MistNovel - Read Web Novel Stories & Fiction Online

The boardroom dissolved around her in fragments of glass and shadow. One moment, Eve was on the verge of her greatest victory, the culmination of a six-month hostile takeover that was nothing short of a masterpiece. She had built empires with ambition and ruthless precision, dismantled competitors with a smile, and never once looked back at the damage she left behind. Power was oxygen. Control was survival. Weakness was death. She could taste the triumph, metallic and sweet on her tongue.

The next moment, the conference room door opened. It was not a security guard or a panicked executive. It was her protégé, the one person she had trusted, holding a weapon with hands that did not even tremble. The bright, terrible flash of pain that followed was the last entry in the ledger of her life.

This cannot be happening.

Eve gasped awake, lungs burning as if she had been drowning. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of lavender and old wood, a stark contrast to the recycled, coffee-scented air of her office. Her body ached with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion that had nothing to do with long corporate hours. A dull, persistent throb behind her eyes felt utterly foreign, a sign of a fundamental brokenness inside her. She tried to sit up, and a wave of dizziness washed over her, her muscles weak and unresponsive.

She opened her eyes to unfamiliar opulence.

The bedchamber stretched around her like a museum exhibit, all heavy velvet curtains and carved mahogany furniture that belonged in a period drama, not reality. Candles flickered in ornate silver holders, casting long, dancing shadows. Tapestries depicting mythical creatures covered the cold stone walls. The bed beneath her was a sprawling construction of silk and down that could have housed a small family. There was no laptop. No phone. No sleek surfaces of glass and steel.

Eve pushed herself upright, her body protesting with a chorus of small pains. She looked down at her hands. They were wrong, too delicate and pale, the nails manicured in a way she had never bothered with. Her arms felt frail, as if she had been bedridden for weeks. Even the simple act of breathing required more effort than it should have.

The door opened without warning, and a woman in a severe gray dress entered with a tray. She moved with the practiced efficiency of someone who had performed this exact routine a thousand times. Her eyes, when they flicked to Eve, held no warmth, only a cold, professional distance tinged with something that looked uncomfortably like fear.

"Lady Sera." The title came out clipped and formal. "Your breakfast. You are not to leave your chambers today. Or tomorrow. The Duke's orders, following the incident."

Lady Sera. Chambers. The incident. Eve’s mind, still sharp despite the wrongness of everything, cataloged the information with the same precision she had once used to analyze quarterly reports. She was a prisoner. She was hated, or at least feared. And she was apparently someone named Sera, a name that felt as foreign as the heavy silk nightgown she wore.

"What incident?" Eve kept her voice neutral, testing the waters.

The servant's jaw tightened. "You know very well what you did, my lady. The entire court knows." She set the tray down with a sharp clink of porcelain, the sound unnaturally loud in the silence. "I will return for the tray in one hour. Do not attempt to leave."

The door closed with a definitive thud, followed by the unmistakable sound of a lock turning.

Eve stared at the closed door for a long moment, her strategic mind already spinning through possibilities. She was trapped in an unfamiliar body, in an unfamiliar world, with a reputation so toxic that servants could barely stand to look at her. She had no allies, no resources, and no knowledge of whatever rules governed this place. Her weaknesses were everything. Her strengths were a lifetime of turning impossible situations into victories.

She rose from the bed, her legs unsteady, and crossed to the tall mirror standing in the corner. The face that looked back at her was beautiful in a sharp, angular way. Dark hair fell in waves past her shoulders. Eyes the color of smoke were shadowed with exhaustion. The features would have been striking if not for the haunted quality she recognized from her own reflection after particularly brutal corporate battles. This was Sera. This was her new reality.

Eve pressed her palm against the cool glass and felt something stir beneath her skin, a low, thrumming current of energy that had nothing to do with adrenaline or caffeine. The word appeared in her mind unbidden, impossible and undeniable: magic. The sensation was both a terrifying liability and a potential weapon.

Survive first. Understand second. Conquer third. She had built an empire from nothing but intelligence and ruthlessness. She could do it again. This gilded cage might be beautiful, but every cage had weak points. Every prison had exits. Every game had rules that could be learned and exploited. Eve turned away from the mirror and began to plan.