The steady beep of hospital monitors had become Lia's lulby these past few months. She adjusted her oxygen mask with trembling fingers, propping her tablet against the raised bed to continue reading. "Celestial Hearts" had been her escape from the sterile white walls and the knowledge that her twenty-four-year-old body was failing her.

  "Just one more chapter," she whispered, though no one was there to hear. Her parents had stepped out for coffee, and the night nurse wouldn't make rounds for another hour.

  She'd reached her favorite part – the grand ball where all four male leads first encountered Seraphina. Despite knowing Allura was the vilin, Lia had always felt a strange sympathy for her. What must it be like, she wondered, to be trapped in a role you never chose?

  Her vision blurred, and not from tears this time. The tablet slipped from her fingers as a deep cold settled in her chest. As the monitors ftlined, her st thought was of violet eyes and a gilded cage.

  Consciousness returned like surfacing from deep water. Lia gasped, drawing in air that tasted wrong – too clean, too perfumed. Silk sheets whispered against her skin instead of scratchy hospital cotton. She opened her eyes to that gilded ceiling with its one hundred and seventeen painted roses.

  "No," she breathed, sitting up too quickly. The room spun – an opulent bedchamber straight from the novel's descriptions. "This can't be real."

  She stumbled to the ornate mirror, nearly tripping over the hem of a nightgown that cost more than her monthly hospital bills. The face that stared back wasn't hers. Violet eyes, raven hair, features so perfect they seemed painted – Allura's face.

  "My dy?" A timid knock at the door. "Your breakfast is ready."

  Lia's hand flew to her throat. "I'll... I'll be down shortly," she managed, horrified at how naturally the aristocratic accent flowed from her lips.

  When the footsteps receded, she colpsed onto the plush carpet, hyperventiting. This was impossible. She was hallucinating, dying, dreaming – anything but actually transported into her favorite novel as the viliness.

  But the carpet felt real beneath her fingers. The morning sunlight warmed her skin. And when she pinched herself hard enough to leave a mark, the pain was undeniably authentic.

  "Okay," she told herself, using the breathing exercises from her hospital therapy. "Think. If this is real, you need to figure out when in the story you are."

  She searched the room methodically, finding correspondence dated to the very beginning of the novel. The grand ball was tonight – which meant Seraphina had just awakened her powers, and the male leads hadn't yet fallen for her.

  Relief flooded through Lia. She still had time to change things, to avoid Allura's tragic fate. But how?

  A knock interrupted her thoughts. A young maid entered, keeping her eyes downcast. "My dy, shall I help you dress?"

  The girl's hands trembled as she approached. Lia recognized her from the novel – Marie, who Allura regurly terrorized for minor infractions.

  "Yes, thank you," Lia said softly, watching confusion flicker across Marie's face at the gentle tone.

  As Marie helped her into an eborate gown, Lia studied her reflection. The clothes were exquisite but somehow cold, like armor designed to keep people at a distance. She noticed how Marie flinched whenever their hands accidentally brushed.

  "Marie," she asked carefully, "have I... have I been unkind to you?"

  The maid froze, terror pin on her face. "N-no, my dy. You've been most... most proper in your discipline."

  The diplomatic answer spoke volumes. Lia felt sick imagining what "proper discipline" meant in Allura's world.

  Breakfast was a lonely affair in a dining room that could seat thirty. The servants maintained a careful distance, whispering behind their hands when they thought she couldn't hear. Lia picked at food that tasted like ashes despite its obvious quality.

  As she pushed her pte away, a footman approached with a silver tray. "A message arrived for you, my dy."

  She broke the wax seal, scanning the elegant script:

  Lady Allura, His Highness Prince Cassian requests your presence at tonight's ball. A carriage will be sent at sunset. By order of the Royal Secretary

  Lia's hands tightened on the parchment. The ball where it all began – where Allura would start her campaign against Seraphina, where the male leads would fall in love with the heroine's pure heart.

  "Send my regrets," she told the footman. "I'm feeling unwell and won't be attending."

  The servant's eyes widened, but he bowed. "As you wish, my dy."

  Alone again, Lia made her decision. She would not py Allura's role. She would avoid the male leads entirely, stay out of Seraphina's way, and live quietly until she figured out how to return to her own world – or at least survive in this one.

  She spent the afternoon exploring the mansion, noting how servants scattered at her approach. Every room showcased wealth but felt empty, devoid of personal touches or warmth. Allura's life, she realized, had been as much a prison as the hospital ward, just with prettier walls.

  As sunset approached and carriages began arriving at the distant pace, Lia stood at her window watching the nterns light up the city below. She thought of the four men who would meet Seraphina tonight, of the love story about to unfold.

  "It's better this way," she whispered to herself. "They belong to her, not me."

  But as she turned from the window, she couldn't shake the feeling that fate might have other pns. After all, she'd read enough stories to know that avoiding destiny was often the surest way to run straight into it.

  The night deepened, and somewhere in the pace, the tale of Celestial Hearts began to unfold. But this time, the viliness was nowhere to be found.