From Pawn to Power

The next day, I woke up, blissfully unaware—just for a quick second—that I had died and got stuck in someone else's life. My body was on autopilot, stretching like a damn lazy cat, soaking in the warmth of the sheets.

I yawned, still half asleep, then muttered, "Alright, time to get to work." I dragged a hand across my face, ready to take on the day... then it hit me.

These sheets were way too soft. The mattress? Too damn plush. Nothing like my old shitty bed.

I blinked, slowly opening my eyes.

And bam. There it was again. That massive, fancy canopy bed. The elegant drapes. The whole damn room screaming money—stuff I couldn't even dream of.

And that's when it hit me. "Right. Still in hell."

Ughhhhhhh...

I groaned, rolling back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

"So, what now?" I muttered to myself, feeling that familiar, uncomfortable feeling clawing at me like some restless beast inside my gut. Should I just follow the damn novel's script and let myself die, or should I try to flip the script and change my—hell, her—fate?

I sat up, rubbing my temples, and then it hit me. That death.

I blinked. My mind rushed as I recalled Cecilia's death from that damn novel. Dragged into a dungeon, beaten to shit, starved, left to rot and die alone in the dark. Brutal. Hopeless.

I shuddered, the cold chill crawling up my spine.

"Alright," I muttered, smirking like a damn badass. "I died once. Let's try this life on for size."

Cecilia's dead. Who knows what happened to her soul, or if it even matters? One thing was clear though—this body was mine now. And if it's mine, then hell no, I ain't going out like some nameless character in a dungeon.

What's the point of being stuck in some rich, twisted world if I'm just gonna roll over and let fate run me over? The girl had money, power, a life most people would kill for. So why the hell should I let it go to waste?

So, I'm living.

Step one? Stay alive.

But first... I gotta remember that damn novel.

The one where I died. Where Cecilia died. Where everything went wrong.

I threw the covers off me and slid out of bed. Didn't bother with slippers. Screw that noise. Bigger problems here.

I shuffled over to the dressing table, looking for something that could give me a clue. I ignored all the fancy trinkets, the jewelry—none of that was gonna help me now.

Then I found it—a pen and some paper. That's what I needed.

I sat down, grabbed the pen, and just started scribbling. Anything that came to mind. The details. The characters. The moments that led to Cecilia's death. Maybe if I pieced it together, I could figure out how to escape the fate this body was destined for.

But right now, all I had was the paper, the pen, and the cold realization that if I didn't act fast, I'd end up just like her. Dead. Forgotten.

And that ain't happening.

I focused, tapping the pen against the paper. I knew the big parts of the novel. It was some romance novel, but not the kind where they ride off into the sunset. Nah, this one was dark, twisted, full of drama, and emotional wreckage.

The main characters? Tristan Von Arlen, the Grand Duke's eldest son, and Elara Fendrich, the Count's daughter. That girl was something—mysterious healing powers, saving lives, all while being this tragic, perfect heroine. Everybody loved her. But her fate was tangled up with Tristan—Cecilia's older brother.

I couldn't remember all the details, but I remembered enough to know one thing: nobody gave a damn about Cecilia. Not in the novel. Hell, not even the readers. She was just some side character—nothing but a pawn in the game.

In the novel, no one knew about Cecilia. Not a soul. They thought the Arlen family had two sons and a stepdaughter. So, how the hell did she even get into the story?

That's when the mess happened—the coming-of-age ceremony. The Duke threw this big, fancy party for his daughters, and bam—Cecilia showed up.

And just like that, everyone found out she existed. No buildup, no warning. She was just dropped into the story like a plot device.

She came, then she left. Fast. Her whole existence in the novel was a damn shock factor, used to make the main characters' drama worse.

Her death? Tragic, yeah, but also empty. She didn't even get a chance to have a real story. Her death was just there to push the plot forward for Tristan and Elara.

But now? Now, I'm stuck with her life. In her shoes. And I sure as hell ain't following that same damn road.

I tried to remember what went down in that dungeon. Was it betrayal? Politics? Some messed up thing she said? The details were hazy, and I could feel the frustration boiling in me.

But one thing was clear.

Survive.

That's all that matters right now. Survive.

I clenched my fists, the paper crumpling under my grip. This wasn't just about avoiding death. It was about taking this life. Cecilia may have been a pawn in the game, but now? She's me. And if anyone thinks they can control me or throw me away like I'm disposable? They've got another thing coming.

If I gotta rewrite this whole damn story to survive, then fine.

Cause this time? The game's mine.