Sophia sprawled lazily on her couch, a half-empty bag of chips by her side and an open romance novel in her hands. The warm glow of her living room lamp bathed her surroundings in a cozy light, but the comfort of her home did little to soothe her growing frustration.
She flipped another page of the book, her brow furrowing deeper with each passing sentence. The female lead, after enduring pages upon pages of betrayal and humiliation, had once again fallen into the arms of the so-called "redeemable" male lead. A man who, in Sophia's opinion, deserved nothing but a swift kick to the curb.
"Why?" she groaned aloud, slapping the book shut. "Why would anyone forgive a man like that? He cheated, he lied, and he humiliated her! And she just forgives him because he looked sad? Ugh!"
Sophia tossed the book onto the coffee table with more force than necessary, her irritation palpable. She stood abruptly, muttering to herself as she paced the room. "If I were her, I'd have walked out the moment he so much as raised his voice. No second chances. None of this 'tragic backstory' nonsense would change my mind."
Still grumbling, she made her way to the kitchen to grab a fresh round of snacks, intent on finding a new book that wouldn't make her blood boil. But as she reached for the pantry door, her socked foot slipped on the smooth hardwood floor.
The world tilted, and for a fleeting moment, Sophia flailed in the air, a sharp cry escaping her lips before everything went black.
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When Sophia opened her eyes, her head throbbed, and a strange sense of disorientation enveloped her. The ceiling above her was ornate, with intricate gold moldings that gleamed in the soft light of a crystal chandelier. It was far removed from the familiar popcorn-textured ceiling of her modest apartment.
She blinked, sitting up slowly. The soft rustle of fabric drew her attention to the figures surrounding her. Strangers, yet... not entirely unfamiliar.
There was a man in his late sixties with a stern face, dressed impeccably in a butler's uniform. A woman who looked like a maid stood near the door, clutching a tray with trembling hands. And then there was the man standing at the foot of the bed.
Her breath caught.
Alexander Sterling.
He was tall, with sharp, aristocratic features that were impossible to forget. His piercing gray eyes were as cold and unyielding as steel, just as the book had described them. He wore a tailored black suit, the crisp lines accentuating his broad shoulders and lean frame. His dark hair was swept back neatly, and there was an air of authority about him that made the room feel smaller.
But his expression... It was the same as the one she had cursed in the book. That detached, almost disdainful look that seemed to view her as an inconvenience.
"You're awake," he said, his voice deep and devoid of warmth.
Sophia froze, her mind racing. This had to be a dream. A weird, vivid dream born out of her frustration with the novel. She pinched her arm discreetly, hoping the sharp pain would jolt her back to reality.
It didn't.
She glanced around again, her confusion growing. The lavish furnishings, the opulent bed she was lying on, the imposing man in front of her—it all felt unnervingly real.
Her gaze darted back to Alexander, and a horrible realization dawned on her. She wasn't in her apartment anymore. She wasn't even in her world.
Somehow, she had become Sophia Sterling, the meek and humiliated wife of Alexander Sterling from the novel.
Panic bubbled within her, but she forced herself to remain calm. She needed time to process, to think, to figure out what had happened and what she should do next.
Alexander's gaze bore into her, as if he were waiting for her to say something. When she didn't, he sighed and turned to the butler. "Inform the staff that Mrs. Sterling has recovered. I expect her to resume her duties as the lady of immediately."
The butler nodded and left the room, the maid following close behind.
Sophia's heart pounded as she watched them leave. She wanted to shout, to demand answers, but the weight of Alexander's presence kept her silent.
"I don't have time for this," Alexander muttered, almost to himself. His cold gaze flicked back to her for a brief moment before he turned on his heel and strode out of the room without another word.
As the door closed behind him, Sophia let out a shaky breath. She clutched the silk sheets beneath her, her mind racing.
She was in the book. Somehow, she had been thrust into the life of a woman she had just been cursing moments ago.
And she knew exactly how this story went.
Sophia Sterling was the epitome of a tragic heroine. Married to Alexander, a man who despised her, she endured constant humiliation and neglect. The original Sophia had spent years pining for Alexander's love, only to be met with cold indifference. When the female lead eventually broke free and found happiness, it was after enduring countless hardships.
But this wasn't the same Sophia.
If this was her life now, she wasn't going to waste it chasing after a man who clearly didn't value her. She wasn't going to beg for scraps of affection or endure his cruelty for the sake of a happy ending he didn't deserve.
No.
This was her second chance, and she was going to use it to rewrite the story.
Sophia swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, wobbling slightly as the unfamiliar weight of her new reality settled over her. She took a deep breath, steadying herself.
Her first step was simple: figure out the rules of this world and I place in it. The rest... I would take one calculated step at a time.
As she glanced at the ornate mirror across the room, her reflection stared back at her—a reflection that wasn't entirely her own. She saw the delicate features of the original Sophia, framed by soft waves of chestnut hair. But the determination in her eyes was all hers.
Sophia Sterling might have been a victim in the novel, but in this version of the story, she was going to be the author of her own fate.