Chapter One: The Wrong Body

The first thing Ethan noticed was the silence.

Not the kind of silence that hummed with life the distant honk of cars, the buzz of a refrigerator, or the faint shouting of his upstairs neighbors fighting again. This silence was vast. Heavy. As if the air itself held its breath.

His head throbbed. His lungs burned as though he’d been running.

When he forced his eyes open, the world that greeted him was wrong.

The ceiling above him was carved from ivory stone, painted with constellations dusted in powdered gold. For a moment, he could only stare, blinking hard, willing the sight to change. But it didn’t.

He jolted upright. The bed beneath him was enormous, the velvet sheets spilling like dark waves across the mattress. His hands clawed at the fabric, shaking.

This wasn’t his cramped one-room apartment. This wasn’t his city.

“What the hell” His voice caught.

It wasn’t his voice.

It was deeper, smoother, carrying a richness that made his own sound almost fragile in comparison.

His heart hammered. He pushed himself off the bed, stumbling barefoot across polished marble. His reflection caught his eye, and he froze.

A mirror, tall and gilded with serpentine patterns, stood against the far wall.

And the man staring back was a stranger.

Silver hair fell in artful strands across aristocratic features sharp cheekbones, a jawline cut from marble, lips curled slightly as if in disdain. His eyes were pale gray, the color of storms before lightning, cold and unyielding. Robes embroidered with gold clung to his frame, bearing a crest he didn’t recognize: a serpent coiled around a sword.

Ethan staggered closer. The reflection followed. He lifted a hand. So did the stranger.

“No,” Ethan whispered. His own voice no, this man’s voice echoed back. “That’s not me.”

But the evidence surrounded him. The weight of the robe on his shoulders. The cool touch of the mirror. The reflection’s storm-gray eyes that were now his own.

His pulse raced. He gripped his head, gasping.

That was when it hit him.

Memories.

Not his.

They crashed into him in a flood scenes, voices, feelings. A banquet table piled high while peasants starved. Servants trembling as cruel laughter rang out. The arrogance of privilege, the indulgence of a spoiled prince who cared for nothing but his own comfort.

A name burned through the haze.

Adrian.

Ethan’s blood ran cold. He knew that name.

Because he had read it before.

From a book.

The Crown Prince’s Rise.

Adrian was no hero. He was the villain the wastrel second prince, despised by nobles and commoners alike. The arrogant snake who sought to rival his elder brother, Crown Prince Lucian, and failed. The man who ended up executed in the palace square, his head falling at the very feet of the people who had once bowed before him.

“No,” Ethan gasped. His knees nearly buckled. “No, no, no this isn’t real.”

But the velvet was soft in his hands. The marble was cold beneath his bare feet. The fire in the hearth warmed his skin.

This wasn’t a dream.

This was his reality.

He had transmigrated.

And he wasn’t the hero.

He wasn’t even a side character.

He was the villain already doomed to die.

A sharp knock rattled the heavy doors.

“Your Highness,” a voice called young, careful. “The council awaits you.”

Ethan’s breath caught. His hands shook. The council? Already?

He had read this part. Adrian was supposed to sneer, to mock, to throw the council into chaos with his arrogance. Every step, every word, had already been written. And at the end of the book, his own brother Lucian, the perfect crown prince would drag him to his death.

Another knock. “Your Highness?”

Ethan forced his legs to move. He reached the door and cracked it open.

A servant stood there young, slim, dressed in the palace livery. His eyes flicked up briefly, then dropped again, as if looking at Ethan directly might cost him his head.

“My prince,” the boy stammered, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the floor.

The title made Ethan’s stomach twist. Prince. They think I’m him.

“I…” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, trying to match the smooth depth of the man in the mirror. “I’ll be there shortly.”

The servant blinked. Perhaps at the politeness. Perhaps because the real Adrian would have cursed him for daring to knock at all.

“Yes, Your Highness,” the boy murmured, retreating quickly down the corridor.

The door shut with a heavy thud.

Ethan leaned against it, his chest heaving.

This was real. Too real.

And if he lived this story the way it was written, he was already marked for death.

He needed time.

He stumbled back toward the bed, eyes sweeping the chamber. His pulse still thundered, but his thoughts began to steady.

If this was Adrian’s body, then everything in this room belonged to Adrian. His life, his past, his sins. Maybe… maybe his survival too.

On a table near the window lay a stack of letters, sealed with wax. His fingers trembled as he broke one open.

To His Highness, Prince Adrian,

Your debts at the gaming hall remain unpaid. We expect restitution within the fortnight. Failure will result in the seizure of collateral, including estates under your name.

Ethan’s mouth went dry. The next letter was worse threats, demands, endless proof of a man who had squandered wealth and trust without care.

A leather-bound ledger revealed pages of reckless spending: jewels, hunting trips, private feasts. No mention of aid for the starving peasants whose cries echoed faintly in Adrian’s stolen memories.

Ethan slammed the book shut, bile rising in his throat. “No wonder they all hate him.”

No, no wonder they all hated him.

Because now, he was Adrian.

His fists clenched against the ledger. If he continued like this, he’d march straight into the execution he already knew was coming.

But if he changed… if he became someone different…

“Maybe,” he whispered, his reflection’s pale eyes locking with his own in the mirror. “Maybe I can survive this.”

The words steadied him, if only slightly. His voice sounded firmer.

“I’m not Adrian. But if I have to wear his face, then I’ll do it differently. I’ll prove I’m not the villain they think.”

But even as he spoke, a shadow loomed in his thoughts. Because he knew who stood at the center of this story. The perfect heir. The man adored by all. The one destined to end Adrian’s life.

Lucian.

The crown prince. The man who would either kill him… or just maybe save him.

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