Prologue
Jonathan bangs on the offending object, his fists echoing against the machine’s cheap metal casing. He’d put a five-dollar bill into the vending machine outside the school, and now it was refusing to give him his damn drink.
“You goddamn piece of junk! Give me my fucking drink!” he yelled, his voice carrying across the empty campus courtyard.
A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead as he kicked the machine’s side for good measure. The clunk of shifting machinery made his heart leap. “Finally!” he muttered, crouching down to check the slot.
But the drink didn’t come.
Instead, the vending machine let out a long, low groan, followed by a sound that was not normal—a crackling, electric hum that made the hair on his arms stand up.
Jonathan froze, his irritation turning to unease. “Uh… what the hell is wrong with you?”
The machine’s lights began to flicker, and a faint glow seeped from the coin slot. Jonathan’s annoyance quickly morphed into curiosity. He leaned in closer, squinting into the slot. “Is this thing about to—”
Before he could finish, the machine let out a deafening bang, and a blinding flash of light swallowed him whole.
His ears rang, the sound sharp and relentless, and for a moment, everything went black. The world was a void, empty and endless, until a dull ache spread through his body, pulling him back.
Jonathan groaned, his eyes fluttering open. He found himself staring up at a sky so blue it looked unreal, with soft clouds drifting lazily overhead. A faint breeze tickled his face, carrying with it the scent of fresh grass.
“What the hell…” he muttered, every word scraping against his dry throat. His entire body felt like it had been run over by a steamroller. Muscles he didn’t even know existed screamed in protest as he forced himself upright.
His head spun violently, the world tilting in and out of focus. He pressed a hand to his temple, trying to steady himself. “Where… where am I?” he murmured, scanning his unfamiliar surroundings.
Before he could make sense of the landscape—a cobblestone road, distant stone buildings—the loud, urgent beeping of a truck broke through the haze.
His eyes darted toward the sound. A massive truck was barreling toward him, its blaring horn growing louder by the second.
“Wait, what?!” Jonathan yelled, panic surging through him.
He stumbled backward, his limbs sluggish and uncooperative. The blinding headlights of the truck consumed his vision.
CRASH!
A blinding light filled his senses, and then… nothing.
Everything went black once again.
“Young Master Nathan, it’s past 6:30 already. Please wake up for breakfast,” a soft, unfamiliar voice called out from the shadows of Jonathan’s groggy mind.
His first thought was confusion. Who the hell was speaking to him? He didn’t have a girlfriend—hell, he didn’t even have time for one—and the only person who would nag him about waking up was his mom, back home. But he’d moved into the dorms three months ago for college, so that couldn’t be it.
Jonathan groaned, rolling over, until something pricked at the edges of his memory. A truck. Blinding lights. Pain.
His eyes snapped open.
“What—Who?!” he stammered, jolting upright. His heart pounded as he looked around, taking in his surroundings for the first time.
This wasn’t his dorm. It wasn’t the hospital, either.
The bed he was lying on was massive, draped in silky sheets and ornate carvings. The walls were painted in deep, rich tones, adorned with portraits of serious-looking men and women who seemed to stare down at him with silent judgment. A massive chandelier hung overhead, its crystals shimmering in the early morning light.
“What the hell?” he muttered, his voice shaky.
“Young Master Nathan?” the same voice spoke again. A middle-aged woman with a kind face was standing beside the bed, dressed in an immaculate black and white uniform. A maid’s uniform.
Jonathan’s breath hitched. This wasn’t right.
“I—I don’t…” His words trailed off as panic rose in his chest. He flung the covers off himself, startling the woman.
“Please, Young Master, calm down!” she pleaded, but Jonathan wasn’t listening.
He stumbled out of the bed, his legs shaky and unfamiliar. The smooth, cold marble floor sent a jolt through his bare feet. He darted toward the nearest door, ignoring the maid’s protests.
“Why is this place so fucking big?” he thought, running through the endless hallways. He didn’t even have time to process the opulent decor—grand arches, gilded mirrors, and expensive vases that he narrowly avoided knocking over. Behind him, the sound of footsteps echoed as more voices joined the fray.
“Master Nathan! Please wait!”
He ignored them, his mind racing. He needed a moment, a second to breathe, to figure out what the hell was going on.
A door slightly ajar caught his eye, and without thinking, he made a beeline for it. He slipped inside, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him.
Panting, Jonathan leaned back against the door, his chest heaving. He turned around slowly, taking in the massive vanity and the spotless marble sink. The polished silver mirror above it gleamed in the soft morning light.
“A bathroom. Perfect,” he whispered to himself, his voice shaky. He needed to splash water on his face or something—anything to wake himself up from this fever dream.
But when he stepped forward and looked into the mirror, the words died in his throat.
His reflection stared back at him, but it wasn’t his reflection.
Pale, flawless skin. Midnight-black hair that looked like it had been styled by a professional. Piercing blue eyes that practically glowed. Sharp cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. The kind of face you’d expect to see on the cover of a magazine.
A face that wasn’t his.
Jonathan raised a trembling hand to his cheek, and the reflection did the same. The sensation of his cool fingers brushing against his skin sent shivers down his spine.
“What the…” he whispered.
This couldn’t be happening. His hair was supposed to be red—he’d bleached and dyed it himself two weeks ago. He wore braces, too, and his teeth definitely didn’t look this perfect. He looked like…
He leaned in closer to the mirror, the realization creeping up on him like a bad dream.
“No,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “No, no, no, no.”
The sharp brows, the icy glare, the perpetual scowl etched into the face looking back at him—it was all too familiar.
“This is… this is Nathan,” he muttered, his voice shaking.
The character his sister had created two years ago. The villain of her BL novel. The brooding, manipulative, all-around bastard of a person who made life hell for the protagonist, Noah.
“No way. This can’t be real. This isn’t happening.” Jonathan backed away from the mirror, shaking his head as if denial alone could undo what he was seeing.
But no amount of blinking or pinching his arm was waking him up.
“I’m… I’m Nathan,” he said aloud, his voice cracking. His knees buckled, and he slid down to the cold marble floor, clutching his head in his hands.
The pieces began to fall into place. The mansion. The maids. The ridiculously perfect face. This was the world his sister had written about, the world she’d spent hours and hours ranting to him about while he barely paid attention.
“I can’t be Nathan,” he whispered desperately, his voice trembling. “He’s the antagonist. He’s the worst freaking person in the entire book!”
His chest heaved as panic clawed its way up his throat. He had to get out of here. He had to wake up.
Jonathan bolted to his feet, gripping the sink so hard his knuckles turned white. “This isn’t real. This is just… it’s just a bad dream. A really, really bad dream.”
He forced himself to look into the mirror again, hoping—praying—that his own face would look back at him. But no. The icy glare of Nathan stared back, unrelenting.
“I need to get out of this fucking nightmare,” he whispered, his voice hollow.