"You don't have to be who the world expects you to be. You can rewrite your story, one decision at a time."
***
Lady Seraphina Aveline—or rather, Evelyn Monroe—stood by the window of her chambers, her silhouette bathed in pale moonlight. Amber eyes, stormy with unspoken thoughts, reflected the silver glow of the world outside. The golden elegance of her gown clung to her like a gilded cage, a stunning but stifling reminder of the life she now inhabited.
Her fingers lightly brushed the windowsill, her thoughts spinning in relentless circles. This world felt so vivid, so achingly real, and yet every fiber of her being screamed that it wasn't hers. Why this world? Why this body?
Closing her eyes, she let her mind slip back to the moment her life had splintered.
***
The office had been a realm of quiet dominance that night. Evelyn Monroe, CEO of her own thriving empire, had sat behind her sleek mahogany desk, the city's neon glow filtering through the vast floor-to-ceiling windows. The room hummed with quiet power, a space that had always felt like hers—until it didn't.
Exhaustion had won that night. One moment, her head rested against her arm, paperwork scattered like autumn leaves; the next, she awoke to chaos.
The scent of roses hit her first, overwhelming and sweet, followed by the disorienting weight of an unfamiliar gown. Stares—cold, sharp, and unforgiving—pierced her as accusations rained down in a language both foreign and painfully clear.
She wasn't Evelyn Monroe anymore. She was Seraphina Aveline, standing on the precipice of ruin in a world she didn't recognize.
***
Her fists clenched at the memory. "Why me?" she whispered, her voice raw, trembling with frustration and the faintest crack of vulnerability. "Why Seraphina?"
The knock at the door startled her, pulling her from the spiral of her thoughts.
"Milady?"
It was Annelise, her maid—a soft-spoken young woman whose wide brown eyes carried an earnest concern Evelyn was unaccustomed to.
"Shall I prepare your bed for the night?" Annelise asked hesitantly.
Evelyn hesitated. Sleep felt impossible with the weight of two lives pressing down on her. "No," she said finally. "I need to clear my mind. Fetch a lantern. I'm going to the library."
Annelise curtsied, but before she could leave, Evelyn called her back.
"Annelise," she said softly, the edge in her voice replaced by quiet curiosity. "Where are my parents?"
Annelise blinked, caught off guard. "Your lord father and lady mother left three days ago, milady, summoned to oversee the northern border. A matter of defense, I believe."
Evelyn's lips pressed into a thin line. No wonder no one had intervened during the banquet. The Avelines were gone, leaving Seraphina—and now Evelyn—unprotected amidst the wolves.
"That will be all," she said, dismissing the maid with a nod.
Alone once more, Evelyn exhaled slowly. "So, I am alone in this."
***
The library was a sanctuary of silence and shadow, its labyrinthine shelves brimming with leather-bound tomes. Evelyn stepped inside, the scent of parchment and aged ink wrapping around her like a familiar embrace.
Her fingers traced the spines of books as she wandered deeper, searching for answers in the sea of words. Finally, her gaze landed on a thick volume embossed with the Aveline crest.
Taking it to a nearby chair, she flipped through the pages, her heart racing.
"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 shoulders sinking as her gaze softened, caught in the stillness of the library. The weight of Seraphina's life pressed down on her like an invisible shackle, a burden that grew heavier with every realization.
Seraphina Aveline—privileged, beautiful, yet tragically caged. She had lived her entire existence in the shadow of her family's name, bound by expectations she had never asked for. "Sometimes," Evelyn thought, "the heaviest chains are the ones you can't see."
The court had misunderstood her—a quiet, shy young woman in a world that mistook reserve for arrogance. Gossip had sharpened its teeth against her, fueled by a silence that had been survival, not indifference. Seraphina had never been allowed to simply exist as herself. Every breath, every step had been in service to the family legacy, a performance for the relentless eyes of high society.
Evelyn traced the polished wood of the book in her lap, her mind circling Seraphina's story like a storm. She could see it so clearly now: the coldness of Seraphina's father, whose ambitions overshadowed affection. The distance of her mother, whose poise hid an emotional void. And the crushing weight of being the heir—the face of a family whose expectations allowed no room for mistakes, no room for humanity.
"Privilege isn't happiness," Evelyn murmured aloud, her voice faint in the vastness of the library. "Not if it means silencing yourself."
Her thoughts turned to the book she'd read. It wasn't a tale of bravery or triumph. No, it had been a tragedy from the start. The words flickered through Evelyn's mind like a dirge, painting Seraphina as timid, envied, overlooked. Her beauty had been her only armor, but it had also made her a target. Scapegoated, discarded.
Her death—Seraphina's death—had been inevitable. A side character in her own life, executed for a crime she didn't commit. Poisoning the crown prince, they said. Evelyn felt a lump rise in her throat, bitter and unyielding.
"So, I was meant to die," she murmured into the silence.
The truth tasted metallic, sharp against her tongue. Her voice cracked as the weight of it settled. Seraphina's fate had already been written, her end sealed in a single, tragic moment. But now, Evelyn was here, her mind steering the course of this life. The story wasn't following its script.
"I was a placeholder," Evelyn whispered, her voice trembling but resolute. "Beautiful, yes. But powerless. Disposable."
She slammed the book shut, the sound echoing through the library like a gunshot. Her hands gripped the edges of the tome, her knuckles white. Not anymore.
Rising abruptly, Evelyn began to pace. The hem of her gown whispered against the stone floor, trailing behind her like a shadow. The banquet replayed in her mind on a cruel loop: Adrien's cold, calculating gaze, sharp as a blade. Kael's concern. The servant's trembling hands, guilt pouring off him like sweat.
She had rewritten Seraphina's death in that moment, changed the course of her doomed narrative. But it wasn't enough.
"It's not enough," she said aloud, her voice carrying a quiet ferocity.
Her steps slowed, and she stopped in the center of the library, staring at the rows of books surrounding her. These stories—this world—expected her to fail. They had written Seraphina's story as a tragedy. But Evelyn wasn't Seraphina. She had been Evelyn Monroe—a woman who had built her own empire, survived countless battles of wit and willpower in a world just as unforgiving as this one.
If this world wanted her to play a role, she would. But she wouldn't be a pawn in someone else's game.
She'd be the queen.