The scent of burning wood and smoke assaulted her senses, pulling Ellah from her daze. Blinking rapidly, she stared at her surroundings—a lavish bedroom engulfed in chaos. Flames licked at the heavy drapes, the heat growing oppressive as the fire consumed the once-opulent space.
Her heart raced, not just from the danger but from the sudden rush of unfamiliar memories flooding her mind. She clutched her chest, struggling to make sense of it all. Where am I? What's happening?
Then it hit her, like a cruel joke from the universe: I've transmigrated into a novel.
Not just any novel, but the trashy modern romance she had read out of boredom on a rainy weekend. She was Ellah—the mistress of Sebastian Hale, the male lead's father. The woman hated by everyone, a villain doomed to die tragically in a fire orchestrated by Sebastian's fiancée, Stellah.
Her legs trembled as the pieces fell into place. In the story, Ellah's death was the catalyst that allowed Stellah to solidify her position as Sebastian's one true love. Worse, Ellah's children—antagonists to the male and female leads—would meet equally tragic ends.
No way, she thought, panic morphing into determination. I'm not going to let that happen.
The fire roared louder, snapping her back to reality. She could hear distant shouts and frantic footsteps as servants tried to contain the inferno. A plan began forming in her mind. If the world thought Ellah was dead, she could escape this twisted narrative entirely.
Ellah scanned the room, searching for something—anything—to help her leave behind convincing evidence of her demise. Her gaze landed on a life-sized portrait of herself hanging on the far wall, the flames already licking its edges.
"Perfect," she muttered under her breath.
She grabbed a heavy vase and smashed the glass covering the portrait. Dragging the smoldering painting closer to the bed, she used the sheets to position it where her body would have been. The fire quickly engulfed the fabric, and the portrait's face began to blacken and warp.
With the room collapsing into chaos, Ellah took one last look at the growing blaze. This will do.
Using the back corridors of the mansion, she slipped past the servants. Her hands trembled as she tied a scarf around her head to hide her face. The familiar weight of the novel's plot still hung heavy on her mind. She remembered it all: the toxic love triangle, her children's fates, and her own role as a stepping stone for the male and female leads.
I'll rewrite everything, she vowed silently. I'll protect my children, and I'll protect myself.
The cool night air hit her face as she exited the estate. Behind her, the mansion burned bright, its flames reaching for the sky. From a distance, the chaotic shouts of Sebastian's staff carried on the wind.
For them, Ellah was dead.
For her, it was a rebirth.
Gripping the small bag she had salvaged from the chaos, she disappeared into the night, leaving the wreckage of her old life behind. This time, she would take control of the story. This time, she would live.