She curled up on her couch, blanket over her legs, and flipped open the book.
"Cassian Vellmont adjusted his cufflinks. Another merger, another arranged engagement. The Montclair family would bring political power. He would bring everything else."
Lisa sighed.
"Corporate royalty. How modern."
But she kept reading. The sentences had a rhythm. The world, a strange charm.
By page twenty, her eyes were tired. By page thirty, they burned.
And then—
The lines on the page began to blur.
Her vision tilted.
Something pulled at her chest.
She tried to stand, but the world had gone soft—
She woke to the scent of lavender and something richer—amber, maybe. The ceiling above her was carved. Painted.
She wasn't on her couch.
She wasn't in her city.
"Miss Montclair?" a woman's voice said gently. "The family's waiting. The engagement announcement is in an hour."
Lisa blinked.
The room was... massive. Gilded. Real marble.
She looked down.
Her hands — not quite hers. Her dress — definitely not hers. A mirror across the room showed her reflection, almost familiar, but styled, elegant, sharp like a princess in a luxury commercial.
She whispered:
"I… fell into the book?"
The door opened with a chime.
Cassian Vellmont entered like a gust of calculated wind. Tall. Perfect. Untouchable.
He didn't smile.
"You're late. The contract is non-negotiable. I expect punctuality from a Montclair."
Lisa blinked once. Then twice.
And then, as if someone else spoke through her mouth, she smiled lazily and said:
"Wow. Charming. You always greet your future wife like she's an overdue invoice?"
His brow twitched. That was new.
And just like that… she wasn't reading the story anymore.
She was rewriting it.