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As she walked back to her room, her mind raced. "Oh no. I'm inside a novel. This novel," she thought, panic bubbling beneath her composed exterior. She was living in the world of the book she had been so engrossed in, reincarnated as the character everyone loved to hate. Determined to survive and rewrite her fate, Amelia resolved to navigate this treacherous new world with care. She would use her knowledge of the novel to her advantage, starting with maintaining her new persona as the overly friendly, reformed stepmother. And perhaps, just perhaps, she might even find a way to win the cold duke's heart.
In the relentless hum of the modern world, Amelia was a cog in the corporate machine. Her days were a blur of emails, meetings, and deadlines, leaving her perpetually tethered to her desk. Late one night, as she finished reading the latest chapter of her favorite online novel, her vision blurred. She rubbed her eyes, only to find the room spinning around her. The next moment, she collapsed onto her keyboard, the world fading to black.
When Amelia opened her eyes, the cold fluorescent lights of her office were replaced by the soft glow of chandeliers. She blinked, trying to focus on her surroundings. The bed she lay on was a four-poster, draped in luxurious silks and embroidered linens. The room was enormous, adorned with lavish furnishings and ornate decor that seemed straight out of a period drama.
"What in the world..." she muttered, sitting up. The words felt foreign, her voice softer and more melodic than she remembered. She glanced down and saw that her work attire had been replaced by a delicate nightgown of fine lace.
Panic set in. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. The air smelled of roses and faintly of old books. She stumbled to a mirror hanging on the wall and gasped. Staring back at her was a face she didn't recognize – a stunning woman with high cheekbones, dark hair cascading in waves, and eyes that shimmered like emeralds.
"No, no, no. This can't be real," she whispered, touching her face, half-expecting it to disappear like a mirage.
Determined to understand her predicament, Amelia padded to the door and peeked into the hallway. It was just as opulent, with marble floors and intricate tapestries. Her curiosity piqued, she stepped out and wandered through the mansion, marveling at the grandiosity of it all. She felt like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole.
As she turned a corner, a maid spotted her and gasped. The girl scurried off, presumably to alert someone important. Moments later, a tall figure strode down the hallway toward her. His presence was commanding, his expression cold and calculating. He was breathtakingly handsome, with chiseled features and eyes as dark as midnight.
"What are you doing wandering around in your nightgown?" he demanded, his voice like a whip. "What about your prestige?"
Amelia stared at him, bewildered. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice trembling.
The man's brow furrowed in confusion. "What's wrong with you, Clarissa?" he asked, his tone softening slightly. "I'm your husband, Duke Alistair of Rosewood."
The name hit her like a lightning bolt. Clarissa. Duke Alistair. The opulent mansion. It all matched the world of the novel she had been reading before she died. She was in the body of the story's villainess, the infamous stepmother who met a tragic end.
A nervous smile tugged at her lips as she tried to maintain her composure. "Oh, right. Just... a little disoriented," she said, inching away from him.
Alistair's gaze narrowed. "Are you sure you're alright?" he asked, skepticism evident in his tone.
"Yes, yes, just... needed some fresh air," she replied hastily, turning to walk back to her room.
As she passed him, Alistair spoke again. "My nephew will be arriving soon. He is to be the heir of the Duchy of Rosewood."
Amelia froze, recalling the subplot of the novel. The nephew, a kind and just boy, was set to inherit everything, sparking the villainess's ire. Alistair expected her to react with fury, to demand that their non-existent son be named heir instead.
But Amelia, now fully aware of her new reality, simply nodded. "I see," she said quietly.
Alistair's eyes widened in surprise. "You have nothing to say about this?" he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.
Amelia shook her head, a calm facade masking her inner turmoil. "No, nothing at all."
As she walked back to her room, her mind raced. "Oh no. I'm inside a novel. This novel," she thought, panic bubbling beneath her composed exterior. She was living in the world of the book she had been so engrossed in, reincarnated as the character everyone loved to hate.
