The night Tia stopped believing in forever, the city lights flickered.
It wasn't poetic.
It wasn't symbolic.
It was just electricity failing somewhere in a careless world.
But as she stood outside her apartment building—phone still in her hand, screen still glowing with the image she would never unsee—it felt intentional.
Five years.
Five years of late-night calls, shared dreams, promises whispered into sleepy air.
Five years reduced to one image.
Her boyfriend's hand tangled in her best friend's hair.
Her best friend's laughter against his neck.
The betrayal wasn't loud.
It was quiet.
Soft.
Intimate.
That was what broke her.
The street around her hummed with distant traffic. Neon signs buzzed overhead. People walked past, unaware that something inside her had just collapsed completely.
Her best friend had always been beautiful. Seductive without trying. Manipulative without getting caught. And rich — the kind of rich that bent situations in her favor.
Tia had never competed.
She had trusted.
And trust was her fatal flaw.
She began walking.
Not home at first. Just walking.
The pavement felt uneven beneath her shoes. The wind tugged at her hair. Somewhere behind her, a dog barked.
Then the streetlights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
And then—
Darkness.
The entire block blacked out.
Gasps rose from nearby pedestrians.
Someone cursed.
A car alarm wailed.
But Tia didn't flinch.
Her life had already blacked out.
What was a little darkness compared to that?
She stood there, unmoving, the world swallowed in shadow.
For the first time since seeing them together, she felt nothing.
No rage.
No tears.
Just a hollow stillness.
Eventually, the emergency lights from buildings clicked on, painting the street in dim red glows. Murmurs of confusion spread.
Tia turned and walked home.
Her apartment felt smaller than usual.
Quieter.
The couch where they used to sit together now looked foreign. The framed photo of them smiling at some beach suddenly felt like evidence in a trial she hadn't known she was losing.
She picked it up.
Stared at it.
Then placed it face down.
She didn't scream. She didn't cry.
Instead, she moved on autopilot.
Shower. Pajamas. Water.
Anything to keep her mind from replaying the image.
But the silence pressed in.
And silence was dangerous.
Her eyes landed on her bookshelf.
Second shelf from the top.
The novel.
The one she had read during their first big fight three years ago. The one about the ruthless mafia heir and his tragic fiancée. The one where love was dangerous and loyalty cost blood.
She remembered staying up all night reading it, crying when the heroine died in chapter twenty-three.
"I'd Let the World Burn for You."
She pulled it out slowly.
"If the real world is trash," she muttered, "maybe fiction is better."
She lay on her bed and began to read.
The words felt familiar. Comforting. Predictable.
The mafia heir — feared, cold, untouchable.
His fiancée — gentle, loyal, destined to die.
Tia had always hated that ending.
The girl had trusted too easily.
Believed too deeply.
Loved without suspicion.
Sound familiar?
Her eyelids grew heavy.
The letters began to blur.
Her fingers loosened around the book.
And then—
WHAM!
The room shook.
Not gently.
Violently.
The lights exploded in a burst of white.
A sound like thunder tearing through metal filled her ears.
BOOOOOOOOOM!
The air felt like it split open.
The bed vanished beneath her.
The walls shattered into nothingness.
And then—
Silence.
—
Tia woke to the scent of expensive cologne and polished wood.
Not her room.
Not her ceiling.
The chandelier above her was crystal, not plastic.
The sheets beneath her fingers were silk.
She sat up abruptly.
Her reflection caught in a gilded mirror across the room.
But something was wrong.
Her hair was longer.
Her skin smoother.
Her nightclothes replaced with a pale lavender dress.
Her heart began to pound.
"No."
She stumbled to her feet.
The room was vast. Ornate. Luxurious in a way that felt suffocating.
And then she saw it.
On the nightstand beside the bed.
The book.
Open.
But the pages were blank.
Her breath hitched.
A memory surfaced.
Chapter one.
The fiancée wakes up in the mafia estate.
After a political engagement is announced.
Her knees went weak.
"No, no, no—"
A knock echoed from the door.
Sharp. Controlled.
Not polite.
"My lady," a deep voice called from the other side. "The heir is waiting."
The heir.
The world's most feared mafia successor.
The man who burned cities for power.
The man whose fiancée died because she trusted the wrong person.
The man who once said:
"If she leaves, I will let the world burn."
Her stomach dropped.
She walked toward the mirror slowly.
The face staring back at her wasn't exactly hers.
It was hers—but refined.
Softer.
More delicate.
The original fiancée.
The girl who died.
Cold realization spread through her veins.
She wasn't in a dream.
She wasn't hallucinating.
She was inside the novel.
And she was about to live a story that ended in death.
The door opened without waiting for permission.
He entered.
Tall.
Dark suit tailored perfectly.
Eyes colder than winter steel.
His presence didn't demand attention.
It commanded it.
The mafia heir.
The one the world feared.
The one destined to fall in love with someone else.
His gaze locked onto hers.
Sharp.
Assessing.
Unreadable.
"You look different," he said quietly.
Her throat tightened.
In the original story, she had smiled softly here.
Lowered her eyes.
Spoken gently.
Instead, Tia straightened.
Her heartbreak from the real world surged forward like gasoline on flame.
Different?
Yes.
She was done being the loyal fool.
"I am," she replied.
His eyebrow lifted slightly.
Interest.
"Explain."
She stepped closer instead of shrinking back.
"I won't die for you."
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Silence filled the room.
His expression didn't change.
But something flickered in his eyes.
"You speak strangely today."
"You don't know the half of it."
In the novel, this was the moment he dismissed her.
Ignored her.
Eventually lost her.
But Tia wasn't here to follow the script.
She wasn't here to be soft.
She wasn't here to be betrayed.
Not again.
Not in any world.
If she was trapped in this story—
She would rewrite it.
Not gently.
Not slightly.
Completely.
His gaze lingered on her longer than it was supposed to.
As if sensing something had shifted.
"Be careful," he said finally.
"Of what?"
His voice dropped.
"Of testing the wrong limits."
Her lips curved slightly.
"Maybe I'm not afraid of limits anymore."
For a second, the air between them changed.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Something sharper.
Recognition.
Challenge.
He turned and walked toward the door.
"Dinner in twenty minutes."
As he left, Tia exhaled slowly.
Her mind raced.
She knew the plot.
She knew the betrayals.
She knew who would turn on him.
Who would use her.
Who would kill her.
But most importantly—
She knew where she had gone wrong in her real life.
She had trusted without question.
Loved without defense.
Believed loyalty was enough.
Not anymore.
If this world was a novel—
Then she would become the villain of it.
Stronger than the original heroine.
Smarter than the mafia.
Colder than betrayal.
And if the script tried to kill her—
She would burn it first.
Outside the estate windows, thunder rolled in the distance.
As if the world itself sensed it.
The story had changed.
And this time—
Tia wasn't the girl who would die in chapter twenty-three.
She was the girl who would rewrite the ending.
Even if she had to let the world burn for it.