Two months.
That's how long it took for Zara to stop screaming every morning when she woke up and realized she was still trapped in a fictional world.
At first, she had gone through all five stages of transmigration grief.
Denial: This can't be real, maybe I hit my head and now I'm hallucinating.
Anger: Who the hell writes a book this bad and then dumps someone inside it?
Bargaining: God, if you get me out of this, I'll actually study for finals.
Depression: Fine. I live here now. Someone pass me the quill and the candlelight trauma.
And finally—acceptance.
Now, Zara just sighed every time she looked at her reflection in the mirror and said, "Morning, stranger," like it was the world's worst roommate situation.
The good news? She had learned a lot about her new life. She'd learned that her name here was Evelyn Harper, the younger sister of the novel's beloved female lead, Liana Harper—the radiant beauty destined to melt the heart of a man colder than Antarctica: Dravien Tharlic.
The bad news?
Zara was living in the world's most depressing revenge plot.
Liana had gone to "tame the tyrant" (the story's exact words, not Zara's—she would've used "babysit the trauma-laden maniac"). And, according to the book's timeline, this was around the time the Beauty should be halfway to his heart—smiling sweetly while secretly planning to avenge their ruined family.
Zara could almost picture it. Her sister walking into that mansion, eyes glittering with righteous fury, pretending to be the perfect angel while plotting destruction from within.
Good for her, she thought proudly, sipping tea one morning. Destroy him in style, sis.
But she also knew how the story would twist later—how Liana's revenge would turn into heartbreak, how her plan would collapse the moment love got in the way. But that was months away. Right now, Zara was just trying not to die before the main plot even noticed her.
She looked around the small room she had made her own. Books stacked in corners, notebooks scribbled full of "escape plans," a suitcase half-packed under the bed. She'd decided long ago that once she had enough money, she would disappear—move to another city, finish her studies, maybe even open a coffee shop and pretend she wasn't the side character in a melodrama.
"I'll be fine," she told herself as she zipped her bag shut. "Just one normal school day. No kidnappings. No fainting. No billionaires."
If this were a movie, that's the line the narrator would freeze-frame and say, But little did she know…
Zara locked the door, balanced her bag, and climbed onto her bicycle. The morning sun was warm, painting the world gold. And for once, she noticed it—the beauty of the place. The author might've been dramatic, but they had taste. The streets were lined with cherry blossoms, the air smelled of coffee and money, and the people walking around looked like they'd stepped out of luxury brand ads.
"Ugh, even the beggars here probably wear silk," she muttered, pedaling faster.
Wind brushed her cheeks. For the first time in months, she felt alive—not trapped, not scared, just alive. The rhythm of the wheels and the soft hum of the city felt almost comforting.
Then came the car.
It appeared out of nowhere, sleek and black and aggressively shiny, like it was auditioning for a villain role in Fast & Furious. It screeched to a stop right in front of her—so sudden that Zara's heart jumped into her throat.
"WHAT THE HELL!" she shouted, but it was too late. Her bike slammed right into the car's back bumper with a loud THUD.
Her body jolted forward, her foot twisted slightly, and her dignity shattered into a million pieces. She stumbled, clutching the handlebar like it owed her money.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," she hissed, glaring at the car's license plate. "You—fancy-driving—traffic hazard!"
Anger replaced pain. She wasn't about to let some rich, careless idiot ruin her morning and her bike.
With fire in her eyes, she marched toward the car, every step powered by pure rage and maybe a bit of main character energy. She knocked on the driver's window sharply.
"Hey! You blind? You could've killed me!"
No answer.
She knocked harder. "I said—HELLO!"
But instead of the driver's window, the backseat window rolled down slowly. Zara's breath caught the second she saw who was sitting inside.
Her blood turned to ice.
Oh no. No, no, no.
It couldn't be him.
But it was.
Dark suit. Cold silver eyes. A presence so suffocating it made the air itself hesitate.
Dravien Tharlic.
The man who ruined families for breakfast and smiled while doing it. The man who could make a contract sound like a death sentence. The man her sister was supposed to destroy… and the man she had promised herself never to cross paths with.
And here she was.
Banging on his car like an idiot.
Zara blinked. "Oh… oh, you've got to be kidding me."
Her mind screamed a thousand things at once—run, faint, fake amnesia, play dead, teleport—but her body refused to move.
Dravien tilted his head, studying her with mild interest, as if watching a squirrel try to fight a tiger. "You hit my car," he said simply, voice low and dangerous.
Zara laughed nervously. "Ahaha, yeah, funny story about that! See, your car actually—uh—materialized out of thin air, I swear! Total magic trick! You know how the economy is these days—cars just… appear!"
His expression didn't change.
"Okay, no magic," she corrected quickly. "It's my fault. Entirely my fault. You're a wonderful driver, sir. Amazing reflexes. You should get a medal."
Silence.
Zara could feel the humiliation prickling up her neck. Then survival instincts kicked in full force.
Abort mission. Flee the scene.
Without another word, she spun on her heel and dashed toward her bike. "Right! I'll just, uh, go repair the road! Yeah! Bye!"
But the moment her fingers brushed the handlebars—
A shadow fell over her.
The sound of a car door closing echoed like a death bell behind her.
She froze. Slowly—painfully slowly—she turned her head.
There he was. Standing just a few feet away, tall and impossibly still, his black coat catching the light. He wasn't even trying, yet he looked like a god among mortals—if gods collected souls for fun.
Dravien Tharlic. In the flesh.
Zara's brain officially blue-screened.
"Oh no," she whispered. "Not again. Please don't say he's here to kidnap people before breakfast."
He took one step closer.
Zara's heart pounded li
ke a drumline.
If the universe was watching, she hoped it was enjoying this comedy because she sure wasn't.
---