Sometimes death isn't the end—it's the twisted beginning of a fate you never asked for.
Abigail's POV
The darkness had a strange texture—like velvet soaked in regret. When I finally woke up after the overwhelming panic, I thought it was just a cruel dream. But no. The silence around me wasn't the soft kind. It was the kind that whispered: You're not going back.
I tried to sleep again, desperately clinging to the hope that I'd wake up in the bookstore, back with Noah and Yami. But instead of that dusty smell of parchment and paper, all I got were memories—foreign ones, crashing over me like a tidal wave.
Her name was Abigail Dankworth.
Daughter of Hansel Dankworth, a cold and calculated Duke with eyes sharper than steel. I could feel her fear lodged in my chest, like a second heartbeat. She was born from his first wife—who died giving birth to her. The Duke never loved his wife, and by extension, never loved his daughter.
She was unwanted. Forgotten.
He had a son with his second wife, and the golden boy shone brightly in every room where Abigail had been a shadow.
The Duke had a plan—a twisted one. He wanted to use his own daughter as a pawn. He intended to marry her off to Crown Prince Ivan, the emperor's firstborn. A man known not for kindness but cruelty. Calculated. Merciless. Practical to a fault.
And he was six years older.
Abigail was seventeen... and terrified.
She wanted to be loved. Just once. Just enough to believe in something beyond pain. But when even that was denied to her, she swallowed a cocktail of sleeping pills in a desperate attempt to escape.
And now, I was in her body.
Another fucked up family. Another cursed girl. Another life on the brink of shattering.
And Ivan?
My mind reeled. Ivan. That name wasn't just in my memories—it was in the damn novel I'd read. Was this the same world? A spin-off? A parallel? Or was it something entirely different?
Were his siblings—Damian and Violet—still alive here?
I needed answers.
But more than that—I needed Noah and Yami.
Were they trapped here too? In their novel worlds? Or somewhere else entirely?
My fists clenched around the bed sheets. No more running. No more waiting.
If fate dragged us here again, I was going to tear apart the pages until I rewrote our story.
As time passed, anxiety brewed like a storm inside me. I'd searched everywhere—mentally and physically—but there was no trace of Noah or Yami. Nothing. No signs. No strange coincidences. Just this suffocating world of polished cruelty.
"Miss..." A maid peeked into the room, her head bowed low. "Master has summoned you to the study."
I exhaled through clenched teeth. Of course he has.
Straightening in front of the mirror, I fixed my posture and smoothed out the dress I'd been forced into—lavender silk, too delicate for a place this cold. One last glance at the stranger in the mirror, and I walked toward the lion's den.
Knocking once.
"Come in," his gravel-coated voice called.
Hansel Dankworth.
A name that should've meant protection.
Instead, it reeked of manipulation.
He didn't even look up from the documents sprawled across his desk.
"We're meeting the Crown Prince tomorrow," he said without preamble. "The Emperor has arranged for the two of you to speak. Alone. In the royal gardens."
I blinked. "Okay."
That was all I said.
Not a protest. Not a question.
Just okay—because I knew resistance meant nothing in a place like this. His cold stare followed me as I left, slamming into my back like invisible knives. I didn't flinch. He didn't deserve to see me break.
The Next Day
The royal gardens were...breathtaking. Flowers spilled in wild shades of violet and crimson. Marble fountains sang quiet lullabies as the breeze carried the scent of roses and something sharper—like expectation.
And dread.
Footsteps echoed behind me.
I turned, heart thudding.
A man in his late forties walked with the air of someone who didn't need to speak to be heard—the Emperor, no doubt. His dark eyes held years of strategy and shadows.
Beside him...
Prince Ivan.
My throat dried instantly.
He couldn't have been older than twenty-two. But he carried himself like someone who'd been fighting wars before he could walk. Dressed in black military attire with silver accents, every inch of him screamed power.
Cold. Commanding.
Lethally beautiful.
His hair was dark, slightly tousled by the breeze. But it was his eyes—icy gray and unreadable—that caught me off-guard. They weren't just beautiful. They were dangerous.
And they were staring right at me.
Shit.
I was staring too.
I quickly looked down, heat crawling up my neck. We bowed.
The Emperor's voice sliced the silence. "You may rise."
We did.
"As discussed, Duke, I wish for the Prince and your daughter to speak privately. We will leave you both to the gardens. The rest of us shall proceed to the study."
No room for negotiation.
The Emperor turned on his heel, Hansel close behind, leaving me with a man whose name I knew too well—and a fate I wanted to rewrite.
Now it was just me and Prince Ivan.
And the silence between us?
It was louder than any scream.