Chapter 1: This Is Not the Wake-Up Call I Ordered
My first thought when I woke up wasn’t Where am I?
It was: Why is the ceiling so fancy?
Gilded patterns, swirling like whipped cream and gold frosting, stared back at me as if to say, You’re not in Kansas anymore, sweetheart.
’Okay. Don’t panic. Maybe this is a lucid dream. Or a coma. Or I got kidnapped by a billionaire duke who wanted to make me his beautiful doll wife—wait, no, that’s just Chapter twelve of Married to the Deranged Duke.’
I sat up, and my vision swam for a moment.
The room around me was huge. The kind of huge that made you wonder if someone got confused and designed a ballroom with a bed in it. Velvet drapes pooled at the windows, antique furniture gleamed in the low light, and a gilded full-length mirror stood near the far wall, its frame carved with roses and curling vines. Of course there was a harp in the corner. Because apparently someone took their gothic romance aesthetic very seriously.
’Nope. Not a dream. My subconscious doesn’t have the budget for this.’
I swung my legs off the bed and—
Clink.
A metallic sound followed me. I froze, glancing down.
An iron shackle circled my ankle, snug but not painful, with a chain trailing across the polished floor. My eyes followed it all the way to the bedpost, where it was bolted in place.