Oops, I Stole the Second Lead
Looking concerned.
I stared at her. She stared back.
“Breakfast is ready,” she said, smiling politely. “Shall I help you dress?”
And that was when it hit me—not all at once, but in little pieces, like a jigsaw puzzle slowly snapping together.
The name. The maid. The chandelier.
The feeling of déjà vu so strong it made my skin prickle.
I knew this place.
I knew this life.
Because I’d read about it. In a book. Some cheesy, overdramatic web novel I devoured during finals week, right before my body gave out from a delightful combo of stress, insomnia, and enough caffeine to stop a small horse’s heart.
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