The morning light filtered through the tall arched windows, painting golden stripes across the polished wooden floor. Elara
though Allison lived in her body, was awake earlier than usual, perched on the edge of her bed, a tray of breakfast balanced precariously on her knees.
The room smelled faintly of lavender and dust. a combination that made her wrinkle her nose. She took a slow sip of tea, enjoying the silence. Outside her window, the sprawling estate was waking, but for once, she was entirely alone. Dante and Clara were nowhere in sight.
Peaceful. At least for now, Allison's mind whispered. She pushed a stray strand of hair from her face and reached for the small stack of books on the bedside table. Romance novels, her only link to the world she had loved before this one: the world of TikTok, movies, and endless distractions. Here, time was measured in the turning of pages, the smell of old parchment, the faint scratch of ink on yellowed paper.
She opened the first book, scanning the lines with eagerness. Every swoon-worthy glance between the characters, every teasing, heated conversation made her blush and squirm in ways that were both embarrassing and alien.
Oh god… he just touched her hand and—ugh… this is disgusting, I can't believe I'm reading this and... she pressed her free hand to her mouth to suppress the flustered laugh.
Hours passed in a fragile peace. Allison had almost forgotten the world outside her room. Almost.
A sharp knock on the door jolted her.
"Elara," a voice called softly, familiar and measured.
Allison, set the book down, smoothing the blanket around her as she rose. Her slippers whispered against the floorboards. She opened the door to find Martha, her personal maid, standing there with an almost imperceptible sigh. Her eyes scanned the room, taking in Elara's posture, the tray, the half-open book, lingering just long enough to convey a silent message.
Allison caught it immediately. The long, meaning-laden look.
Oh no… She tilted her head, stuck out her tongue playfully, and asked, "And what brings you here at this… unholy hour of the day?"
Martha's lips twitched, not quite a smile, but full of amusement and knowing.
"There is a grand celebration tomorrow," Martha said evenly. "And the Don wants you there."
Allison blinked. Her stomach flipped. Tomorrow… tomorrow… one day. One day until… Panic surged like icy water through her veins.
"I… um… can't," she began, flailing slightly. "I'm sick! Yes, sick! Or… my heart… it's broken! Maybe… maybe I… I have a terrible breakout, acne! Or… oh! I—" She wrung her hands, cheeks flaming, trying every excuse that crossed her panicked mind. "I… I could've broken my foot!"
Martha's brow arched. "You are avoiding him."
Allison froze, trying to act dumb. "The Don? Who, Mr… Moretti?"
"Yes. You cannot hide forever." Martha's voice was calm, unshakable.
Allison's hands flew to her face. Why does she always see right through me? She whined, stepping back. "But I… I really don't want to go! It's… it's terrifying! And… and I.."
Martha strode forward and slammed a small, golden invitation card onto the desk. The sound echoed like a gunshot.
"It's from the Don. You do not have a say. One word of refusal is not yours to give."
Before Allison could open her mouth again, Martha turned, her skirts whispering against the floor, and exited. The door clicked shut perfectly behind her. Silence fell again, heavier this time, and Allison pressed her forehead to the desk, heart hammering.
Great. Just great. She sank into her chair, picking up her book, but every sentence blurred. Her mind raced: Tomorrow… tomorrow is it. My last day before the end… She read the passages anyway, but the romantic swooning now felt grotesque and impossible, making her blush in the wrong places—cheeks hot, stomach twisting.
She remembered the first time she had hidden here, eating breakfast alone, savoring the silence. Now the isolation felt like a trap. Every page turned reminded her that this was Elara's world, not hers. Her body, her eyes, her voice, everything is Elara's. Everyone would call her Elara, everyone would expect her to act as Elara. And tomorrow…
She sat at the edge of her bed.
All the color had drained from her face.
The invitation card lay on the desk across the room, glowing faintly under the morning light like a death notice.
Tomorrow.
Her death.
Allison's fingers curled into the sheets as her mind raced, circling, spiraling. thinking, thinking, thinking. yet finding nothing. No loophole. No miracle. No sudden plot twist to save her.
There has to be something… there's always something in stories…
But this wasn't a story she could close.
Then it hit her.
Her back straightened slightly.
Before anything else. before panic swallowed her whole, she needed a plan. A strategy. Something to hold onto.
Her lips began to move, whispering like a chant, like a fragile spell she hoped would keep her alive.
"No matter what… avoid Clara… avoid her completely…"
She swallowed, her voice trembling but firming with each word.
"Even if she provokes you… even if she humiliates you… ignore her… we could stay alive."
Her grip tightened.
"You're just there to eat… smile… and pretend… Dante's fiancée. Nothing more."
She paused.
Then her eyes widened slightly.
"Ahh… which reminds me…"
Silence.
"Dante."
The name felt heavy. Dangerous.
Her heartbeat quickened.
"He's the source… I need to find him now."
She didn't think again.
She moved.
Slipping into her house slippers, she pushed off the bed and strode out of her room, urgency carrying her faster than dignity could restrain her.
The mansion stretched endlessly before her, but she didn't slow down.
Not for the stares.
Not for the whispers.
Not even for the fact that she was dressed in a plain nightgown.
Something the original Elara would never be caught dead wearing outside her chambers.
The fabric hung loosely on her frame, awkward—like it didn't belong to her. Because it didn't.
The real Elara would have been adorned. Polished. Perfect..
A masterpiece.
A woman who dressed like she was meant
to be admired—like a painting placed in a museum under careful lighting.
But this version?
This version wanted none of it.
No attention.
No admiration.
No eyes on her at all.
Just… invisibility.
Even her hair—once meticulously styled, maintained with time and money—was now thrown into a messy bun, strands falling freely without care.
This Elara didn't care.
This Elara just wanted to survive.
By the time she reached Dante's study, she was panting lightly.
Her hand hovered near the door.
And then...
Doubt crept in.
Fear followed.
That feeling from before… that suffocating, overwhelming presence… it hadn't left her.
What if it happened again?
Her fingers curled into her palm.
She forced herself to breathe.
"Elara…" she started...
Then paused.
"No… I'm Allison."
A frustrated groan slipped out as she rubbed her head.
"Ugh… whatever. Any name works. We're both in here anyway…"
Her chest rose and fell.
We both feel it.
She straightened slightly.
"No matter how charming he is… no matter how good-looking…" she muttered quickly, like she was afraid she'd forget.
"Don't waver. Stick to the plan. Just get him to agree to the annulment. That's it. Nothing more."
A long breath escaped her lips—one she didn't even realize she had been holding.
"…Let's do this."
She pumped her fist lightly, lifted the hem of her dress, and stepped forward—
The door flew open.
Her foot slipped.
Her body tilted forward—
And then—
Strong arms caught her.
"Dante."
The name barely left her lips.
He held her close. Too close.
His piercing blue eyes locked onto hers, sharp and unreadable, yet dangerously alive. The corridor light spilled across his face, carving out every detail. his jawline, his expression, the effortless dominance he carried.
Damn… those chiseled features…
For a second... just a second... her eyes betrayed her.
He looked like something out of those ancient myths she used to read. A god.
Untouchable.
And then—
That smirk.
"Seems like you haven't gotten enough of me yet."
Allison blinked rapidly, snapping out of it.
"I... I'm sorry...!" she tried to pull back, flustered.
But his hand tightened around her waist.
Pulling her closer.
Her breath hitched.
That… wasn't right.
This wasn't how he was supposed to act.
The Dante she knew—the one from the story—would've let her fall without hesitation rather than touch her like this.
So why…
Her thoughts scattered.
Then...
"They seem to have gotten bigger."
She froze.
"What size are you wearing now?"
"…What?"
Confused, she followed his gaze.
And froze.
"…Ah—!"
She shoved him away instantly, arms crossing tightly over her chest, face burning.
"What is wrong with you?!"
"What's the big deal?" he replied lazily. "You used to beg me to touch you."
Her stomach dropped.
"And you even drugged me just to get me into bed."
The words hit like a slap.
Fragments... memories that weren't hers... flashed through her mind.
Desperation.
Shame.
Humiliation.
Allison squeezed her eyes shut, her entire body recoiling.
That's… disgusting…
He turned, walking back into the study as if nothing had happened.
"Come in."
She hesitated.
Then followed.
The door shut behind her with a soft click.
Silence.
"So…" he drawled, glancing at her over his shoulder. "What brings you here at this time of day? Missing me already?"
She stiffened.
"Or…" he continued, a mocking edge creeping into his voice, "are you already regretting your decision about annulling the enga..."
"It's about the engagement."
She cut him off sharply.
He paused.
Turned.
"And what about it?" he asked, clearly expecting a tantrum. A plea. A performance.
Instead...
"I'm here to discuss the annulment."
Calm.
Steady.
Unfazed.
"I can't continue living like this."
Something flickered in his eyes.
Something dark.
Unexpected.
He hadn't seen this coming.
Not like this.
Not from her.
He had expected begging. Desperation.
Tears.
Not this.
Not composure.
Not distance.
His jaw tightened as he stood abruptly,
turning away, one hand rubbing his temple as if restraining something volatile beneath the surface.
"Fine."
His voice was clipped. Controlled.
"You will attend the celebration tomorrow."
She blinked.
"And only then…" he continued, his tone
colder now, "will you get your answer."
And just like that...
He walked past her.
Gone.
Leaving her standing there.
Dazed.
Confused.
"…What the hell is wrong with him?" she muttered under her breath.
But then...
Slowly...
A smile crept onto her face.
Small.
Relieved.
Hopeful.
At least… there's a chance.
She turned, almost light on her feet now, practically skipping out of the study.
She didn't notice the shadow in the corridor.
Didn't see the figure standing there.
Watching her.
A cigarette glowed faintly between his fingers.
Smoke curled into the air as his gaze followed her retreating figure.
Long.
Careful.
Suspicious.
"…Are you sure this girl is still Elara?"