My mission began today. If I wanted to get closer to Amelia, I needed to be near her, to observe her, to understand her better. When I heard that the maid responsible for cleaning her room had resigned, I knew this was my chance.

I approached the head housekeeper with my request. She hesitated, narrowing her sharp eyes at me. "You've been recovering. Are you sure you can handle this?"

"I'm confident I can," I replied firmly. "I believe I'm better suited for this than my old job."

Her gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, scrutinizing every inch of my face as if searching for any sign of insincerity. Finally, she sighed. "Fine. I'll give you a chance. But don't make me regret it."

I nodded, a spark of relief washing over me. Perhaps my determination had convinced her. Or maybe she just wanted to see if I would fail. Either way, I now had access to Amelia's world.

The next morning, I stood outside Amelia's door, feeling an odd flutter of nerves. The head housekeeper had given me instructions: knock twice and enter. No hesitation.

I raised my hand, rapped on the door twice, and then pushed it open.

Amelia sat by the window, a soft beam of sunlight illuminating her figure. She was as beautiful as I remembered—no, even more so. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, her posture elegant yet subdued. In her hands was a book, the corners of her lips curving gently as if she found solace in the words on the page.

I stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind me. The head housekeeper had told me Amelia rarely left her room. She preferred to stay there most of the day, venturing out only when her husband left for work and returning before he came home. It wasn't hard to imagine why. Her life seemed confined to this space, a gilded cage within a sprawling mansion.

As I worked, tidying the room and dusting the surfaces, I couldn't help but steal glances at her. She didn't share a room with her husband, which didn't surprise me given what I'd overheard. Some of the staff whispered about Michael visiting her room late at night, fulfilling what they called "marital duties," only to return to his own afterward. The thought made my stomach churn. How could someone treat their wife this way? The more I learned about their relationship, the more I pitied her.

When our eyes met, she offered me a kind smile. I nodded politely, unsure of what to say, and continued my task.

As I straightened a table near the window, my gaze fell on the book she was reading. Me Before You by Jojo Moyes. I knew that book. I hadn't read it, but I'd watched the movie back in my real world with someone—I couldn't even remember who now. The realization struck me like a lightning bolt: it existed here too.

This world felt like a mirror of my own, yet it was fractured, missing pieces that tied back to me. I'd tried searching for my family name on the internet, scouring for anything that might connect this place to my old life, but there was nothing. No trace of my existence. It was as though I had been erased. The thought terrified me.

"Is something wrong?" Amelia's soft voice pulled me from my spiraling thoughts. She was watching me, her head tilted slightly in curiosity.

I cleared my throat. "I know the novel," I blurted out before I could stop myself.

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Oh, you do?"

"Yes," I replied quickly, fumbling for words. "It's about a woman who takes care of a paralyzed guy, and, I don't know, they change each other's lives or something like that."

"What do you think of it?" she asked, closing the book slightly as if inviting a conversation.

I hesitated. "No matter what Louisa did, he still chose to die in the end."

Her expression faltered, and I immediately realized my mistake.

"I... I didn't finish the book yet," she said softly.

"Ah—I'm so sorry!" I stammered, feeling heat rise to my cheeks.

She smiled faintly, shaking her head. "It's okay." There was a pause before she asked, "Do you like reading?"

I nodded. "Yes, I do."

She studied me for a moment. "What's your name? You worked with Gordon, didn't you?" Gordon was the name of our head chef.

"Riv—" I stopped myself just in time. "Lena. My name is Lena."

"Lena," she repeated, her lips curving into a small smile. "I can lend you some books if you'd like. I have plenty." She gestured toward a bookshelf near her bed, brimming with novels.

I blinked, surprised by the offer. "Oh... okay. Thank you, Mrs. Valemont."

Her smile grew softer at my formality, and she returned to her book.

As I finished my tasks, I couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. This was a good start. A connection. A way to get closer to her. If I was to save Amelia, I needed her to trust me.

But even as I thought that, a part of me wondered: could I really change her fate?