Lucien Avelaine woke up screaming.
It was not dramatic. It was not elegant. It was a sharp, undignified sound that tore out of his throat as he jolted upright, heart slamming violently against his ribs.
Silk tangled around his arms. Cushions slid to the floor. The bed creaked beneath him.
“I am alive,” Lucien gasped.
Which was unfortunate.
He sucked in air, forcing his breathing to slow. The room around him slowly came into focus, and with every second, the sinking feeling in his chest grew worse.
The ceiling was wrong.
It was too high, painted in soft pastels and gold accents, the kind of ceiling that cost more than his entire apartment back home. Sunlight streamed through tall windows draped in sheer curtains that shimmered when the breeze passed through.
Lucien stared.
“No,” he said weakly.
He threw the blankets aside and slid out of bed, bare feet hitting cold marble. His reflection caught his eye before he even reached the mirror.
Blonde hair spilled over his shoulders, catching the light like spun gold. Blue eyes stared back at him, wide and disbelieving. His body was slim, narrow-waisted, delicate in a way that felt deeply inconvenient.
He stepped closer to the mirror.
The face staring back at him was unmistakable.
Lucien Avelaine.
High noble. Scandal magnet. Disposable side character.
Dead by chapter twelve.
“Oh, you have got to be joking,” Lucien muttered.
He pinched his arm. Hard.
Pain flared.
“Great,” he said flatly. “Fantastic. Amazing. I am trapped in my own bad decisions.”
Lucien leaned forward, palms pressed against the vanity, staring at himself.
I wrote this character to suffer, he thought. I really did not think I would have to experience it personally.
Memories surfaced unbidden, not his own but the character’s. Etiquette lessons. Cold smiles at court. Whispered insults behind fans. The weight of expectation and resentment pressing in from all sides.
Lucien straightened and scanned the room, searching for proof. Anything.
A crest carved into the furniture. A stack of letters sealed with wax. A signet ring resting on the bedside table.
House Avelaine.
Lucien closed his eyes.
Okay. Think. Panicking wastes time and time gets people like me killed.
He knew this world. He knew the plot. He knew exactly where Lucien Avelaine stood in it.
Nowhere good.
A knock echoed through the room.
Lucien flinched.
“Lord Avelaine,” a voice called. “Are you awake.”
He inhaled sharply and forced his posture to straighten. His body seemed to remember how to stand tall even if his mind was still screaming.
“Yes,” he replied, pitching his voice soft and pleasant.
The door opened and a maid stepped inside, gaze lowered. She was careful, precise, like someone approaching a sleeping animal that might bite.
“You overslept,” she said. “Breakfast has already begun.”
Lucien smiled.
It came easily. Too easily.
“Thank you for telling me,” he said kindly.
The maid hesitated, eyes flicking briefly to his face before she bowed and retreated.
The smile fell instantly.
So that is how it is, he thought. Feared. Hated. Watched.
Lucien dressed quickly, guided by muscle memory he did not remember earning. Pale fabrics. Gold thread. Jewelry subtle but expensive.
He looked like someone born to be resented.
The walk to the dining hall felt longer than it should have. Every step echoed, servants pausing to bow, their movements stiff and impersonal.
The moment Lucien entered the hall, the noise dipped.
Then it returned, quieter. Sharper.
Whispers slid through the air like knives.
“That is him.”
“So shameless.”
“I heard he made a servant cry yesterday.”
Lucien kept his head high and his expression serene. Inside, he was calculating.
Okay. So the rumors are already bad. Worse than I remember.
He took his seat and reached for his teacup, only to find it cold. The servant who placed his food did not meet his eyes.
Lucien stared at the plate.
At least they did not poison me. Yet.
A laugh burst out nearby.
“Careful,” a young noble said loudly. “If you sit too close to Lord Avelaine, he might spread rumors about you next.”
Several people snickered.
Lucien lifted his gaze slowly.
“Oh,” he said lightly. “Do not worry. I only collect interesting secrets.”
The laughter faltered.
Lucien smiled into his tea.
Small victories.
Breakfast passed in fragments of tension. Conversations stopped when he looked up. Chairs shifted away from him. Every movement he made was watched, judged, interpreted in the worst possible way.
When he finally stood to leave, someone deliberately stepped into his path.
Lucien stumbled, barely catching himself.
“Watch where you are going,” the noble sneered, eyes sharp with satisfaction.
Lucien glanced down at the hand gripping his sleeve.
I remember you, he thought. You exist solely to make my life worse.
“Apologies,” Lucien said sweetly, even as his fingers tightened. “I forget not everyone is used to crowded spaces.”
The noble flushed and shoved him away.
Lucien recovered quickly, smoothing his clothes as laughter rippled behind him.
He walked out with his head held high.
The moment he turned the corner, his smile vanished.
“Okay,” Lucien muttered. “So everyone hates me and I am probably one rumor away from execution. Excellent start.”
He pressed a hand to his chest, breathing slowly.
This was before Kael Noctryn even entered the picture.
Just thinking the name made his stomach twist.
Kael Noctryn. The Black Duke. The villain of the story.
Not present yet. Not supposed to be present yet.
Lucien planned to keep it that way for as long as possible.
He ducked into a quiet corridor and leaned against the wall, letting his composure crack for just a second.
I just need to survive, he thought. I do not need friends. I do not need redemption. I just need to not die.
Footsteps echoed nearby.
Lucien straightened instantly, mask sliding back into place.
Two nobles passed him, not even bothering to lower their voices.
“I heard the Duke will arrive soon.”
Lucien’s heart skipped.
“Kael Noctryn?”
“Yes. Apparently the crown summoned him.”
Lucien forced himself not to react.
“He will not tolerate corruption,” the other said. “Especially from nobles like that one.”
They glanced back at Lucien openly.
Lucien smiled.
Inside, panic clawed at him.
So that is it. The timeline is accelerating.
He left the corridor quickly, thoughts racing.
In the original story, the arrival of Kael marked the beginning of the end for Lucien Avelaine. Accusations followed. Trials followed. Death followed.
Lucien clenched his fists.
I need to stay invisible, he thought. As invisible as someone with this face and reputation can be.
He returned to his chambers and shut the door, locking it for good measure.
Lucien slid down against it and exhaled shakily.
“This is fine,” he told himself. “I have handled worse.”
That was a lie.
He looked around the room again, at the luxury, the wealth, the false safety.
I wrote this character to be hated, he thought. Now I have to live with it.
Lucien stood and crossed to the window, staring out at the palace grounds.
Somewhere out there, the villain was coming.
And Lucien Avelaine had no intention of dying on schedule.
Not quietly. Not obediently.
He smiled faintly.
“If fate wants me dead,” he murmured, “it is going to have to work harder than this.”
Far away, unseen, the wheels of the story began to turn.
