[CONTENT WARNING: This story contains explicit sexual content, graphic violence, strong language, and themes of trauma. It is intended for mature audiences (18+) only. Reader discretion is strongly advised.]

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“Talk dirty to me,” I whispered.
He growled low in his throat. “You want filthy, little bird?”
“Yes.”
He thrust deeper, harder, and leaned close, his lips brushing my ear.
“I am going to fill your fucking cunt with so much cum that you will still be dripping until tomorrow. You will sit at breakfast with my seed soaking through your drawers and smile at Aunt Cornelia like the proper little slut you are.”
I moaned. “That is disgusting.”
“You asked for it.”
“Again.”
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Clara Vance had it all.

Millions of followers, a beauty empire built on glamour, and a life curated for the camera. But a lost bet with her mother sends her away from a marvelous weekend trip to Mykonos and into the dusty attic of her family’s decaying ancestral manor. 

The catch was her inheritance. Her task? A dreary clear-out. Her discovery? A centuries-old diary belonging to her great-grandmother, Eleanor Thorne.

The ink tells a story of a forgotten history. Eleanor’s forbidden obsession with her guardian and step-uncle, Casimir Guggenheim, a ruthless railroad tycoon with a heart of stone.

But when Clara touches the tear-stained pages, the scent of crushed gardenias doesn’t just fill the room, it drags her back to 1879.

Trapped in Eleanor’s corseted body, Clara finds herself under the roof of the very man who haunted the diary. To the world, Casimir is a cold, untouchable magnate. To Clara, he’s a puzzle she’s determined to break.

The problem? Clara isn’t the timid, fragile girl Casimir remembers. She’s a 21st-century It Girl with no filter, a strategic mind for business, a total lack of respect for Gilded Age propriety and a defiance waiting for trouble to happen. While the original Eleanor was a victim of her station, Clara is ready to burn the cage down.

As Clara navigates a world where a single misstep means ruin, scheming relatives see her as a pawn, and a powerful suitor sees her as nothing but a business merger. She realizes the history books were wrong. 

Rewriting Eleanor’s tragic end is dangerous, especially when she starts falling for the man she was never supposed to have.
History says they’re a tragedy. Clara says history is about to get a makeover.

If I had been anyone else, in any other life, I might have been reeling.


A prince. A fortune around my neck. Every woman in the room was trying to figure out how the orphaned heiress had landed the biggest prize of the century. As if luck were the only explanation. Or the Guggenheim shadow I walked in.


I had successfully intercepted Eleanor's fate. I'd saved her from Bartholomew. She would be safe with Felipe. She would have a title. She would live in a palace in Madrid. She would have a life far from the winter the diary said would freeze her.


The dance with Felipe ended to polite, ringing applause, and as he led me off the floor, I felt nothing but a staggering, soul-deep hollowness. He was still holding my hand, still smiling, the sun to my eclipse. 


Felipe excused himself to fetch us refreshments, pressing a light kiss to my knuckles before disappearing into the crowd. I barely had a moment to breathe before they descended.


Chapter 98 - Chapter Ninety-Eight: Hollowness