Arwa gently opened the door and stepped into the room where the two families were gathered. Her steps were cautious, as if she feared making a wrong move that might disturb the already tense atmosphere. Behind her, Kyle Strathmore, her fiancé, entered with his usual confident strides, carrying the same aura of dignity that distinguished the royal family. His head held high, his smile formal, yet just like her, he hid a world of hesitation and annoyance behind that smile.
Count Denis welcomed them, opening his arms and saying:
"Did you enjoy your time?"
Kyle replied with a dry laugh that didn't reach his eyes, as if passing through a mirror reflecting what he didn't feel:
"Yes, it was a pleasant day... wasn't it, Arwa?"
She hesitated for a moment, looked at him with emotionless eyes, then turned to everyone and gave a forced smile as she said in a trembling voice:
"Oh, haha... yes, I enjoyed it a lot."
Those words cost her more than they appeared to, but she said them... even though every cell in her body refused to admit it.
Yet, as if those words were a magical ticket to happiness, the families seemed perfectly pleased.
Othman laughed, slapping the armrest of his chair:
"Wonderful! I think they really get along."
Countess Sara nodded, her face bright with joy:
"You're right, Duke. They seem to fit together like two pieces of porcelain."
Elenora smiled, her eyes shining with hidden pride as she looked at her daughter:
"I'm happy... so happy that my daughter has become a mature lady, engaged to the finest family in the empire."
Denis clapped his hands, interrupting the cheerful conversation, and said with a playful tone:
"Come now, you must be exhausted... it's getting late. You should all get some rest."
Arwa didn't wait for a second invitation, she felt as if she had finally been granted her freedom.
She said quietly, not without haste:
"Good night."
Then she left, following the maid who led her to her room.
As soon as the door closed behind her, her tired body collapsed onto the bed. She threw herself as if fleeing the weight of the world. She stayed there, staring at the ceiling, still wearing her formal dress. She muttered to herself as she closed her eyes in exhaustion:
"I need to change my clothes... I want to rest."
She slowly got up from the bed, changed her clothes, and took a quick shower. The cold water washed away the tension of the meeting. After she finished, she said:
"Ah... what a relief."
She drank a glass of water and quickly fell asleep.
But her sleep didn't last long.
She opened her eyes in the middle of the night, feeling irritated. Kyle's voice still echoed in her head, his arrogant tone, his empty words, and his fake laughter. She sat on the bed, clutching the pillow in her hands.
"That bastard...!"
She said angrily, then started hitting the pillow with all her strength, as if imagining it was his face.
"You arrogant jerk...!"
Hit.
"You think you're the center of the universe?!"
Another hit.
"How dare you say such rude things?"
She screamed as she hit the pillow like she was in a wrestling match.
"If you weren't my favorite in this story... if I hadn't read about you and fallen in love with your paper version..."
She sighed and looked at the pillow as if she saw his face there.
"I would've punched that handsome face you're so proud of!"
She fell back on the bed again, hugging the pillow like a lover who had left her.
"Kyle Strathmore... you used to be the hero of this story in my eyes, but now you're just a spoiled boy who doesn't know how to respect a woman."
That night, Arwa realized that the world she had been reincarnated into wasn't as glamorous as she had thought. And that the hero wasn't as pure as her imagination had drawn him. Yet despite that, she didn't feel weak. Instead, a spark was born within her—a small but blazing spark. A spark of challenge.
"I won't be a puppet in this story."
She whispered to herself as she covered her body and closed her eyes again, but this time not to sleep, but to plan.
"I'll rewrite the story... in my own way."
The following morning wasn't ordinary. It wasn't much different from the previous night except that it began with a new fake smile and an internal storm that hadn't yet calmed. Arwa sat at the long breakfast table, her eyes constantly watching the expressions of those around her. Sara was radiant as always, speaking gracefully while gesturing in the air, as if painting the future with her words. Denis was more reserved, content with listening and nodding, while Kyle sat beside her like a marble statue... handsome, silent, and cold.
Sara finished the piece of pie in front of her, then gently placed her fork on the plate and looked at Arwa as if dropping a surprise.
She said with a broad smile:
"Dear Arwa... Denis and I have talked, and we've decided that you'll be staying here with us."
Arwa raised her eyebrows, her heartbeat quickened before she composed herself.
"Stay... here?"
Denis nodded in a calm voice:
"Yes, it would be useful for you to get to know our family better. You'll be part of it soon. And it's better to start now."
Sara added quickly, her eyes glowing with intelligence and cunning:
"Exactly. Five months are enough to learn everything. How we manage things, how we deal with the staff, how we receive guests. You'll soon be Lady Strathmore, and you must live up to the name."
Arwa felt suffocated. Five months? Here? With these strangers who mastered lying with an elegant face? She looked toward Kyle, seeking help from his expression, maybe he would save her, maybe he would object... but Kyle said nothing. Nothing. He just took a sip of his coffee, his eyes not even looking at her.
Arwa said in a steady voice despite her anger:
"But... I haven't told my mother yet. And my studies, I thought—"
Sara interrupted her, waving her hand:
"Everything has been arranged. Your mother agreed, and she's now waiting to bid you farewell before she leaves with your father."
The silence was like a soft slap. Everything had been done without her opinion, without her being asked. All she had to do... was obey.
She took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in her throat.
"Alright... if that's your decision."
She said it coldly, as if agreeing, but inside she was boiling.
Everyone got up after a few minutes. The families were seen off in the palace courtyard. Arwa hugged her mother and whispered in her ear:
"Don't leave me here alone... I feel like I'm in a cage."
Elenora replied, her eyes tearing up:
"Be strong, my little one... think of this opportunity as a lesson."
She whispered again:
"Why did you agree without asking me?"
Her mother replied softly:
"Because the world won't always ask you, Arwa."
After a warm farewell, Arwa's family got into their car, leaving her standing at the palace threshold like a princess stripped of her freedom.
The next day, she was summoned to the eastern wing, designated for her. It wasn't bad materially—the room was luxurious, smooth glass, silk curtains, and a large bed adorned in imperial colors. But she didn't see beauty... she saw a golden prison.
Soft knocks on the door, then it opened.
A young woman in her twenties entered, her black hair tightly tied back, and her eyes were dark honey-brown. She wore the navy maid uniform, with a neat white collar, and stood with the discipline of a soldier.
She bowed slightly and said:
"Good morning, my lady. My name is Bibi, I've been assigned as your personal assistant during your stay here."
Arwa raised her eyes, didn't comment, just nodded.
Bibi continued, standing as if waiting for an exam:
"I've been assigned to help you with your lessons, organization, and managing the servants. Consider me your right hand."
Arwa stepped closer and smiled sarcastically:
"And is this also a test?"
Bibi responded with a faint smile, but her gaze was sharp, observing more than speaking:
"Everything in this place is a test, my lady."
Arwa was silent, then pointed to a nearby chair:
"Sit. I want to know more about you."
Bibi sat with discipline, her hands on her lap.
"I'm from a middle-class background, trained by the countess's governesses. I speak three languages, and I know court etiquette well. I don't belong to a noble family, but... Sara thinks I'm useful."
Arwa raised an eyebrow:
"Is she always like this? Planning everything?"
Bibi replied after a moment's hesitation:
"Countess Sara... is a strong woman. And she hates surprises."
Arwa laughed bitterly:
"But this time, I am the surprise."
Over the next few days, Arwa underwent a strict routine. Lessons in etiquette, protocols, aristocratic rituals, how to sit, how to walk, how to look at guests and use a fan to convey secret messages. And Kyle? A ghost. He barely spoke to her. Barely looked at her. He passed her like a cold breeze, leaving no trace.
One time, she approached him in the hallway. She said in a low voice:
"Do you hate me that much?"
He answered without turning:
"I don't hate anyone. But no one asked for my opinion about this engagement."
She felt the sting, but lifted her head with pride.
"No one asked for mine either. At least we're even."
One evening, while inspecting one of the new reception halls, Bibi entered silently, holding a small notebook.
She approached and said:
"My lady, the countess requested that you host tomorrow's reception. There will be guests from the noble class, and you will be responsible for hospitality, service, and even assigning seats."
Arwa looked at her in disbelief:
"Me? Alone?"
Bibi nodded:
"Yes, she said she wants to see if you have what it takes to be the lady of this house."
Arwa walked toward the window, looked out at the dark gardens and the cloudy sky.
"Another test..."
She whispered, then turned:
"I'll do it. I'll host the evening. And I'll make them see I'm not just a fiancée picked from a storybook."
Bibi finally smiled—this time, genuinely.
But at that moment, in a nearby corner, Kyle stood at the entrance, hearing everything between them. He gripped the doorframe tightly, and his gaze was no longer cold.
It was burning.