The morning sun was unrelenting as it poured through the thin curtains of Isla's chamber. She sat perched on the edge of her bed, staring out at the picturesque gardens. Her hands were clasped tightly together, her knuckles white. Her thoughts swirled like a thunderstorm, all lightning flashes and no clarity.
Thomas had been kidnapped. Kidnapped. That single, horrifying word kept circling back in her mind. It wasn't supposed to happen. Not in the book. Not like this.
In the original story—the one Isla was supposed to be living through—Thomas had been nothing more than a quiet, bookish side character who rarely left the safety of the estate. He was the one her father ignored, the brother who blended into the background while she bore the brunt of their father's criticism. He had never gone gallivanting into the lower city. He had certainly never gotten tangled up with dangerous men like Elias.
But here they were. And now, her brother was sitting in the room next door, nursing bruises and avoiding everyone's eyes, while Isla tried to piece together how the story had veered so far off course.
It wasn't just Thomas, either. The entire plot felt like it was unraveling in her hands. The king's decree. Her betrothal to Adrian. None of this was supposed to happen. She was supposed to be engaged to Louis, to quietly navigate court politics while the real villainess—the *real* Lady Evangeline—stole the spotlight. And yet, here she was, center stage in a story that no longer felt familiar.
A knock at her door jolted her from her thoughts.
"Come in," she called, her voice hoarse.
The door creaked open, and Clara stepped inside, her expression equal parts worry and determination. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a loose braid, and her green eyes scanned Isla's face as though searching for cracks in the armor.
"I brought tea," Clara said, holding up a tray with two steaming cups. "And before you say anything, yes, I know it won't fix everything, but it's better than sitting here and brooding."
"Brooding?" Isla repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Is that what I'm doing?"
Clara set the tray down on the small table by the window, shooting her a pointed look. "If the shoe fits."
Isla sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I don't even know where to start, Clara. Everything is falling apart."
Clara handed her a cup of tea, her expression softening. "Thomas is safe now. That's the most important thing."
"For now," Isla muttered, taking a sip. The tea was hot and faintly floral, but it did little to soothe the storm inside her. "But what if it happens again? What if next time, I'm not there to stop it?"
"You weren't exactly alone," Clara pointed out, a sly smile tugging at her lips. "Adrian Blackthorn, of all people, came to your rescue. Twice, if I'm counting correctly."
Isla groaned, setting her cup down with a clatter. "Don't remind me."
"What?" Clara teased, leaning back in her chair. "I thought you'd be thrilled. Isn't he supposed to be your dashing, heroic fiancé now?"
"Dashing and heroic?" Isla scoffed. "More like insufferable and smug."
Clara's smile widened. "And yet, he keeps showing up when you need him."
"That doesn't mean I have to like it," Isla grumbled, but her cheeks flushed all the same. She hated the way Adrian seemed to worm his way into her thoughts, his dark eyes and sharp wit lingering long after he was gone. It was infuriating.
Clara studied her for a moment, her teasing demeanor fading. "You know," she said softly, "you don't have to do this alone, Isla. Whatever's going on, whatever's weighing on you—I'm here. And so is Thomas, in his own way. You don't have to carry it all by yourself."
Isla's chest tightened. She wanted to tell Clara everything, to spill the truth about how none of this was supposed to happen, about how she wasn't even supposed to *be* Isla. But how could she explain something so impossible? How could she tell her best friend that their entire world was nothing more than a story?
"Thanks, Clara," she said instead, forcing a smile. "I mean it."
Clara reached out, squeezing her hand. "Whatever happens, we'll figure it out. Together."
---
Later that afternoon, Isla found herself wandering through the gardens, the sound of her boots crunching against the gravel path the only thing grounding her. She needed air, space to think. But no matter how far she walked, the weight in her chest refused to lift.
She rounded a corner and nearly collided with Adrian.
"Lady Evangeline," he greeted her, his smirk firmly in place. "Fancy meeting you here."
"Do you always lurk around corners, or is this a special occasion?" she shot back, her tone sharper than she intended, in disbelief of the man clearly in her own home.
Adrian raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Lurking? Hardly. I was simply enjoying the gardens. But now that you're here, perhaps we can discuss something that's been on my mind."
"I'm not in the mood for games, Adrian," she said, crossing her arms. "If you have something to say, just say it."
His smirk faltered, replaced by a more serious expression. "Very well. Your brother's little adventure yesterday—do you have any idea what he was looking for?"
Isla's stomach twisted. "Why does it matter?"
"Because Elias isn't the kind of man you cross paths with lightly," Adrian said, his voice low and measured. "If Thomas went to him, it wasn't on a whim. He was looking for something important. And whatever it was, it nearly got him killed."
"I know that," Isla snapped, her temper flaring. "Do you think I'm not aware of how dangerous this was for him?"
Adrian studied her for a moment, his dark eyes searching hers. "I think you're trying to protect him. But you can't protect him if you don't know what you're up against."
Isla opened her mouth to argue, but the words caught in her throat. He was right—infuriatingly, maddeningly right. She didn't know what Thomas had been looking for, and that ignorance left them vulnerable.
"I'll talk to him," she said finally, her voice quieter. "But I don't need your help, Adrian."
"Of course you don't," he said, his smirk returning. "But if you change your mind, you know where to find me."
He turned to leave, but then hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder. "Oh, and Lady Evangeline?"
"What?" she asked, exasperated.
He smiled, his tone almost playful. "You might want to work on your gratitude. I did save your life yesterday, after all."
And with that, he was gone, leaving Isla standing alone on the garden path, her cheeks burning with frustration.
---
By the time Isla confronted Thomas that evening, her nerves were stretched thin. She found him in the library, hunched over a stack of books with his usual intensity. But when he saw her approaching, his shoulders tensed, and he avoided her gaze.
"Thomas," she said, crossing her arms. "We need to talk."
"I'm fine, Isla," he said quickly, flipping a page without looking up. "You don't need to worry about me."
"Really?" she said, her voice rising. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you just risked your life for something you're not even willing to explain."
Thomas winced, finally setting the book aside. "I was trying to help."
"Help with *what*?" she demanded. "What were you looking for, Thomas? And why Elias?"
He hesitated, his hands fidgeting in his lap. "I overheard Father talking," he admitted reluctantly. "He mentioned something about letters—letters that could expose our family. I thought if I could find them, I could… I don't know, fix things."
Isla's breath caught. Letters. It always came back to the letters. In the original story, the letters were a key piece of the plot, a secret correspondence that threatened to unravel everything. But they weren't supposed to surface yet—not this early in the story. Not like this.
"Thomas," she said softly, kneeling beside him. "You can't put yourself in danger like that. Whatever Father's involved in, it's not your responsibility to fix it."
"But it's yours, isn't it?" he shot back, his voice trembling. "You're the one everyone's looking at. You're the one who's supposed to save us."
The words hit her like a punch to the gut. He wasn't wrong. She was the one in the spotlight, the one expected to navigate the treacherous waters of court politics and family secrets. But she had never asked for any of it.
"Thomas," she said, her voice steadier now. "We'll figure this out. Together. But you have to trust me. No more running off into the lower city. Promise me."
He nodded reluctantly, his eyes filled with guilt. "I promise."
---
That night, Isla sat by the window in her room, staring out at the stars. The weight of the day pressed down on her, but for the first time in a long time, she felt a glimmer of hope. Thomas was safe. Clara was by her side. And despite everything, she was determined to take control of her story.
But just as she began to relax, a shadow flickered across the courtyard below. She leaned closer, her breath catching as she recognized the figure moving in the darkness.
Adrian.
He was heading toward the stables, his movements quick and deliberate. Isla's heart pounded as she watched him saddle a horse, his expression grim. He was leaving—at this hour.
She didn't know why, but something told her this wasn't just one of his usual games. Something was happening—something important. And if she didn't act now, she might never find out what it was.
Without thinking, she grabbed her cloak and slipped out of her room, into the night.