𝐓𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐬

16

The moment I flopped onto the ridiculously soft, oversized bed, it hit me—I’m inside a novel. A bizarre, twisted, royal romantic comedy, perhaps? If not, then how else can I possibly explain all these absurdities happening to me? What are the odds that the guy I’ve been talking to turns out to be a prince? People would laugh me off as delusional—and maybe they wouldn’t be entirely wrong.

But can we just take a second to appreciate this bed? I feel like a marshmallow melting into some luxurious poodle-sized cloud. I don’t think I can sleep, though. This level of comfort is…too foreign, like it’s conspiring against my nerves. Does that make sense? No, it doesn’t.

So, back to the main point: Augustus. Damn him and his aloof British charm. I don’t even know what he looks like, but just wait, I’ll tear him in half  for playing me like this. The innocent Augustus who was blamed for no reason, sneezed.

"It's getting cold." He gets ready to go to bed.

And his grandma—what kind of unhinged royalty kidnaps people in style? I seriously don’t understand rich people and their shenanigans.

At least I haven’t been sold into the black market, which would earn my father an immediate “I told you so.” And I won’t tell him he’s right, or my temporary freedom will vanish in an instant. Speaking of which, I just remembered my classes start on Monday! No time for these royal rom-com distractions. I have a dream to be the richest woman in my family, and I am not going to let “Miss Astor” ruin it.

But if I were in a novel, what genre would this be? Some dark romance maybe, with a kidnapping twist? A hot guy obsessing over me could be fun, but if he’s some creepy weirdo, it’s instant horror. Hot people don’t realize how much they get away with. Really, they’re blessed.

I feel my throat suddenly dry from all these ridiculous thoughts. Water. I definitely need water. Gently sliding off the bed so I don’t wake Maliah—passed out like the jet-lagged queen she is—I make my way into the hallway.

The long, winding corridor stretches out before me, eerily silent, like something out of a mystery novel. This place is stunning, but honestly? A bit spooky. I wrap my arms around myself, shivering from the draft. "It’s cold," I mutter, wishing for a blanket. But Maliah deserves her rest, so I leave her be and press on.

As I make my way through what seems like miles of corridor, I start to imagine the worst-case scenarios. This is how every horror documentary starts, isn’t it? A lone girl wandering the halls of some grand, ancient estate, just looking for a glass of water…

Finally, I find what looks like the kitchen. I pour myself a glass, savoring the cool water as it soothes my throat. My triumph is short-lived, though. I glance around, suddenly realizing I have no idea how to get back.

"Alright, this is fine," I whisper to myself, taking a deep breath. "I’ll just retrace my steps. Easy."

Only it’s not easy, because every hall looks the same, and I somehow manage to stumble into a room that looks suspiciously…similar but it feels off. The jet lag was getting to me and all the walking, searching for the right room made me tired and more sleepy. So without thinking twice I flopped on the fluffy bed instantly falling asleep.

_________

Aria shuffled in her sleep, burrowing deeper into the warm embrace of the bed—and the pillow next to her, which felt surprisingly solid and…breathing? She furrowed her brow but didn’t bother opening her eyes. Must be Maliah.

“Ugh, you smell like… expensive cologne. Where’d you even get that?” she mumbled, still half-asleep, snuggling closer to what she assumed was her friend.