps began to slow. Heavy oak separated her from two deep voices discussing something in hushed tones. One voice remained level and commanding, surely the Duke. The other carried a more acidic bite to it—Cedric.
Leona straightened herself and took a deep breath before knocking.
"Enter," a brusque voice replied.
She pushed open the door and stepped inside. The room was every bit as regal as the rest of the mansion, lined with towering bookshelves and illuminated by a roaring fireplace.
Two men stood by a desk. One was an older man with a stern expression and graying hair—the Duke. The other was younger, tall, and strikingly handsome. His dark hair framed a face that seemed chiseled from marble, and his piercing blue eyes locked onto Leona with a sharpness that made her stomach flip.
Cedric.
"And who might you be?" Cedric asked, his tone cold and clipped.
Leona realized she had no plan. What was she supposed to say? Hi, I'm here to fix your life because an ominous voice told me to? Yeah, that wouldn't go over well.
"I'm… Leona," she stammered, instinctively bowing her head like a proper servant. "A maid, Your Highness."
The Duke frowned. "What business does a maid have here?"
"I—I apologize," she stuttered, grasping for an excuse. "I was told to bring refreshments."
Cedric's gaze lingered on her, unnervingly intense. She felt as though he could see through her lie, through her very soul.
"Leave it," he said, waving her off dismissively. "We're in the middle of something important."
Leona nodded and backpedaled her way out of the room, her heart racing. She closed the door behind her and was hit by a wave of frustration. She had absolutely no idea where to begin in trying to "fix" Cedric. And why did he have to be so intimidating?
That night, lying on the simple cot provided for the servants, the robotic voice was back.
Progress: zero percent. Time remaining: ninety days. Failure to proceed will result in imminent collapse."
Leona groaned, covering her face with her hands. Ninety days to fix a broken story in a world she barely understood? It felt impossible.
But as exhaustion pulled her into an uneasy sleep, one thought lingered in her mind.
If she couldn't be the heroine, she'd have to rewrite her role entirely.