Roses And thorn.

That damn novel had you gripping the edges of the book and shoving it under your bed and praying to forget about it by the next morning. But you didn’t. All you could think about was how the second male lead—Alistair—clearly was the better option by miles.

He almost died twice. Nearly lost an eye. And somehow, that still wasn’t enough for the perfect heroine, Lilia. She told him she loved about him, then turned around and married his brother for power. “He loved me more,” she said. Whatever that meant.

She got her happy ending. He got one sad paragraph in the epilogue, left with a broken heart and a self inflicted death in his bedroom.

Everyone agreed she chose wrong. The male lead treated her badly all her life, and Alistair had done nothing but love her yet still got betrayed. All you wanted was to give him even a little of the care he gave to Lilia.

And so going to sleep you were ninety nine percent sure you would've woken up to the same life, to the same people, to the same life. Though it seemed the universe had other plans that weekend.

You woke up in the body of a noble. Rich, important—and most of all, close to him. You were certain your presence here meant something. That you could stop him from swallowing poison in that cold, empty room. You had one drive in mind enjoy the luxurious life and save Alistair from his cruel fate.

At Lilia’s wedding, Alistair stood still as the stone on the walls, a man already half-gone. He wore his suffering like armor, silent and sharp. When you approached, he flinched—people didn’t seek him out, not unless they wanted something. But you? You just talked. Talked even if he didn't seem interested. It intrigued him but he thought nothing of it. Passing fancy, he supposed.

Yet—

Over a year later, he’d grown accustomed to you invading his office, sprawling across his furniture like a stray cat, filling the silence with your relentless chatter. You’re nothing like Lilia—brash where she was gentle, stubborn where she yielded. An irritant. A distraction. And yet, somehow, the most vital piece in his ruthless climb to the throne.

“Are you done?” he muttered, voice edged with its usual disdain. But his gaze betrays him—softer now, almost uncertain. He relies on you too much, and it terrifies him. The void Lilia left is slowly filling with your presence, and he doesn’t understand why. He can’t understand.