The last thing Alicia Vargas remembered was the satisfying click of the Save Draft button on her laptop. Another chapter of Crimson Dynasty, her latest web novel, safely stored in the digital ether. She’d been especially proud of Princess Aurelia’s entrance—dripping with venomous charm, all haughty pronouncements and a flick of her crimson-sleeved wrist that sent a trembling maid scurrying.

  But now, there was no screen. No glow from her cramped dorm room. Only silence.

  Alicia’s eyes snapped open to a scene so foreign and magnificent it stole her breath—and sent a chill crawling down her spine. Velvet. She was lying on velvet. Not just any kind, but the plush, opulent kind that whispered of royalty.

  Arched windows soared above her, trimmed with ornate gold and casting dawn—or was it dusk?—light across an immaculate garden. Heavy curtains of sapphire and emerald framed the view. The air shimmered with the scent of roses… and something metallic, faintly unsettling.

  Panic prickled in her throat.

  Where was she? Had she been drugged? Kidnapped?

  Then she saw her hands—smaller, paler, more delicate than her own. Perfectly shaped nails painted a pearlescent white. Rings adorned every finger: thick bands of gold and gemstones that glittered like they belonged on her.

  Alicia sat up with a start. Silken sheets whispered around her. She was wearing a gown—white silk, embroidered with silver floral threads. It caressed her skin like moonlight. But beneath its beauty bloomed a creeping unease.

  Her gaze scanned the lavish room. A vanity table glinting with crystal bottles, a wardrobe carved with mythical beasts, a full-length mirror standing tall.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  She turned to it.

  The girl reflected back was breathtaking. Pale, flawless skin. Long raven hair in elegant waves. But the eyes—those eyes—rooted Alicia in place. Same shape. Same lashes. But the irises… stark white. Polished bone.

  Recognition hit her like a slap.

  The room. The gown. The haunting beauty. This wasn’t just any bedroom. It was Princess Aurelia’s.

  She was in her story.

  Alicia Vargas, college student and aspiring novelist, was staring out from the eyes of her own creation—the villainous, doomed Princess Aurelia.

  She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

  This had to be a dream. A vivid hallucination, born of stress and too many late nights.

  But the roses were too fragrant. The rings too heavy. And those eyes in the mirror… too real.

  A knock at the door jolted her.

  “Princess Aurelia? Are you awake?” The voice was soft. Hesitant.

  Elara.

  Alicia’s heart thundered. Elara—the timid handmaid from Act One of Crimson Dynasty. Right down to the anxious tremor in her voice.

  Another knock. More urgent. “Princess?”

  No. This wasn’t a dream.

  This was her world. Her story. And she was trapped inside it.

  The room swayed. Her mind reeled. What was the plot? How had Aurelia fallen? She’d focused so much on making the princess deliciously wicked, she hadn’t paid enough attention to the road to ruin.

  Something about a failed political marriage… a betrayed heroine… revenge?

  The details blurred, as if her own words had turned to fog.

  “Princess?”

  Alicia’s writer’s instinct stirred, flickering in the panic. Aurelia wouldn’t cower. She commanded.

  She straightened her back. Drew a breath.

  “Enter,” she called—her voice higher, smoother, unfamiliar.

  The door creaked open. A young girl curtsied deeply. Nervous brown eyes. Trembling hands.

  Elara. Exactly as described.

  Alicia stared at her. In the story, Aurelia would lash out now. Demand exotic fruit. Threaten punishment.

  But Alicia hesitated.

  To be cruel to this girl—this person—felt like violating something sacred.

  And then it hit her: she was playing a part. And that part… was destined to end in blood.

  If she wanted to survive, she had to rewrite the story.

  “Elara,” she said, struggling to steady her voice. “Prepare a light breakfast. And… tell the head gardener the white roses in the east courtyard need more tending.”

  Elara blinked. Confused. “Of course, Your Highness.” Another curtsy. Then she vanished like a shadow.

  Alicia exhaled, her heart pounding.

  She’d gone off-script.

  Just a little. But maybe that was enough.

  She was the villain.

  Not anymore.