The next day, I woke up, blissfully unaware—just for a quick second—that I had died and got stuck in someone else's life. My body was on autopilot, stretching like a damn lazy cat, soaking in the warmth of the sheets.
I yawned, still half asleep, then muttered, "Alright, time to get to work." I dragged a hand across my face, ready to take on the day... then it hit me.
These sheets were way too soft. The mattress? Too damn plush. Nothing like my old shitty bed.
I blinked, slowly opening my eyes.
And bam. There it was again. That massive, fancy canopy bed. The elegant drapes. The whole damn room screaming money—stuff I couldn't even dream of.
And that's when it hit me. "Right. Still in hell."
Ughhhhhhh...
I groaned, rolling back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.
But no. It didn't. This was all just some messed-up mess I got stuck in. So, what did I do? I got up. Fast. My head was buzzing with a thousand thoughts, but one thing stood out. "Alright, let's try to recall this damn novel."
Cecilia's dead. Who knows what happened to her soul, or if it even matters? One thing was clear though—this body was mine now. And if it's mine, then hell no, I ain't going out like some nameless character in a dungeon.
What's the point of being stuck in some rich, twisted world if I'm just gonna roll over and let fate run me over? The girl had money, power, a life most people would kill for. So why the hell should I let it go to waste?
So, I'm living.
Step one? Stay alive.
But first... I gotta remember that damn novel.
The one where I died. Where Cecilia died. Where everything went wrong.
I threw the covers off me and slid out of bed, still barefoot, because apparently, that's my life now—hunting for some pen and paper to piece this mess together. My head was pounding, but I couldn't let it stop me. I needed answers. I needed control.
But before I could even get a step closer to finding a pen, knock knock.
I froze, groaning under my breath. Seriously?
Then came Mina's voice, all polite and proper: "Miss, can I come in?"
I sighed, dragging a hand down my face. "Come in, I said."
She pushed the door open, bowing like some damn servant. Oh right! she is a servant.
"Miss... everyone is waiting for you for breakfast."
I blink at her. Is this why she's in here? To drag my ass outta bed for breakfast? With people I don't even know?
"I don't want to," I growled. Simple. Straightforward.
Mina's eyes went wide, her jaw dropped like I'd just spoken in an alien language. I swear, she looked at me like I'd just told her the sky was green.
What the hell is wrong with this girl? Did I say something wrong or what?
She stammered, looking like I'd just knocked the wind out of her, "But miss, you never miss out on breakfast with your family."
"I am now," I shot back, my voice colder than I intended.
She blinked at me, like her brain couldn't quite process what I said. After a second, she quickly bowed—damn near 90 degrees—and muttered, "Then... I will bring your breakfast here."
I didn't bother with a long response. I just nodded. She just turned and scurried out the door, leaving me with a room full of too much silence.
God, this day was already off to a hell of a start.
Then, I shuffled over to the dressing table, looking for pen and paper. I ignored all the fancy trinkets, the jewelry—none of that was gonna help me now.
Then I found it—a pen and some paper. That's what I needed.
I sat down, grabbed the pen, and just started scribbling. Anything that came to mind. The details. The characters. The moments that led to Cecilia's death. Maybe if I pieced it together, I could figure out how to escape the fate this body was destined for.
But right now, all I had was the paper, the pen, and the cold realization that if I didn't act fast, I'd end up just like her. Dead. Forgotten.
I focused, tapping the pen against the paper. I knew the big parts of the novel. It was some romance novel, but not the kind where they ride off into the sunset. Nah, this one was dark, twisted, full of drama, and emotional wreckage.
The main characters? Tristan Von Arlen, the Grand Duke's eldest son, and Elara Fendrich, the Count's daughter. That girl was something—mysterious healing powers, saving lives, all while being this tragic, perfect heroine. Everybody loved her. But her fate was tangled up with Tristan—Cecilia's older brother.
I couldn't remember all the details, but I remembered enough to know one thing: nobody gave a damn about Cecilia. Not in the novel. Hell, not even the readers. She was just some side character—nothing but a pawn in the game.
She was weak, too. Too damn weak to even stand up for herself. What the hell kind of life was that? Did she die? Was she framed for something? Or did she just end up in some dungeon because of some stupid mistake?
I didn't recall the specifics, but one thing was clear—she didn't get a damn chance to have a real story. Nothing more than a wasted life in someone else's plot. Her death was just there to push the plot forward for Tristan and Elara.
But now? Now, I'm stuck with her life. In her shoes. And I sure as hell ain't following that same damn road. I may not recall how she died.
But one thing was clear.
Survive.
That's all that matters right now. Survive.
I clenched my fists, the paper crumpling under my grip. This wasn't just about avoiding death. It was about taking this life. Cecilia may have been a pawn in the game, but now? She's me. And if anyone thinks they can control me or throw me away like I'm disposable? They've got another thing coming.
If I gotta rewrite this whole damn story to survive, then fine.
Cause this time? The game's mine.