My first thought when I woke up wasn't Where am I?
It was: Why is the ceiling so fancy?
Gilded patterns, swirling like whipped cream and gold frosting, stared back at me as if to say, You're not in Kansas anymore, sweetheart.
'Okay. Don't panic. Maybe this is a lucid dream. Or a coma. Or I got kidnapped by a billionaire duke who wanted to make me his beautiful doll wife—wait, no, that's just chapter twelve of Married to the Deranged Duke.'
I sat up, and my vision swam for a moment.
The room around me was huge. The kind of huge that made you wonder if someone got confused and designed a ballroom with a bed in it. Velvet drapes pooled at the windows, antique furniture gleamed in the low light, and a gilded full-length mirror stood near the far wall, its frame carved with roses and curling vines. Of course there was a harp in the corner. Because apparently someone took their gothic romance aesthetic very seriously.
'Nope. Not a dream. My subconscious doesn't have the budget for this.'
I swung my legs off the bed and—
Clink.
A metallic sound followed me. I froze, glancing down.
An iron shackle circled my ankle, snug but not painful, with a chain trailing across the polished floor. My eyes followed it all the way to the bedpost, where it was bolted in place.
"…Seriously?"
I tugged. It rattled but held firm. No key in sight—just cold iron, a barely visible seam where the lock must be, and an ugly sense of permanence.
I took a step. The chain followed with a low, dragging scrape. Another step—still slack.
One careful circuit of the room later, I had my answer.
It wasn't short.
It let me reach the mirror, the dresser, the chaise by the window. I could pace almost every inch of the room. Just not enough to reach the door.
'Of course. Full access captivity. How generous.'
I turned toward the mirror—and froze.
From where I stood, my reflection was faint but unmistakable. Soft pink hair tumbled past my shoulders in elegant waves. My skin looked porcelain pale, my features delicate—softened by distance, but still hauntingly familiar. Eyes too wide. Lips too soft. A face I'd only ever seen in webtoon panels and fan edits.
'I think I know this face.'
I looked down.
A white nightgown, lace-trimmed and suspiciously luxurious, hung on my body like I'd been dressed by a Victorian ghost bride stylist.
As my hair fell forward, I pushed it aside. The softness was real—too real. My fingers trembled.
I stepped closer to the mirror, heart thudding. The distance no longer blurred the details.
And then I saw them—my eyes. Emerald green. Vivid. Striking. Like polished gemstones staring back at me.
"…What the hell?"
There was no doubt anymore.
'This... this is unmistakably Sonia Mitford.'
The name stirred something half-buried in my brain—like a memory I didn't know I still had. The heroine of The Crimson Devotion, the first obsessive male lead story I'd devoured like candy dipped in poison.
But that novel never ended. It just stopped. One day, no update. For years.
A chill ran down my spine.
'No way. No freaking way.'
I turned to head back toward the bed—
Clink.
My foot snagged on the chain, and I stumbled, barely catching myself before I kissed the floor.
Nothing like nearly eating marble to remind you this luxury suite comes with iron chains.
"…What kind of twisted romance setup is this?!"
My voice echoed through the empty room.
That's when the door creaked open.
"Sonia. You're awake."
My blood ran cold. The sight of him was like remembering a nightmare you didn't know you'd had.
There he was. Red hair. Silver eyes. Sculpted face like an angel, if that angel moonlighted as a serial killer.
Marius Wittelsbach.
The original male lead.
The obsessive one.
The "I burned down your favorite tea shop because the owner complimented your eyes" male lead.
I slapped on a smile so fast it hurt, then scrambled back to bed like nothing was wrong.
"M-Marius! What a surprise!" I laughed, too high-pitched. "I was just... admiring the ceiling! Lovely plasterwork!"
He stepped into the room with calm, deliberate strides—dressed in black from collar to boots. Immaculate. Intense.
"You passed out yesterday." His voice was gentle. Too gentle. "I was worried you'd hit your head when you fainted."
'You mean when you chloroformed me, you psycho?!'
Well, I've only got a few fragments of this body's memories, but that one stayed with me.
"Oh, no harm done!" I chirped. "Just a little disoriented, that's all. You know how it is. Sometimes you faint. Sometimes you wake up in a strange room. Perfectly normal!"
His lips curved slightly. "You always say the cutest things, Nia."
'Nia. Right. That's what he called her.'
I laughed nervously. "Haha... yeah, me and my cute sayings..."
He sat beside the bed, just far enough to seem polite, just close enough to reach me in a heartbeat.
"I had the doctor check on you. He said you're fine. But I wanted to make sure myself."
He reached forward and brushed my cheek with the back of his hand.
"You're warm. You're not sick, are you?"
"N-nope! Healthy as a horse! Or a—um—lady horse? Mare? Is that the right word?"
His eyes glinted. "You don't need to be afraid. I'll take care of you."
'I am definitely afraid.'
He stood, and for a moment, I thought he might walk away.
But then he added, almost casually, "I had to deal with the man who sent you that letter."
"...Letter?"
"The one who wanted to meet you at the eastern garden last week. Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"
My mouth dried up. 'No no no no—wasn't that just a side character who wanted her opinion on a poem?'
His eyes darkened. "He's no longer a problem."
"...Did you, uh, fire him?"
A pause.
"No. I killed him."
My body locked.
"I—"
He tilted his head. "You were always too kind, Nia. You don't need to worry about those insects. I'll get rid of them for you. Anyone who bothers you. Anyone who looks at you the wrong way."
He smiled.
I thought obsessive male leads were romantic. You know, the type to set the sky on fire just because someone made you cry. Goals, right?
'...I take it back. Obsessive male leads aren't my thing, after all. They're not even a thing. They're a horror genre dressed in sparkles.'
Before I could respond, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.
"I'll bring you breakfast. I made your favorite tea. Chamomile with honey."
'Oh God, that was her favorite. Not mine! Mine's black coffee with enough caffeine to kill a small mammal!'
He turned and left, the door shutting with a heavy click.
I didn't even breathe until his footsteps faded away.
'Okay. Think. THINK.'
I stood—shuffled, rather—toward the window, dragging the shackle and chain behind me. The curtains were heavy, but I forced them aside and peeked through.
A courtyard. Guards. High walls. A raven sitting on the iron railing, staring at me like it knew my browser history.
'Yep. Prison.'
There was only one thing left to do.
"HELLO? ANYONE?! I'D LIKE TO SPEAK TO YOUR MANAGER!"
Nothing.
"DOES THIS PLACE HAVE A HR DEPARTMENT?!"
Still nothing.
'I am so doomed.'
Then—just as I was about to flop dramatically onto the bed and cry—a knock tapped once at the door. Then again. Three short, precise knocks.
I stiffened. "Marius, if that's you, I swear on my last functioning nerve—"
"It's not Marius."
The voice was low. Calm. Male. But not terrifying.
Not Marius.
"Who—?"
"It's Alessio. I'm here to... check on the security measures, my lady."
'Alessio...'
"Uh. Sure. Come in? Please?"
The door creaked open, and there he was.
Blonde hair, violet eyes, tall and sturdy in a knight's uniform. He looked like a golden retriever who moonlighted as a war general.
And—hallelujah—not a single yandere vibe in sight.
His eyes swept over the room, then to the shackle on my ankle.
"...You're shackled."
"Ten points to Ravenclaw."
He blinked, clearly confused. "...Pardon?"
"Nothing. Just—uh—yes. I'm shackled. Marius thinks it's romantic."
Alessio's jaw tightened.
"And you? Do you think it's romantic?"
"...I think it's a crime."
He stepped further in, keeping his voice low. "I'm not here as Marius's knight. I'm undercover."
I raised an eyebrow and mumbled, "The Crown Prince."
Alessio froze. Just for a beat. "How do you know that?"
I blinked, feigning confusion. "Wait—are you serious? I was... kind of joking."
His expression didn't change.
I shifted, trying to sound casual. "I don't know, you've just got this... I don't know, this presence. Like someone used to getting listened to. I figured you were someone important. Crown Prince just popped out."
He narrowed his eyes slightly. "That's a very specific guess."
I shrugged. "Lucky instinct? I tend to pick up on things even when I'm not trying to."
He watched me for a long second before finally saying, "I see."
"Yeah," I said, voice light. "But hey, your secret's safe with me. I'm great at pretending I don't know things."
A flicker of a smirk touched his lips. "You'd better be. Let's just say there's a reason that's not public knowledge."
I gave an overly solemn nod. "Got it. Lips sealed, Your Highness."
Then added with a slight grin, "So... you're the good guy, right?"
His lips twitched. "I suppose so."
"Well, congratulations. You just became my favorite character."
He looked at me with a mix of amusement and concern. "We don't have much time. I'll come back tonight after the guard shift. I'll get the shackle off—but until then, you have to act normal."
Right. Normal. Totally normal. Just a heroine locked in a tower with a murder-y ex-lover and a sexy spy-knight here to rescue her.
"Got it," I nodded solemnly. "Play dumb. My specialty."
He gave me a crooked smile. "You might be better at this than I expected."
"...Please don't say that like you're surprised."
As he turned to leave, I couldn't help but mutter,
"Hey. Alessio?"
He paused.
"Don't die, okay?"
His smile softened. "I'll try not to."
And then he was gone.
Leaving me standing there in a ridiculous nightgown, shackled to a bedpost, caught between a murder-happy male lead and the world's most casually heroic crown prince-in-disguise.
'This is fine. Everything is fine.'
...
'Right?'
To be continued