Between Pages and Promises

Chapter 1

A dull thud echoed through the bathroom, followed by a pained yelp.
Isabella Fairchild pressed one hand to her throbbing forehead, her eyes tightly shut. Beads of perspiration clung to her long lashes, and her face contorted in discomfort.
Once the pain dulled a bit, she cautiously lowered her hand, revealing her striking features—beautiful yet not overly feminine, with eyes that sparkled with a hint of mischief while still being strikingly pure and innocent. Even with her face twisted in agony, there was an undeniable allure about her.
“Great, a namesake has ruined my life.”
As memories flooded her mind, Isabella couldn’t help but curse out loud. She never expected that binge-reading that melodramatic best-seller from the local vendor, a so-called literary masterpiece, would land her inside the pages of a book as a hapless character.
But it was too late for regrets now. She sighed heavily.
How did she know she had “crossed over” into the story? Well, the familiar names appearing in her mind were a dead giveaway. The very novel she had read just the night before held the keys to this absurd twist of fate.
Last night, after grabbing groceries in her cluttered neighborhood, she’d stopped at a familiar stall where the vendor passionately recommended the latest buzz—a ridiculous tale centered on an ill-fated romance. Isabella couldn’t resist, not that she had many hobbies as a thirtysomething living alone; reading was her escape.
The story had introduced a character named Isabella, who shared the same name and backstory. Unfortunately, the doppelgänger’s fate was one of disaster: forced into a wedding with a notoriously aloof CEO, Lady Seraphina—her character—had dashed away from the altar only to get hit by a runaway car, leading to a life bound to a wheelchair.
She had absorbed the narrative's wretchedness completely, not to mention the sinister reputation of House Fairchild’s uncle, whose business blunders had propelled Lady Seraphina into this dire fate.
Now, with these grim memories echoing in her head, Isabella felt a wave of disorientation and distress wash over her. She instinctively recoiled, turning her gaze to distract herself.
Peering down at her unfamiliar bridal attire, Isabella felt uncomfortable. She had always considered herself a “couch potato,” with only a single cheap suit from her job hunt days hanging in her closet. She adjusted her bow tie, rolled up her sleeves, and unexpectedly caught sight of a small mole on her wrist—the same shade and size as her own.
“What the…,” she gasped in surprise. “Is it fate?”
…
This was the Highland Manor, and Isabella was in one of its bathrooms—a detail that had slipped her mind until now. Her earlier scream hadn’t drawn anyone's attention alongside the bustle outside.
Torn between fleeing the scene or confronting her newfound life, she hesitated. Listening to the sounds beyond her sanctuary, she felt a surge of anxiousness swell inside her.
“Do I stay or do I go?” she questioned internally, heightening her worry. The thought of being caught in the middle of a runaway bride scenario morphed into a peculiar giggle.
Steeling herself with newfound resolve, Isabella straightened up and boldly stepped out of the stall.
As she approached the big mirror lining the wall, she couldn’t help but gawk. The reflection staring back was strikingly familiar—not just the same name, but the same face.
"No way. This can’t be real!” she exclaimed, indignantly tugging at her own cheek, which felt all too tangible.
Driven by disbelief, her mind raced at the possibilities. Should she embrace this surreal existence, poised at the edge of an outrageous wedding?
She could hardly be expected to take on a predictable life as a meek character in a novel, could she? But then again, the clock was ticking, and the whims of fate had a palpable grip on her.
Perhaps, in the end, she was destined to be more than just a side character in a cheesy romance story.

Chapter 2

Isabella Fairchild stood before the mirror, her reflection revealing a striking figure dressed in a tailored black three-piece suit that accentuated his slim waist and elongated legs. The fabric felt luxurious to the touch; a testament to its high price. A small red flower was pinned to the lapel, accompanying a card that revealed his identity and title: “The Groom.”
Isabella’s heart raced, the urgency of the moment evident in her wide eyes. She brushed her fingers through her neatly styled hair, only to notice a darkening bruise on her forehead from colliding with the restroom door in her shock. Some stray strands had fallen forward, adding an unexpected touch of chaos to her otherwise polished appearance. The face staring back was one she had known for over twenty years, but now, it felt oddly foreign. Blinking rapidly, she tried to dismiss the sensation, but an unsettling feeling lingered. Something was amiss, though she couldn't pinpoint what.
She looked closely at her reflection and suddenly feared the implications of her appearance. With trembling hands, Isabella attempted to unbutton the top two buttons of her shirt, but anxiety only made her clumsier. After several frustrating moments, she succeeded and leaned closer into the oversized mirror. Tilting her chin slightly, she was taken aback by a small light blue birthmark nestled above her collarbone—a reminder of a childhood incident when she had dozed off in class and accidentally poked herself with a pencil. Growing up after her parents’ passing, she had not bothered her uncle about such trivial matters and had only wiped it away hastily with an eraser.
The question plagued her: Was this the body of Lady Seraphina, or was it truly hers? If it belonged to Lady Seraphina, how could she explain the birthmark? There was no reasonable explanation for why Lady Seraphina might have a mark caused by a pencil prick. She hesitated to claim it as her own, both conflicting emotions weighing heavily on her.
After a few moments of turmoil, Isabella decided to let it go, shaking off thoughts of the memories she had just received. Uncertainty gnawed at her; she had no clue if she could ever return to her previous life. Sighing, she gazed into the mirror once more. While she held no extravagant desires for her life, the longing for the familiar comforts of her own world remained.
At that moment, she stood in the restroom of The Studio of Portraits, faced with two stark paths—either flee from an unwanted marriage or proceed with the marriage as scripted in the novel. Unfortunately for Isabella, neither option seemed appealing.
Muffled voices drifted from outside, piercing through her thoughts. As the conversation drew nearer and then faded, she felt a wave of relief wash over her. Had they come searching for her? She wasn't Lady Seraphina anymore; she wasn't about to be tethered to a forced union. Her mind was filled with visions of elaborate wedding arrangements that made her skin crawl. The idea of a disastrous accident crossed her mind, and she resolved to find a hidden spot—a temporary refuge, enough to slip through the day until the engagement was called off. The fewer people who saw her, the closer she would be to freedom.
Though she had never dated, unsure if she preferred men or women, she was not interested in settling for a superficial relationship just to play the role of a bride. The elite company of charming men was meant for the story’s protagonists, not for a character like her.
Peeking out into the corridor, she found it eerily empty. Steeling herself, she followed the signs toward the staircase, each step a promise of escape.

Chapter 3

Isabella Fairchild gasped for breath as realization struck her: this body wasn’t hers. She lived on the sixth floor of a building that lacked an elevator, and she climbed those stairs every day. There was no reason for her to be winded after barely ascending three flights.
Pressing on, she descended several more flights before fatigue gripped her. She sank onto the steps to catch her breath, surprisingly distracted by the design of the tiles lining the walls. Once she felt more composed, Isabella rose and leaned against the window to look down below—only to fight back an urge to retch at the dizzying drop.
Lady Seraphina hadn’t willingly lacked control over her marriage, and riding the elevator didn’t seem to be a concern when she was naively unaware of the building’s heights. The staircases in the Studio of Portraits didn’t announce each floor, and from her vantage point, Isabella realized she was many stories high, far beyond where she was comfortable.
Her legs still trembling, she imagined that by the time she made it to the ground floor, she might as well crawl. With reckless thoughts flickering through her mind, she observed the staircase, feeling a compelling urge bubbling within her. If Lady Seraphina had been able to run outside and get struck by a car, perhaps riding the elevator wouldn’t pose much danger, right? She attempted to hypnotize herself with her own logic.
With a pinch of hopefulness, Isabella paused to rest in the stairwell, dragging her weary legs toward the now-empty lift entrance.
She stared up at the ascending number 15 on the display, her expression stone-cold as she mentally berated the building. Who had a studio stretched over thirty floors? Realizing she hadn’t taken the elevator and had foolishly chosen the stairs from twenty floors up left her wondering if she would have even made it to the ground unscathed. The way things were going, she’d probably end up on crutches before long.
Before she could contemplate further, sounds echoed from down the corridor. The voice felt oddly familiar, a product of Lady Seraphina's memories swirling inside her. Almost at once, someone rounded the corner, speaking into their phone. Startled, Isabella instinctively reached for the small red flower pinned to her suit lapel and the name tag that declared her as the "Bridegroom," tucking it swiftly into her pocket. She averted her gaze, carefully maintaining a facade of calmness while keeping her eyes fixed on the numbers that blinked above the lift doors.
“Ding!”
The elevator arrived just as planned, and Isabella deftly slid inside, quickly pressing the close button several times. The doors shut, leaving her momentarily staring at the hem of a suit jacket that rushed by outside.
Her legs quaked beneath her again as she leaned against the lift wall, planning her escape route in her mind.
“Mr. Fairchild, are you here waiting for Mr. Everhart?” a voice came from behind her, catching Isabella off guard. She hadn’t realized anyone else was in the lift with her.
Turning slightly, she caught sight of a sharply-dressed gentleman with a briefcase. He was intriguing, yet Isabella couldn't find any memories involving him from Lady Seraphina.
Noticing the confusion in Isabella’s eyes, Evelyn Thornfield offered a slight smile. Understanding her silence, he introduced himself and fell quiet, sensing her reluctance to engage in conversation.
Isabella took a deep breath, her heart racing as the lift descended, her mind swirling with doubt, fear, and a newfound determination. Whatever awaited her on the ground floor would still be a part of this whirlwind moment, but she had to brace herself for the unexpected.

Chapter 4

Isabella Fairchild was silent, and Liam Everhart stood beside her, clutching the investigation documents. Evelyn Thornfield felt a wave of confusion wash over her. The documents painted a picture of Isabella, who, after the tragic death of her parents, had been left in the care of her uncle, who had taken control of her family's company under the guise of looking after his late brother's child. To outsiders, it seemed altruistic, yet anyone with a keen eye could sense the ulterior motives; professional guardianship was an option, after all.
As Evelyn scanned through the report, she couldn’t help but notice Isabella’s constant achievements contrasted by her shy demeanor. She had even come across Isabella's graduation photo and now, looking at the girl standing in front of her with an innocent and peaceful gaze, Evelyn began to doubt the accuracy of her research.
Unbeknownst to Isabella, who was lost in her thoughts and simply smiled back at Liam, the air was thick with an unsaid tension.
“Liam?” she suddenly called out, her voice interrupting the silence, a strange sense of urgency bubbling beneath her calm exterior.
She let out a sigh, remembering the tumult of emotions roiling inside her, yet she felt a little lost.
The bustling city life outside was momentarily muffled by their collective silence. Evelyn sensed a shift in Isabella's demeanor, leaving her feeling uneasy.
Just then, the ringing of a cell phone shattered that moment of stillness. Evelyn glanced at her phone screen and swiftly answered, “What is it?”
“We found her,” a deep male voice replied.
“Who?” Evelyn furrowed her brow, tension creeping into her chest.
“It’s Isabella Grey, Liam Everhart’s friend,” the voice continued.
Evelyn’s heart sank.
“We need to go find her,” she declared with determination.
Meanwhile, Aldric Windbrook found himself in an unfamiliar world, the absence of his boyfriend weighing heavily on him.
After two years in this alternate reality, Evelyn Lancaster finally returned home only to wake up in a dilapidated room, his once handsome face now scruffy and unkempt.
Evelyn was all too aware of what had been done to his body during those two years.
“Forget love, I should’ve chased after wealth,” he muttered to himself. “How could you fall for a man who cheats so easily?”
On his first day back, he wasted no time delivering a swift kick to his ex’s door, packed his bags, and gracefully returned to the opulence of his family’s estate.
Evelyn Lancaster’s sudden announcement of his breakup upon arriving home sent his siblings into a frenzy of joy, celebrating the return of their dear brother to the right path.
“Pamper him! Treat him like royalty so he never gets swayed by sweet-talking jerks again!” they cheered.
Thus, Evelyn embraced a life filled with adoration from his family in the lap of luxury.
However, it wasn’t long before he discovered that his former boyfriend had tracked him down.
In the serene hall of his family estate, Evelyn Thornfield lowered his gaze, fixated on the floor, anxiety gnawing at him.
“This is not a good time,” he thought to himself.
The fleeting chance at resolving his troubles was suffocatingly close, and he knew he had to seize the opportunity to escape this predicament.

Chapter 5

Looking at the expressionless group in black suits, Isabella Fairchild felt her heart race with fear. Perhaps it was the overwhelming flood of memories that had momentarily clouded her mind, but as her legs felt heavy, she couldn't shake the thought that they might actually harm her.
Liam Everhart regarded her with an unflinching gaze. His tall frame loomed over her as she noticed the redness in her cheeks, her watery eyes staring back at him. A few strands of hair fell delicately across his forehead, accentuating the roundness of her face, giving her a softer look.
Remembering Evelyn Thornfield’s earlier words, Liam couldn’t help but feel skeptical. He knew too well the origins of this marriage. It was a business arrangement orchestrated by his parents—nothing more than a strategic alliance among the elite. He thought to himself that if he had to marry, he might as well choose a relatively simple man instead of a troublesome woman. As soon as this thought crossed his mind, House of Fairchild had unexpectedly entered the scene. When he reviewed Isabella Fairchild’s dossier, he wasn’t quite sure what her personality was like, but he was sure she wasn’t the type to cause unnecessary trouble.
Liam found it hard to believe that Isabella had any affection for him; that seemed just a narrative concocted by the Fairchilds.
As Liam stepped closer, Isabella felt the shadow enveloping her, and when she looked up, she couldn’t help but gasp—his complexion was almost flawless up close.
However, her awe quickly dissipated as she locked eyes with him, noticing a cold, almost lifeless detachment behind his gaze.
“We're running out of time. Let’s go,” Liam stated, casting a brief glance at Isabella before turning around.
Isabella was left dumbfounded.
Driven by Evelyn Thornfield's encouraging smile, Isabella followed the tall man’s footsteps with a dazed expression. As they stood in the elevator watching the numbers rise, it finally dawned on her that their destination was the sixth floor; she had just spoken with the third male lead.
Tears of regret streamed down Isabella’s cheeks.
She’d rather endure the exhaustion of walking down the stairs and expose herself to the cameras than walk right into a trap.
She realized that her recent actions were heavily influenced by Lady Seraphina’s convoluted thoughts; otherwise, how could she have ended up in such a predicament?
It took her a significant effort to descend, whereas the ascent barely took a couple of minutes.
The elevator was packed with stoic figures, and after her thwarted escape, Isabella gave up entirely. With her slender arms and legs, leaving the building unnoticed was impossible, especially now that she was being watched.
Perhaps marrying the third male lead would free her from this forced storyline, although she remembered little of what lay ahead.
“What happened to your boutonniere, Mr. Isabella? Where’s your groom’s flower?”
As she stepped out of the elevator, Isabella was met by a group of unfamiliar yet vaguely recognizable faces, and before she could properly respond, The Faerie Stylist swept her away.
“I accidentally bumped it out of shape, so I took it off,” Isabella replied sheepishly as she was seated. She retrieved a large, red heralded boutonniere from her pocket that bore the mark of the groom, her face flushing slightly.
The other flower was all crumpled, the letters spelling ‘groom’ were particularly wrinkled, forming the twisted shape of “.”
The Faerie Stylist expertly fixed her hair, making sure her forehead was completely visible. A small bruise tinged with blue-green was clearly visible on her skin; it was apparent she had bumped into something. While the stylist said nothing, she meticulously covered it with makeup.
The guys required much less fuss; a simple adjustment to their hairstyle made them look pulled together.
Makeup? What makeup?
Isabella's skin was fair and her lips perfectly red; at her height, one might think she was preparing for a theatrical performance. If makeup was applied, removing it would undoubtedly be a hassle.
The slightly crumpled “” was eventually discarded by The Faerie Stylist in favor of a fresh, newly opened boutonniere.
“Mr. Isabella, you have the most remarkable skin I’ve ever encountered in my career. It’s exactly like that ‘milk skin’ everyone talks about. You must take incredible care of it,” The Faerie Stylist remarked. With so many people suffering from sleepless nights leaving bags under their eyes and battling acne, Isabella’s complexion was seemingly effortlessly flawless, clear and healthy, with a fine layer of down giving her a gentle glow.
Isabella had no idea about skin care routines. Faced with the stylist's praise, she managed to smile weakly and replied, “I guess I just keep a regular schedule—early to bed, early to rise.”
As the departure time arrived, Isabella followed the group back to the spacious hall they had just exited from. A few men came walking from the opposite direction. The third male lead had traded his old suit for one of the same style, with a sharp, serious demeanor that practically radiated intensity; the boutonniere prominently displayed on his chest.
Being unfamiliar with the House of Fairchild crowd, Isabella quietly made her way to the elevator when she spotted Liam Everhart descending.
Having been raised by relatives who provided him with a good education, Isabella had a low regard for the House of Fairchild's customs. According to her memories, Lady Seraphina hadn’t led a happy life among them. After establishing themselves within the House, the Fairchilds took everything from Lady Seraphina, who had been too young and naïve at the time to know better, resulting in a twisted person without proper guidance.
Isabella couldn’t help but wonder if Aunt Margery and Uncle William were doing well. How devastated would they be if they heard about her demise? She hoped that Lady Seraphina might take over her body; an unexpectedly changed nephew would be better than a cold, lifeless shell.
Lost in her thoughts, Isabella only came to when she found herself seated in the car, turning to see Liam Everhart looking back at her, his chiseled features displaying the same detached indifference as when they first met.
Liam had noticed something off about her as soon as they entered the elevator. He couldn’t decipher what was happening in her mind; her damp, glimmering eyes seemed dull, lost like a sad puppy... He was startled, realizing he had placed too much focus on his fiancée.
Feeling uncomfortable under his gaze, Isabella questioned whether she appeared more attractive lately. Just as she began to indulge in self-doubt, Liam quickly turned away, expressionless.
Isabella sighed.
Was he trying to avoid her? She shook her head in bemusement.
With just the charioteer and Liam in the car, Isabella gazed outside through the window. She spotted a procession of luxury cars adorned with garish decorations at the street corner, each more ostentatious than the last.

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