Trapped in My Own Plot

When I typed the last sentence of Billionaire's Cold Heart, I knew it was trash.

I hit save and shut my laptop with relief. The draft would live in my Google Docs graveyard, never to see the light of Wattpad.

But the universe apparently hated me.

Because I woke up the next morning in a velvet four-poster bed... in a bedroom I had written.
_________________________________________

It was supposed to be just a story. A plot I could control. But somewhere between the first chapter and the last page, the characters stopped listening, the lines blurred, and my own life became part of the script. Now, I can't tell if I'm the author... or the victim.