A story I can’t control

The Duke’s study was massive — towering bookshelves, a chandelier that could crush me if it fell, and a desk so polished I could see my own reflection in it.

“Sit,” Adrian said.

I obeyed instantly. Not because he was scary… okay, maybe because he was scary. But also because he was absurdly good-looking, and good-looking people made me nervous.

He leaned forward, resting one elbow on the desk.

“I’ve read your letters.”

“My… letters?”

“Yes,” he said smoothly, “the ones you sent when applying for the position of my personal scribe.”

Right. My character’s backstory. I had no idea what I’d ‘written’ in those letters, but I nodded like I knew.

Adrian studied me in silence. His eyes were sharp, the kind that could slice open your thoughts and read them.

“You’re exactly as I imagined,” he murmured.

“Ah—thank you?”

That smile again. Small. Controlled. The kind that made you feel like you’d been chosen, but for something you didn’t understand yet.

The first week passed strangely smoothly.

My job was simple — copy his official correspondence, rewrite reports, and occasionally accompany him to meetings. He was polite, well-mannered, and almost… gentle.

Almost.

On the third day, I made the mistake of laughing at something the female lead — Lady Elara — said during tea. She was charming, beautiful, and in my original story, Adrian’s future wife.

When I glanced back at Adrian, his expression hadn’t changed… but his teacup was cracked in his hand.

That night, as I was leaving the study, he stopped me at the door.

“Ren,” he said quietly.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Don’t get too close to her.”

I froze. “Pardon?”

His smile was still there — faint, almost warm. “It’s not good for you.”

I went to bed that night with a strange feeling in my chest.

He wasn’t supposed to care. In my story, the duke was aloof, a perfect gentleman until the final act. But here… his gaze lingered too long, his voice dipped too low, and his smile felt like it was hiding something sharp.

And for some reason… I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The days blurred into an odd rhythm.

Morning: I’d follow Adrian to the council chamber, copying down his icy, razor-edged remarks to trembling nobles.

Afternoon: I’d sit at my desk in the study, transcribing letters in my neatest handwriting while he worked in silence beside me.

Evening: I’d retreat to my assigned room in the guest wing, where I’d lie awake thinking about two things — how to fix the story, and why the Duke kept watching me when he thought I wasn’t looking.

The truth was, I didn’t have the luxury of enjoying this strange new life.

If I didn’t change the ending so the male lead — Adrian — ended up with me instead of Lady Elara, I wasn’t sure what would happen. The rules weren’t clear. I could vanish. Die. Get stuck here forever. None of those options sounded fun.

But changing the story from inside was harder than I expected. Elara wasn’t a cardboard character anymore — she laughed, she got angry, she teased me like an older sister. And Adrian…

Adrian was unpredictable.

Take yesterday, for example. We’d been in the library. I dropped my pen, and Elara bent down to pick it up before I could. She smiled and placed it in my hand — a perfectly normal, harmless gesture.

And yet, when I glanced up, Adrian was leaning back in his chair, his fingers drumming slowly on the armrest, eyes fixed on where her hand had brushed mine.

The next morning, Elara left for her family’s estate “unexpectedly” for an indefinite stay.

I didn’t need a narrator to tell me who made that happen.

Still, I told myself I was overthinking. That is, until the incident in the corridor.

It was late — I’d been working past midnight in the study, and was heading back to my room when I heard footsteps behind me.

“Ren.” His voice was low, a little rougher than usual.

I turned to find Adrian standing there, hair slightly mussed, no jacket, just a loose white shirt with the top buttons undone. He looked nothing like the perfect nobleman I’d drawn.

“My lord, you’re… up late,” I managed.

“I was waiting for you.”

That should have sounded romantic. It didn’t. It felt… heavy.

Before I could respond, he stepped closer, and I instinctively backed up until my shoulders hit the wall.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“What? No—”

His hand came up, not touching me, but close enough that I felt the warmth radiating from his palm beside my head. “I don’t like it.”

“I—I was just busy with work—”

“Then I’ll make sure you have less work,” he murmured. “More time… for me.”

I swallowed. This wasn’t part of the plot. In my manga, Adrian was polite until Chapter 40. We weren’t even at Chapter 10.

He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing my ear. “Stay where I can see you, Ren.”

Then he stepped back, his expression perfectly neutral again, as if the moment had never happened.