Episode 3: Off Script, On Edge

“You think you’re breaking the rules, but some of us were born reading them.” — Unknown

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[Riven Ainsley’s POV]

By morning, the note from Lucien has vanished.

No trace. No seal. No explanation.

Just like the man himself—leaves chaos, but never fingerprints.

I’d almost believe I imagined it, if not for the lingering scent of dark spice and pine on the paper.

That’s the thing about Lucien Valehart: he doesn’t chase power. He stares at it until it folds.

Too bad I fold for no one.

I brush off the night’s weirdness and focus on the goal: stay alive, cause chaos, and steal every scene I’m not supposed to be in.

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Court Garden. Midday.

The sun is obnoxiously cheerful. Birds chirp. Flowers bloom. The heroine, Aurelia, twirls near the fountain like she’s auditioning for a perfume ad.

I’m lounging under a parasol with a glass of something cold and expensive. Watching.

From the corner of my eye, Lucien appears. Silent again, like a damn curse. Only this time, he’s already looking at me.

Not Aurelia.

Me.

“You’re sulking,” I say without glancing up.

He stands across from me, arms behind his back like a statue sculpted out of disdain.

“You changed the scene.”

My fingers tighten around the glass. “Excuse me?”

Lucien tilts his head slightly. “There was supposed to be a moment. A stumble. A hand on her waist. A shared gaze.”

His eyes flick toward Aurelia, then back to me.

“You… interfered.”

Something in his voice—low, distant, almost clinical—sends a chill across my skin.

“You’re upset I stole the show?” I mock, though my smirk feels a bit tight. “Sorry, Your Highness. She was too busy tripping over her own innocence.”

He doesn’t react. Just watches me.

Then—very softly—he says:

“You weren’t supposed to be here.”

My smile falters.

“Pardon?”

Lucien blinks slowly. Almost as if he didn’t mean to say that aloud. But then the corners of his mouth curve—just a little.

“You act like this world belongs to you, Lord Ainsley.”

He leans in slightly. “But some of us remember how it’s meant to unfold.”

The word remember hits me like a slap.

What the hell does that mean?

But before I can demand answers, he straightens and turns his gaze back to Aurelia. “Try not to ruin my story too quickly,” he murmurs.

And then he walks away.

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Later…

I’m in my chambers again, pacing like a man with too many unsolved puzzles.

That phrase. My story. That wasn’t normal. That wasn’t part of the book.

It wasn’t even part of the world.

Lucien spoke with the precision of someone who knew. Not guessed. Not assumed.

Knew.

I look in the mirror. Behind the silk and sarcasm, something unsettles me.

I thought I was the intruder here.

Now I’m not so sure.

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[Lucien Valehart’s POV]

Riven is more than an anomaly.

He’s a contradiction.

He speaks like he knows the curtain has already lifted. Like he sees the strings behind the stage.

But he doesn’t realize—

I see them too.

He thinks he’s rewriting the story.

But I remember the lines. The order. The ending.

And now, I want to see what happens when I rip the pages with him.

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To Be Continued...

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