The great halls of the imperial court were overflowing with murmurs as Lady Evelyne Ashbourne stood at the foot of the judgnt platform, her delicate fra trembling.
She looked like a wilting flower, her white curls disheveled, her lips bitten raw from pleading. Yet her diamond eyes burned only for him.
Duke Raphael Everhart, the ruthless warlord, stood at the throne, his face an unreadable mask of cold authority.
The man who had once threatened to burn entire cities for defying him now held the fate of a woman in his hands.
But not Evelyne's.
No, the one at his feet, cloaked in chains, her once-pristine dress torn and muddied, was the infamous Lady Verena D'Auvergne.
The court had already judged her guilty.
She had stood in the way of fate.
This woman had orchestrated wars, assassinations, and betrayals.
Evelyne took a deep breath, stepping forward. "My Lord," she began, voice trembling with emotion, "I beg you, do not let this woman deceive you any longer. She has done nothing but stand in the way of our love, of the peace you seek to bring to this nation."
The Grand Duke barely spared her a glance. "I have no interest in her lies."
But Verena let out a low, bitter laugh. "Lies?" Her lips curled, her voice hoarse. "Tell , Grand Duke, do I lie when I say you used ?" Her eyes burned as she turned to Evelyne. "And you, foolish girl—do you truly believe this man loves you?"
Evelyne flinched. "He does love ," She swallowed. "And I love him."
The court fell silent.
Then Verena laughed again, a hollow, aching sound. "Then tell , Evelyne, where was this love when I was the one at his side? When he whispered his promises to , when he called his most trusted? Where was his love when he cast aside the mont you appeared?"
Evelyne paled, but she held firm. "That's not true. You... you were never ant to be with him. You were cruel. You—"
"I was never ant to be?" Verena's voice turned razor-sharp, her shackles clinking as she shifted. "You speak as if fate itself wrote as the villain. Tell , heroine—did fate also tell him to use as his tool, to discard like waste once he no longer needed ?"
Evelyne opened her mouth, but no words ca.
The Grand Duke finally sighed. "Enough." He gestured lazily to the guards. "Take her away. The sentence is death."
Verena did not plead. She did not beg for rcy.
She only laughed.
Even as they dragged her through the halls, past the nobles who had once sung her praises, she laughed.
And as Evelyne buried her face in Raphael's chest, sobbing in relief, she did not notice the way his lips curled—how, for the briefest mont, he almost looked... bored.
***
"Motherfucker! How did I like this before?!"
Petra threw the book straight into the fire pit, arms crossed as she watched the pages curl and blacken, the flas licking away every last ounce of its foolishness.
Another breakup. Another disaster. She thought this one was the jackpot, but no, it was a hotpot.
And not the delicious kind.
No, this was the kind where her heart was being boiled alive in a bubbling broth of regret and secondhand embarrassnt.
"Why is everyone so fucking dumb?!" she yelled at the heavens, as if the gods of romance would descend and explain. "Why does no one have emotional intelligence?!"
Her first boyfriend? Claid she's just a friend, only for Petra to find out the very next day that, surprise! She was the side chick.
Her second boyfriend? Sweet, lovable... and clingier than a damp sock. Man would not stop whining.
And her first-ever girlfriend? Oh, don't even get her started on that one. That was the mont she finally understood the struggles of n.
The book she just sacrificed to the flas, you ask?
Well, ever read about a heroine whose only personality trait was being a doormat?
Or one who caught Stockholm Syndro and decided, "Maybe my kidnapper is kinda hot?"
Or, brace yourself, one so indecisive she spent five entire books choosing between two n?
Then all of that is in "Hopelessly Ever After."
A steamy and smut historical fantasy novel series set in the regency era about a reading group nad The Gilded Quill Society.
Founded by the main heroine, Evelyn Ashbourne, she attempted gathering a squad of refined ladies in the Academy, much like the noble version of a girlband ani.
But instead of cute friendship arcs and synchronized dance numbers, they sohow ended up knee-deep in political conspiracies, deadly secrets, and scandalous romance.
It wasn't easy, of course.
Recruiting seven other won into her literary empire took effort, but in the end, the Society was ford.
Together, these eight won would navigate courtly intrigue, whispered betrayals, and the kind of romantic entanglents that could either save them... or get them hurt.
Each of the eight books is told from a different mber's perspective, because one point of view simply wasn't enough for all the chaos they had to endure.
As a teenager, she had adored it, a guilty pleasure filled with swoon-worthy love stories, passionate confessions, and charming n who promised the world.
As an adult? She realized the n were morons. The heroines were fools. And the romance? An absolute dumpster fire.
"Ugh," she groaned, rubbing her temples. "No wonder I have trust issues."
Petra was on a reading binge, her latest coping chanism. She mindlessly flipped through the books in her collection, hoping for distraction, but instead, she only found frustration.
In her current life, she wasn't particularly searching for love, but she was desperately craving emotional intelligence - sothing the world seed to lack. Everyone treated romance like a cure-all, a miracle drug, and it was beyond infuriating.
Boom!
"Eep—!"
A sudden clap of thunder rattled the walls.
The lights flickered, and then—darkness.
Only the firelight remained, casting shadows across the room. A sharp pain shot through her skull, a splitting migraine taking over.
"Ugh... I forgot to take my dicine..." she groaned.
Disoriented, she stepped forward, only for her foot to catch on a wire.
Before she could react, gravity did the rest.
It was swift.
A freefall. A mont of weightlessness. And then, nothing.
As she drifted into unconsciousness, mories flooded her mind.
Her childhood in a broken ho. Her embarrassingly naïve teenage years. Her string of disastrous relationships. And the one thing that ever made sense—her job as an HR manager in so random company, diating other people's stupidity.
"Why do people always wait for soone else to change them?"
"Why do they believe love is the key to happiness?"
"Why do we mistake desire for love?"
"Why is romance always about co-dependency?"
"Why do people think they need another half to be whole?"
No answers ca. Only the crushing realization that she still didn't know.
...
...
"Verena! Don't you da—!"
SMACK!
Petra blinked. Her hand stung.
Wait... had she just slapped soone?
The world around her finally ca into focus. A massive ballroom. A grand chandelier glittering above. Elegant guests frozen in shock. Plates of untouched food. And all eyes locked on her.
Where am I?
A horrified gasp snapped her attention to the girl in front of her, an ethereal beauty with long white hair, straight bangs, and diamond-like eyes brimming with unshed tears. She clutched her cheek, a red mark blooming where Petra had struck her.
'She's... really pretty...' Petra thought, flustered.
"A-Are you alright?" she stamred, reaching out instinctively—
Only for her hand to be slapped away.
"Do not touch her!" a sharp voice commanded.
A man stepped between them, his blonde hair and piercing red eyes burning with fury.
And suddenly, it clicked.
Evelyn.
Verena.
An overprotective man.
Petra's breath hitched. She knew these nas. She knew this scene.
She whipped her head around, taking in the lavish décor, the gasping nobles, the sheer familiarity of it all.
No. No way.
Her heart pounded as realization dawned.
Did I just... transmigrate into the series?!
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