I wrote stories because I loved romance. Well, that's what I used to tell myself.
But now?
The truth was simple. I wrote this world because I wanted control. In my previous life, control was a luxury that I couldn't have. Also, being the eldest always comes with defined responsibilities and expectations. To be the peacemaker. The reliable one.
The one who learned early that saying okay was easier than explaining why something hurt or that keeping peace became more important and comfortable than calling out to cross your boundary. That's what they used to expect.
Be patient.
Be understanding.
Be the example.
Why? Because you are the tough one. You could figure it out, but others can't.
It seemed pretty logical, so I obeyed. Over and over again.
Every time I wanted something for myself, I convinced myself it could wait. Every time I felt overlooked, I told myself it was fine. I watched people around me chase their dreams, claim their happiness, and make mistakes without consequence.
And did I get the opportunity? Nah! I was good. That's what my parents used to say, feed me into my brain until I absorbed this very fact that I was the safety net.
So when I started writing, it wasn't about imagining love, but it became more about certainty.
On those sleepless nights, with cheap ramen cooling beside me and ink staining my fingers, I built a world where things happened because I decided so. Where pain had meaning, and justice arrived on time. Where no one could interrupt my thoughts or tell me I was being dramatic.
Inside those pages, I wasn't invisible, but the opposite.
I was god.
I decided who suffered and who survived. I decided which villains deserved redemption and which ones didn't. I watched characters fall apart from a distance and told myself it was necessary.
At first, it felt unreal, but the taste of it was so addictive that it became a habit. I enjoyed it to the extent that I almost became obsessed with being the one who takes charge. It deeply affected all aspects of my life. That also became the reason why boys in high school rejected me for being too dominant.
That I almost became someone cold who didn't feel any empathy towards the characters I wrote. In my mind, whatever I did was right until this happened.
That realization scared me more because now, standing here with my future negotiated by someone else, doesn't sound or feel too good.
When I wrote tragedy, I thought it made me powerful.
Now I live inside it… and I finally understand how cruel certainty can be when you are the one forced to endure it instead of control it.
Maybe this was my punishment.
And the worst part?
I don't even know how this version ends, but one thing is clearer than a freaking diamond. I won't disappear quietly again.
Not in this life. Not at least as the side character. If I can no longer be god…Then I will be something far more dangerous.
The redemption of all of them. The Redemption of Selene, Marcus, and lastly... If needed, I will become the Only Redemption of the Third Prince.
The door closed behind me with a soft click as I entered Irene's room. My room for now.
The room faintly smelled of lavender and polished wood. Pleasant, but nothing could ease the pit in my stomach. I glanced at the lit lamp and then the bed. I wanted to just go into a sleep coma, but my so-called lover did not forget to add in another dose of anxiety.
" I will try to arrange an official meeting with my father until then; don't attract more scandals, my lady." He spoke before giving a small peck on the hand, that too in front of Jenna and Edward.
I just wanted to choke him that instant, but instead did an internal eye roll.
Not before I entered the hall, Jenna jumped in, "Such fortune to catch the Third Prince's attention, my child. It's the luckiest day for our family."
Her eyes shone with sparkles, giving me literal chills.
Fortune.
I sat on the edge of the bed, letting out a slow breath. His sarcasm made me mad, but it's Irene's family which distrubed me on another level.
Their taunts and scolding were, but their greed was louder, and not once had either of them asked the simplest question.
Are you all right?
I could bet that they wouldn't have let me step on their property if I had not come with Xander.
Even then, I noticed their gaze; it was never on me but on him. The golden ticket to the palace. Now, in their eyes, this scandal was nothing but repackaged romance.
A shot of pain came in my hand, and I only then realized I was chewing on my nail hard enough to hurt. I stopped flexing my hand and stared at the void space.
I was alone.
Not in the dramatic sense, but in the quiet, yet terrifying way. From entering the ball till now, my body started to shut down as all the adrenaline was gone.
My shoulders slumped as I let myself fall back against the bed, staring at the ceiling.
"…What am I even doing?" I whispered to myself, to which the silence only came in reply. Of course, not as if there was actually a system that would have guided me through all this.
It's just me, present with the mess I had created. A bitter laugh slipped past my lips.
"I wanted control. Well… congratulations to me." I muttered, as I drifted off to sleep, temporarily forgetting the worries, the prince, and all the problems coming with him in my way.
That man was a problem I still had not configured yet. I am shocked at the fact that he wasn't supposed to be in season, then why? Also, the way that he stared at me with that predatory smile, I have this gut feeling that he knows something that I wouldn't like him to know.