Chapter 28
The last few days felt like heavy years casting their shadow over Arwa's soul.
This world wasn't what she had imagined when she used to read the novel eagerly in her first life—imagining every chapter as if she lived it herself, laughing with the characters, grieving their tragedies, even dreaming of being in their place... But now, standing at the heart of that very novel, life moved to a different rhythm, colder and far more cruel.
She sat in one of the corners of the servants' workroom, surrounded by piles of papers and records.
She flipped through them one by one, organizing them, adding side notes as instructed by Countess Sara Strathmore, and rearranging the files according to a strict, unforgiving schedule.
She took a deep breath and exhaled it in an exaggerated sigh.
"Pffff... When will this ridiculous test be over?" she muttered to herself, her eyes looking tired.
"My God, I haven't seen Kyle in days... Is this the world of novels I so longed to live in?"
She placed her hand on her forehead as if to stop her thoughts from collapsing.
"This body... is only good at following orders."
She felt like she was stuck in a supporting role—voiceless, opinionless. And with every passing moment, that feeling expanded in her chest like a silent thread of disappointment.
"Ugh... This is exhausting..." she sighed again, leaning her head back to gaze at the ornate wooden ceiling.
"I thought that once I reincarnated into this world, I'd be the heroine, I'd change the course of the story, challenge the rules, and everything would bend to my will. But it seems this world has its own rules...
And me? I'm just a chess piece in someone else's hand."
At last, she finished her work after long hours of boredom and pressure. She pushed the papers aside, stood up and breathed freely for the first time since morning, then headed toward her uncle's wing in the palace—the only room that gave her a sense of peace.
She reached the heavy wooden door and knocked softly, feeling the weight of the entire world on her shoulders.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
From inside came a calm, deep masculine voice:
"Come in."
She raised her brows slightly and replied in a gentle tone:
"It's me, Uncle."
The door opened automatically from the inside, and Arwa entered Dennis Strathmore's room with quiet steps.
The room was luxurious, its walls adorned with golden threads, and his grand desk dominated the center of the space, with two crimson velvet chairs before it.
Dennis was flipping through some papers, but when he heard her voice, he smiled softly and looked up, then clasped his hands in front of him, relaxed.
"Hmm... What's the matter, Princess?" he said with a hint of light teasing.
Arwa sat in the chair across from him, a fake smile on her lips.
"I've completed the tasks the Countess assigned to me, Uncle."
He gestured toward the edge of the desk and said calmly,
"Place the papers here. Thank you."
She placed the file carefully, then sat back, studying his features. He looked more tired than usual, yet his tone remained reassuring.
"Uncle..." she said playfully.
He responded without lifting his head from his papers:
"Yes?"
She hesitated, fidgeting shyly with her fingers. Her words seemed to get swallowed before they reached her lips.
After a moment, Dennis looked up and met her gaze directly.
"Are you feeling bored?" he asked simply, as if he'd read her thoughts.
"No, it's not what you think," she said quickly, then bit her lip as if regretting the reply.
Dennis smiled, set his pen aside, and asked in a warmer tone:
"Do you miss your family?"
She nodded, her expression drifting, but she quickly added:
"Yes, I miss them a lot... but it's not just about my family."
Dennis raised an eyebrow slightly, then said in a teasing tone:
"So... do you miss Kyle?"
Arwa suddenly fell silent. Her features shifted, and the mood in her eyes changed. Then she said in a low voice as she stood up:
"I think I'm feeling better now. I'll see you later, Uncle."
And she left the room without waiting for a reply. She wasn't ready to face her recent memories with Kyle, nor that strange feeling that scrambled her heart every time his name was mentioned.
Dennis looked at the closed door and let out a small smile.
"Kids these days..." he murmured. "They just can't express their feelings."
Then he sighed and looked back at the file in his hand.
"If only Kyle could see how sweet this girl is... if only he could lift his head from that damn pride of his."
Elsewhere, where the sun's rays danced upon marble palace walls and the winds carried whispers of deception and mystery, sat Empress Vivian—the crowned sovereign of the Solaris Empire—on a throne not gifted to her, but seized by delicate fingers hiding years of cold calculations and burning gazes.
A woman with thick red hair cascading like burning silk over her shoulders, and green eyes that resembled not emeralds but rather a soft trap made of poisonous herbs. She wore a refined, modestly designed gown embroidered with golden threads interwoven with deep violet fabric, reflecting the majesty of its wearer not merely as a royal woman, but as a goddess guarding a throne snatched from between the fangs of two brothers.
She was Vivian—the woman who did not earn her title through fate, but through the silence of swords and the fall of kingdoms. She had brought down Lydanis Strathmore, the elder brother, with her cunning, and then forced his younger brother, Theodore de Strathmore, to wear a crown long considered too grand for his head. With sharp intellect, she orchestrated events from behind a curtain, aiding her husband in ruling not merely as the official Empress, but as the mastermind controlling thrones behind a feigned smile.
Vivian stood before her tall mirror, gazing at the reflection of a woman who no longer resembled the dreamer of the past. No, what she now saw was a being that had abandoned all that was human… to become a legend recited more by those who feared her than those who respected her.
She whispered coldly, like reciting an old incantation:
"It's time… to summon the one person I loathe to death… that one named Kyle."
The corner of her lip curled in disdain as she picked up the quill and began to write an official invitation. The words she penned onto the luxurious paper were coated in politeness, drenched in sarcasm, to the point where she had to restrain herself from tearing the parchment as each sentence formed. Her face, despite its elegance, revealed a buried disgust and rage accumulated over years.
"Kyle Strathmore…"
She muttered through clenched teeth.
"If it weren't for my husband's obsession with his family, I would've burned you all… Especially that boy who mirrors his father's arrogant gaze… reminds me of that dead old man… damn you all."
Then she walked with confident steps toward the inner hall, where her daughter sat—
Diana, Princess of Solaris and her hidden hope.
A thoroughly aristocratic girl, twenty-two years of age, with soft blonde hair like moonlight flowing over her shoulders, and green eyes inheriting light from her mother, yet concealing something more fragile… and perhaps more ambitious.
Diana, in her opulent beauty, sat on an emerald-colored velvet seat, wearing a silver-gray gown that flowed like soft, shimmering water around her figure, adorned at the chest with a neat bow that emphasized her femininity without exaggeration. She held a small handbag encrusted with pearls, as if signaling a nobility that needed no fanfare to be seen.
She smiled at her mother, though it wasn't an innocent smile—it was closer to a knife buried in a bouquet of roses.
"Mother…" Diana said, her voice dripping with spoiled sweetness and hidden malice,
"Didn't you promise to help me?"
Vivian sighed, resting her head on her palm, responding with the tone of a mother who despised weakness:
"I told you… patience, Diana. Not everything we desire can be taken in haste. Some things must be cooked slowly over a gentle flame."
Diana raised a brow with veiled annoyance, then murmured:
"But you know I love him… and if you use your power and wit, he'll be mine."
Vivian chuckled softly, then rose and approached her daughter, gazing into her eyes as if trying to pierce her soul.
"Kyle already has a fiancée… but it's not official yet. Nothing has been declared, nor sealed with the imperial stamp."
"And that's my chance!" Diana interrupted, her eyes gleaming with resolve.
"If you ruin that engagement… I'll be the one to marry him. Isn't that your plan? To bring down the Duke of the North… Osman Valeska?"
Silence fell, briefly, as though the air within the palace grew heavier.
Then came Vivian's laugh… a laugh that did not belong to the world of mothers, but to that of killers.
"You're clever… and determined, just like me," she said, looking out the window toward the golden courtyards of Solaris Palace.
"Yes, Osman Valeska… he will learn that wounds are not healed except through pain. He crushed my dignity, and now I will destroy him as he shattered my feelings."
She clasped her daughter's hand, pressing with hidden strength, and said:
"I'll ruin him… until he crawls to me begging for forgiveness. As for Kyle…
he will realize, sooner or later, that there is no escape from our trap. The fiancée? Just a paper we'll tear at the right moment."
Diana whispered, her features freezing in cold passion:
"I will marry no one but Kyle… and I'll make him love me, even if I have to flip this entire palace upside down."
At that moment, the sun slowly sank behind the golden-framed windows,
leaving the palace drenched in an amber glow as if narrating an ancient prophecy…
of a war not waged with swords,
but with words stabbed like daggers,
and hearts turned into minefields of emotion.