Mag-log inChloe has read The Villainess's Ruin a dozen times. She knows exactly how it ends: the spoiled heiress Amber loses her fiancé, her family, and her reputation, while her sweet stepsister Sophia gets the happy ending she deserves. It's a satisfying story — right up until the night Chloe misses her own life's biggest opportunity to help a stranger, falls asleep furious and heartbroken over a book, and wakes up in Amber's bed, wearing Amber's face, three months before the engagement that ruins everything. She knows what's coming. She knows who to avoid, who to trust, and exactly which choice destroys Amber's life. So she'll simply choose differently — save the villainess by refusing to be one. It should be easy. It isn't. Amber wasn't innocent, and the world Chloe's living in doesn't match the book chapter for chapter. People she remembers as harmless start making choices no one wrote for them. A stepsister who was supposed to be a saint has secrets of her own. And the deeper Chloe digs into the mother Amber lost too young, the more she suspects the novel she memorized left out the one story that actually matters — including why a coldly brilliant CEO named Williams keeps looking at her like he already knows the answer. Chloe came here to rewrite a villainess's fate. She's starting to wonder if she was ever told the real one.
view moreShe told the household she was visiting a modiste about alterations to her dinner gowns, a lie plausible enough that no one questioned it, and had the driver drop her three streets from the address Mrs. Pryce had given her, exactly as instructed. The rest of the way she walked, a plain shawl pulled up over her hair, feeling considerably more like a woman in a mystery novel than she was entirely comfortable with.Fenwick's office occupied the ground floor of an unassuming building tucked between a bookshop and a tailor's, nothing about the modest brass plaque beside the door suggesting the weight of what might be waiting inside. She knocked, gave her name to the clerk who answered, and waited in a small outer room lined with legal volumes until a voice from within called her forward.The walk had given her time to rehearse what she meant to say, what she meant to ask, how much of the truth she was prepared to admit to a stranger who might, for all she knew, be exactly the kind of perso
Sleep, when it finally came, was thin and unconvincing, and Chloe woke well before dawn with the letter's phrases still moving through her mind in her mother's imagined voice. *Be careful who you trust with this. Be careful, especially, of anyone who seems eager to keep the silence exactly as it's always been.*She dressed carefully for breakfast, chose her expression the way she'd chosen it every morning since arriving, calm and pleasant and entirely unremarkable, and told herself, walking down to the dining room, that whatever she was carrying inside her now, it didn't need to show on her face for her father to believe nothing had changed.He was already seated when she arrived, newspaper folded beside his plate rather than raised in front of it, which she'd learned over the past week meant he had something specific on his mind."You look tired," he said, without particular warmth, the observation more assessment than concern."I didn't sleep well." It wasn't even a lie, which made
The door swung open on Mrs. Pryce, candle in one hand, dressing gown pulled tight against the night's chill, her expression carrying none of the surprise Chloe had braced herself for."I wondered how long it would take you," she said quietly, stepping inside and closing the door behind her with a care that suggested she had no intention of alerting the rest of the house to this conversation. "I saw the light from the corridor. I should have known better than to hope you'd wait until morning."Chloe stayed pressed against the wall a moment longer, heart still hammering, before she made herself straighten and face the older woman properly. "You knew about the cabinet.""I've known about that cabinet for twenty years, miss. I was the one who helped your mother lock it, the week before she died." Mrs. Pryce crossed the room slowly, set her candle down on the small reading table, and looked at Chloe with an expression that had finally shed its careful, professional distance, something olde
She waited until the house had gone fully quiet, well past one in the morning, before she made her way back to the east wing library with a single candle and the small brass key still warm from being carried in her closed fist for hours.The library felt different at night, shadows pooling in the corners the pale afternoon light had never reached, and Chloe crossed to the cabinet beneath the window with her heart beating harder than the errand strictly justified. She was, she reminded herself, only opening a piece of furniture. It didn't feel that way, standing in front of it. It felt like standing at the edge of something considerably larger than a locked drawer.She'd nearly abandoned the idea twice on the way there, once outside her own door, listening for any sign the household was still stirring, and once again at the top of the stairs, where a floorboard groaned under her weight loud enough to make her freeze for a full minute before continuing. It occurred to her, standing ther
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