"You don't have to be who the world expects you to be. You can rewrite your story, one decision at a time."
***
The quiet of the night was a blanket, soft but suffocating, as Lady Seraphina Aveline—no, Evelyn Monroe—stood by her chamber window. The moonlight bathed her face in a pale glow, her amber eyes shimmering with a storm of emotions. The golden elegance of her gown felt like a cage around her, a constant reminder of the life she had inherited, uninvited and unexplained.
Her fingers grazed the edge of the windowsill as her thoughts spiraled. Why this world? Why this body? She closed her eyes, her mind yanked backward to the moment it all changed.
***
The office had been quiet that night, the hum of city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Evelyn Monroe's towering empire. A CEO of ruthless efficiency, Evelyn had been the epitome of control. That control had shattered when exhaustion overtook her.
One moment, her head rested on her desk; the next, she awoke in chaos—accused of poisoning royalty in a world she didn't recognize. The scent of roses, the accusing stares, the overwhelming opulence—it had all come crashing down in vivid, relentless waves.
Her hands clenched into fists. "Why me?" she whispered, her voice trembling with frustration and vulnerability. "Why Seraphina?"
A knock on the door jolted her from her thoughts. Her maid, a soft-spoken young woman named Annelise, entered hesitantly.
"Milady," Annelise began, her voice laced with concern. "Shall I prepare your bed for the night?"
Evelyn hesitated, then turned to face her. "No, Annelise. I need to clear my mind. Prepare a lantern; I'm heading to the library."
The maid curtsied, her gaze uncertain but obedient. Before she could leave, Evelyn stopped her with a soft question.
"Annelise," she said, her tone quieter now, "where are my parents?"
Annelise blinked, caught off guard. "Your lord father and lady mother have been summoned to fulfill royal duties, milady. They set forth for Ashenwick three days past to oversee the northern border defenses."
Evelyn's lips pressed into a thin line. It made sense now why no one had intervened at the banquet; Seraphina's parents were not here to protect her. "I see. Thank you, Annelise."
"Shall I send word to them?" Annelise asked, her voice gentle.
Evelyn shook her head. "No, that won't be necessary. They have enough to worry about."
Annelise nodded and left to fetch the lantern, leaving Evelyn to her thoughts once more. Seraphina's parents are away, unaware of the dangers here, she mused. I am truly alone in this world.
***
The library was a labyrinth of gilded shelves and ancient tomes. The scent of parchment and ink embraced her as she wandered through the aisles. Evelyn's fingertips brushed the spines of books.
"Where do I even start?" she muttered, her voice lost in the vastness.
Her fingers trailed along the spines of books as she wandered deeper into the maze. Finally, she reached a section marked Genealogy and History. She pulled out a tome bearing the Aveline crest, its gold embossing catching the dim light of the chandeliers. Settling into a nearby chair, she flipped through the pages, her heart pounding with anticipation.
"Seraphina Aveline, born under the winter moon, is the only daughter and heir of House Aveline, a family long respected for its wealth and influence, particularly through its extensive network in trade and mining. Lord Bertrand Aveline, her father, is a calculating businessman whose ambition has shaped the family's success, while Lady Elowen Aveline, her mother, is a woman of grace and tact, revered in high society for her poise and political maneuvering."
Evelyn's mind wandered back to a particular passage in the novel she'd been reading, the one describing the enigmatic side character, Seraphina Aveline.
Despite the outward perfection of House Aveline, Seraphina has never truly belonged within it. Raised by a distant and often cold father, and a mother who placed more importance on appearances than affection, Seraphina learned early that her family's expectations were paramount. Known for her quiet demeanor and thoughtful nature, she never seemed to live up to the expectations of the court, who viewed her reservedness as a form of arrogance. Her occasional missteps in social situations—misunderstandings born from her shyness rather than any ill intent—only served to fuel the whispers that surrounded her. Many of the court found her to be aloof or detached, unaware of the weight that her family's legacy and her own internal struggles placed upon her.
Evelyn exhaled, her gaze softening. Seraphina had always lived in the shadow of her family's name—a gilded cage where privilege came at the cost of freedom. "Sometimes," Evelyn thought, "the heaviest chains are the ones you can't see." Misunderstood as cold and aloof, Seraphina's shy demeanor had only sharpened the knives of gossip. She had never been allowed to simply be—her life was shaped by the expectations of others, not her own dreams.
Her father's coldness, her mother's distance, and the relentless weight of being the family heir had built a world that stifled her. "Privilege isn't happiness," Evelyn realized, "not if it means silencing yourself."
Evelyn recalled the book she had read about Seraphina Aveline. It wasn't a tale of heroism—it never was. The words painted a portrait of a woman who, despite her beauty, had lived a life marked by sorrow and scapegoating. Timid, overlooked, envied. Her story, culminating in her execution for allegedly poisoning the crown prince, was nothing more than a tragic footnote. Seraphina was never meant to survive beyond her first trial.
Her throat tightened. "So, I was meant to die," she murmured to the empty room.
Her voice cracked as the weight of it hit her—her death, Seraphina's death, had been inevitable. But now, with Evelyn's mind steering Seraphina's fate, the story was unraveling.
"I was a placeholder," she whispered, bitterness coating her words. "Beautiful, yes. But powerless. Disposable." She shut the book with a loud thud. Not anymore.
She stood abruptly, pacing the library, her gown trailing behind her like a shadow. The moments from the banquet replayed in her mind: Adrien's cold, calculating gaze, Kael's concern, the servant's trembling hands. She had rewritten Seraphina's death once already, but it wasn't enough.