Lucien didn’t touch the book.
He simply stared at it.
Evelyn had never seen him look like that.
Not angry.
Not suspicious.
Afraid.
She slowly closed the cover.
“What is this?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just said you’ve seen it.”
“I’ve seen the cover.”
“Where?”
“My father’s study.”
“Before he died?”
“Yes.”
Evelyn looked down.
“Was there a book like this?”
“Exactly like this.”
“Who owned it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did your father read it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know much.”
Lucien gave her a tired look.
“I was twelve when he died.”
The reminder silenced her.
She softened.
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded.
Evelyn opened the book again.
The handwriting was still there.
She pointed to the first note.
“Did you write this?”
“No.”
“Did anyone in your household?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“I don’t know.”
She stared at the page.
There were dates.
Names.
Events.
Some she recognized from the novel.
Others she didn’t.
She turned a few pages.
The handwriting described political events that hadn’t happened yet.
Not everything matched the original novel.
Some events were different.
Some were completely new.
Evelyn’s heart raced.
“This isn’t the same story.”
Lucien looked at her.
“What do you mean?”
“The book I read…”
She stopped.
Too late.
Lucien’s eyes narrowed.
“You read a book about this world.”
Evelyn closed her eyes.
There was no point denying it anymore.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In my world.”
He was silent.
Evelyn looked at him.
She had expected disbelief.
Instead, Lucien simply said:
“Explain.”
So she did.
Not everything.
She told him enough.
She came from another world.
In her world, this world existed as a novel.
She had read the story.
She knew the future.
She knew him.
She knew Adrian.
She knew the war.
Lucien listened without interrupting.
When she finished, several minutes passed.
Finally, he asked:
“And I’m the villain?”
Evelyn nodded.
“According to the book.”
“What do I do?”
She hesitated.
“You betray the emperor.”
His expression remained calm.
“Why?”
“You lead the northern territories against the empire.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“The novel didn’t explain everything.”
“Do I kill people?”
“Yes.”
“Do I kill you?”
Evelyn looked away.
“Eventually.”
Lucien’s expression changed.
Not much.
But enough.
“How?”
“Your carriage is attacked.”
“When?”
“During the war.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then he said:
“Interesting.”
Evelyn frowned.
“Interesting?”
“Yes.”
“You’re supposed to be upset.”
“I am.”
“You don’t look upset.”
“I’ve had years to imagine my own death.”
She stared at him.
“That’s not normal.”
“No.”
He closed the book.
“Neither is this.”
He held it out to her.
“Keep it.”
“Why?”
“Because someone wants you to have it.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Nothing about this makes sense.”
She took the book.
Lucien turned toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To find out who brought it here.”
“You shouldn’t go alone.”
He stopped.
Then looked back.
“You’re coming.”
Evelyn blinked.
“Why?”
“Because apparently this concerns your future too.”
They spent the next several hours searching the mansion.
No one admitted to seeing the book.
No servant had entered Evelyn’s room.
No window had been opened.
The locks were intact.
There was no explanation.
At dawn, Lucien returned to the study.
Evelyn followed.
He spread several documents across the desk.
“My father kept records.”
“About what?”
“Everything.”
He pointed to a list.
“People he suspected.”
“Enemies.”
“Allies.”
“Officials.”
Evelyn scanned the names.
One stood out.
She recognized it.
“Count Roderick.”
Lucien looked at her.
“You know him?”
“He dies.”
“When?”
“In the war.”
“How?”
“Poison.”
Lucien’s expression changed.
“That’s not in the book.”
Evelyn looked up.
“It is.”
“No.”
He handed her a document.
The name appeared.
Count Roderick had died twelve years earlier.
Evelyn’s blood turned cold.
She looked back at the novel.
The book said he had died during the war.
The official record said he had died twelve years ago.
One of them was false.
Perhaps both.
Lucien sat down.
“Your book is wrong.”
“Or your records are.”
“Which do you trust?”
Evelyn thought about it.
“Neither.”
He smiled faintly.
“Good answer.”
She looked at the documents.
“We need to find out what happened twelve years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Before the war.”
“Yes.”
“Before your father’s death.”
“Yes.”
Evelyn looked at him.
“Then that’s where we start.”
Lucien nodded.
For the first time, they were working toward the same goal.
Not husband and wife.
Not duke and duchess.
Not hero and villain.
Just two people trying to survive a story that seemed determined to kill them.
Outside the window, the sun rose over the capital.
Neither noticed the figure standing across the street.
Watching the Valemont residence.
Waiting.
And holding another copy of the book.