The chandeliers were the first lie.

"---Caelan, speak!"

The next was the unfamiliar voice.

'Wait—Caelan!?'

Elias blinked. His head turned, unthinking, to the source of the voice—an older man in his fifties, eyes sharp with impatience.

"I—I’m sorry?" The words left Elias before he could process them. The room seemed to still. A sudden hush. Then came the murmurs. Whispers. Gasps.

He looked around—

People. In ballgowns. Tailcoats. A grand chandelier hung above them like a sun made of crystal. Velvet-lined walls. Gold filigree. Floor polished enough to catch his reflection—

Where was he?

He looked down at his own hand. Pale. Elegant. Clutched too tightly around a velvet armrest.

Not his hand.

He flexed his fingers. The unfamiliar hand followed his command.

Nothing made sense.

"Prince Alaric will arrive in due time."

The name sliced through the fog in his mind.

Alaric—?

"Lady Selene does not act like a noble lady at all."

More voices. Names. Names he knew—

Prince Alaric. Lady Selene. Caelan.

His breathing turned shallow. The sounds of the ballroom blurred together, distorted by his spiraling thoughts.

He clutched his head. It felt too heavy. The air thickened.

"Caelan—"
"I believe Lord Caelan is feeling unwell."

The older man’s complaint was cut off by a new voice, gentler—closer. A man stepped forward, offering his hand.

"I shall take him to get fresh air."

Elias couldn’t respond. He simply took the hand and let himself be led away. His legs felt hollow, as though walking through a dream that teetered too close to real.

The man led him through gilded doors and onto a balcony.

"My Lord—"

"Not now," Elias murmured, leaning against the cold stone wall. The sensation grounded him more than anything else had so far.

A dream wouldn’t sting like this.

"Shall I get a physician for you?"

The voice was calm. Gentle. Elias’s gaze flickered to the man’s face. Kind hazel eyes. A scar running faintly along his jaw.

"No—just—" Elias swallowed. He couldn’t think. "You can leave."

The man hesitated, surprise flickering over his face. But he nodded and stepped back inside.

Elias closed his eyes. Focus. Think.

The last thing he remembered—he had been editing. A tight deadline. A client’s overwrought villain redemption arc. He remembered the blue glow of his monitor, the weight in his eyelids, the scent of instant coffee gone cold—

The novel.

Caelan. Prince Alaric. Lady Selene—

His eyes shot open.

I’m inside the novel.

No. That was insane. Absolutely insane.

He looked around again. The stars above. The cold air. The tight braid of his own hair caught up in heavy accessories.

He looked down at the ornate buttons on his coat. Velvet. Gold embroidery. Everything screamed wealth. Nobility.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," Elias muttered.

A soft light flared to his left. Elias startled.

An orb. Floating in midair. Pale gold, softly glowing like a lantern made of sun.

There was writing inside it. Letters hovered in elegant script:

[Progress Tracker: 0%]
[Role: Caelan V. Do not break character.]
[Deviation Level: Mild.]
[Next Event: Humiliate Lady Seraphina Vexley. Outcome determines narrative stability.]

Elias gawked.

"Are you trying to get me killed?" he hissed.

He rubbed his forehead, muttering to himself. "Unless I am dead and this is hell wearing a powdered wig."

He stared at the orb, hoping it would vanish. It didn’t.

Humiliate Lady Seraphina? Was this thing insane?

Seraphina Vexley was a landmine. Cunning, manipulative, revered. Even a glance out of place could get a man blacklisted in noble society.

But the orb didn’t care. It just floated, patient and judgmental.

"Later," Elias muttered, turning to go back inside. "I’ll deal with you later."

He pushed through the ballroom doors and was immediately hit by noise and color again. Light. Perfume. Laughter.

The man from before was waiting. Straight-backed, alert.

He approached.

"My Lord, are you feeling well?"

Elias stared at him. Those hazel eyes. That scar. The name surfaced slowly—

Rowan Vale.

Caelan’s bodyguard. Loyal to the point of absurdity. An NPC in the original manuscript. Died early. Barely a footnote.

And yet here he was, looking at Elias like he’d memorized every breath.

"I felt a bit overwhelmed before," Elias said. The truth, at least partly.

Rowan’s shoulders eased.

Elias’s gaze wandered across the ballroom. The swirl of dancers. The clink of champagne glasses. His eyes landed on the champagne tower.

A bad idea formed.

A very bad, very tempting idea.

He turned back to Rowan.

"...Is something the matter?" he asked.

"Nothing, my Lord," Rowan said quickly, lowering his gaze. "Please go wherever you wish. I will follow."

Elias gave a brief nod, then made his way to the champagne. He didn’t even like champagne, but he needed the excuse. He sipped, eyes searching.

There.

Lady Seraphina. Gorgeous. Sharp smile. Half a dozen admirers hanging off her every word.

Elias took another glass. Then a third.

"That’s enough, my Lord."

A hand caught his glass. Rowan. Always watching.

Elias glanced at him, then away.

Tipsy? Not quite. But enough to act the part.

He patted Rowan’s shoulder.

"Stay here."

Then he turned and walked toward Lady Seraphina.

She noticed him immediately. Her smile turned razor-thin.

"Ah, Lady Vexley," Elias drawled, a hand fluttering up in faux embarrassment. "Did you finally find a tailor who can fit ambition into fabric? Forgive me—I’ve had too much wine… or perhaps too much honesty."

[Ding! Event Complete.]
[Next Event: Insult Lord Evander Thorne, Caelan Thorne’s father.]

Elias groaned inwardly.

Are you trying to get me killed!?

Lady Seraphina’s eyes glittered dangerously.

"I do adore your attention, Lord Caelan," she replied sweetly. "You wield words like a dagger—but remember, daggers cut both ways."

Elias smiled tightly.

He needed more wine.