"Sometimes, fate pulls you into a story not to play the hero, but to rewrite its ending."
***
Evelyn Monroe awoke to chaos.
Her breath hitched as the cacophony of clinking glasses and murmuring voices surrounded her. The scent of roses filled the air—cloying, sweet, and almost suffocating. Evelyn Monroe blinked, her amber eyes taking in the splendor of a grand hall bathed in golden candlelight. She was seated at the head of an opulent banquet table, dressed in a flowing pastel gown, surrounded by finely dressed nobles. Yet, every pair of eyes was trained on her, not with admiration, but with barely concealed hostility. For a moment, she felt disoriented, as though she were caught in a dream too vivid to escape.
Then it hit her—she wasn't in her world anymore.
Her amber eyes darted across the scene, taking in the grandeur and the tension brewing in the room. Where am I?
"Lady Seraphina," a voice boomed, breaking the fragile quiet. It was Lord Cedric Holloway, his stocky frame radiating authority as he stood. His sharp brown eyes pinned her with accusation. "You've gone too far this time. Poisoning the prince's wine—do you deny it?"
Lady Seraphina? Now, she is here. No, not here. She is her. Seraphina Aveline—the pitiful, powerless noblewoman from the story. A side character destined to be a pawn in the hands of ambitious players and discarded when she had served her purpose.
Her heart raced as fragmented memories of her previous life fought to surface. Flashes of late-night work meetings, neon cityscapes, and a world far removed from this gilded court swirled in her mind. Yet, her body acted instinctively, calm and composed.
"Poison?" Seraphina's lips curved into a smile, soft yet razor-sharp. "Lord Holloway, such accusations should not be made lightly, especially against a lady of my standing. Do you have proof?"
A murmur rippled through the room. Seraphina's voice was not the timid one they expected from the spoiled and haughty noblewoman they knew. This was the voice of someone else entirely.
"Proof?" Cedric barked, slamming a hand on the table. "The prince himself fell ill after sipping his wine. And you, Lady Seraphina, poured it with your own hand!"
The tension thickened as all eyes turned toward the crown prince, Adrien Valmont. His icy blue gaze met hers, unreadable yet sharp as steel. Adrien leaned back in his chair, his brown hair falling slightly into his face, giving him an almost menacing air.
"And what does the accused have to say for herself?" His voice was cool, detached, but there was a flicker of intrigue beneath it.
Seraphina knew she had moments to act. Her memories might have been fragmented, but her wit was intact. This wasn't a world that rewarded passivity.
"Your highness," she began, her tone light but unwavering. "If I were to poison you, do you think I would be foolish enough to do so in plain sight? With witnesses aplenty and my own hand pouring the wine? Such an act would be not only villainous but also remarkably stupid."
A few nobles exchanged uneasy glances, her logic too sharp to dismiss outright. Adrien's lips quirked, ever so slightly.
"Then perhaps you have an explanation for what happened?" he asked, his tone deceptively casual.
Seraphina rose, her delicate frame commanding attention. Her gaze swept the table, landing on a servant near the far end—a man whose hands trembled as he clutched a silver tray.
"Indeed, Your Highness," she said, her voice carrying across the hall. "The wine was poured before I arrived at the table. If you'd allow me, I'd wager that the culprit lies not among the nobles, but among those serving us tonight."
The servant's face drained of color, and his shaking hands betrayed him. Seraphina strode toward him, her gown flowing like water, and plucked the tray from his grasp.
"Your hands tremble, good sir," she remarked softly. "Not the nerves of a mere servant, I presume, but the guilt of one caught red-handed."
The room erupted in whispers, and Adrien's eyes narrowed. With a flick of his wrist, he signaled his guards. The servant dropped to his knees, babbling incoherently as he was dragged away.
As the murmurs quieted, Adrien's gaze remained locked on Seraphina. There was something unreadable in his expression, a mix of curiosity and something far darker.
"Well played, Lady Seraphina," he said, his voice a low murmur. "But I wonder… What game are you playing?"
***
Hours later, in the privacy of her chambers, Seraphina sat before her mirror, studying her reflection. Her blonde hair shimmered in the moonlight, her amber eyes glowing with an intensity that startled even her.
"What have I gotten myself into?" she whispered, her fingers brushing the ornate neckline of her gown.
The memories of her past life were incomplete, but one thing was clear—this wasn't just another world. It was a story, one she'd read long ago. A world of intrigue, romance, and danger. And Seraphina Aveline, the scapegoat, was fated to meet a tragic end.
A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.
"Come in," she called, her voice steady.
The door opened to reveal Kael Rotherford, his emerald eyes filled with concern. His black hair was slightly disheveled, and his dark green attire reflected his understated elegance.
"Seraphina," he said, his voice soft but firm. "Are you all right? I heard about the commotion at the banquet."
She turned to face him, her expression unreadable. "I'm fine, Kael. Thank you for your concern."
Kael stepped closer, his gaze searching hers. "You were accused of poisoning the crown prince. That's not something to brush off lightly."
"And yet here I am," she replied, her tone laced with dry humor. "Alive and unscathed. Surely that counts for something."
Kael sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You've changed, Seraphina. You're… different. I can't explain it, but I—"
"Kael," she interrupted, her voice softer now. "I know you mean well, but I need you to trust me. I have my reasons for what I do."
His jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Just promise me you'll be careful. Court politics are dangerous, and the prince—"
"Is not my enemy," she finished, her eyes hardening. "Not yet."
Kael's expression darkened, but he said nothing more.
***
Elsewhere in the palace, Adrien sat alone in his study, a glass of untouched wine in his hand. His icy blue eyes stared into the flickering flames of the fireplace, lost in thought.
"Lady Seraphina," he murmured, testing her name on his tongue.
She was an enigma—a woman he had dismissed as shallow and vain, now revealed to be cunning and bold.
"Interesting." he muttered, a faint smile curving his lips.
For the first time in years, Adrien felt a flicker of something beyond the cold detachment that had shielded him all his life. Intrigue, fascination, and a twinge of possessiveness—emotions he wasn't sure he could control.
And as the flames danced before him, he made a silent vow.
"Seraphina Aveline," he whispered, his voice low and resolute. "You will be mine."