Chapter 2 Awakening In A Strange World

A soft, pained moan escaped the lips of a beautiful young woman as she lay upon a massive bed draped in soft, cream-colored linen.

Slowly, her heavy eyelids fluttered open. She drew in a deep, ragged breath and released it, feeling as though life itself had just been forcefully breathed back into her lungs. Above, her blurry vision traced the lines of a luxurious bed canopy adorned with gleaming gold ornaments. As her gaze lowered, she realized she was resting on a vast king-size bed, and... there was a man standing in the room, his broad back turned toward her.

Luna Larrington fought through the haze, struggling to sit up. But why does it hurt so much? Every inch of her body throbbed with a searing ache, her skin marred and tightly bandaged.

“Lie down!” a deep, commanding voice snapped, startling Luna so badly her breath hitched. Who is this man? He hadn't even bothered to cast a glance in her direction.

"Errgg..." With a grimace, Luna propped herself against the plush headboard. She stared at her hands, which were heavily wrapped in thick bandages, as a dry, scratching sensation coated her throat. "Excuse me, um... where am I right now? And... who a-are you?" she asked, her voice trembling with hesitation.

The stranger finally turned his head, his piercing gaze locking onto her for a heavy moment before he began to approach. Luna immediately averted her eyes, a flush of panic rising in her chest. Why is there a shirtless man in here with me?! The very last thing she remembered was Arden's brutal hands wrapping around her throat in that cold, luxury apartment—a terrifying image that now flickered like a phantom in her mind.

Did… did Arden actually sell me to this man? Luna thought frantically as the imposing stranger stalked closer. “What do you want?! Stop right there!” she cried out.

The man halted his advance, his dark, calculating eyes staring her down with an intensity that brooked no defiance.

“Take me back!” Luna demanded, gasping for air as she fought through the sharp, radiating pain tearing through her muscles.

“Take you back where?” he replied, his tone chillingly smooth. “This is where you live.”

Luna was on the verge of breaking down. She absolutely refused to let her life end in such a twisted, tragic nightmare. Her stomach churned violently at the thought of a reality she couldn't even piece together. She had no idea how she had ended up in this strange place, but what terrified and hurt her the most was the creeping realization that Arden might have truly sold her to a stranger.

Her wide eyes fixed upon the imposing figure before her. He was incredibly tall and heavily muscled, with raven-black hair, a sharp, unforgiving jawline, and a deeply intense gaze that remained unblinkingly locked onto hers.

“Where am I…?” she pleaded softly—it was the only sliver of truth she desperately needed to anchor herself.

The man entirely ignored her question. Instead, he sat down gracefully on the edge of the mattress, his large hand reaching directly for the top button of her delicate nightgown.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Luna shrieked, instantly scrambling backward and crossing her arms defensively over her chest.

“Do you wish for me to take off your clothes, or will you take them off yourself?” he offered, his deep voice maddeningly calm, his expression entirely unreadable.

“Excuse me, but why on earth should I take off my clothes?! And who are you?!”

Once again, her desperate questions fell on deaf ears. Without warning, he reached out and forcibly pulled her petite frame closer to his, his deft fingers swiftly undoing the first button of her nightgown.

“Please…” Luna whimpered, hot tears finally spilling over her lashes and tracing down her pale cheeks. “I don’t even know you…”

Only then did his hand freeze. He stared down at her deathly pale face, watching her lips tremble uncontrollably as her white-knuckled hands clutched the ruined fabric of her dress, desperately trying to shield herself from him.

“Are you… afraid of me?” he asked, a subtle shift in his deep cadence.

Luna managed a small, frantic nod. “Please… just stop.”

The man furrowed his brow, a flicker of something incomprehensible crossing his dark eyes. He stood up, towering over the bed once more, and retrieved a heavy, tailored coat from a nearby chair, shrugging it on with fluid grace. “It seems you still require rest. I will summon a servant to assist you.”

“Wait, can you at least answer my question?”

Giving her no acknowledgment, he turned on his heel and strode toward the heavy oak door.

“Wait! Just—arghh…” Luna cried out, wincing in agony as a sharp spasm of pain shot through her bruised ribs when she tried to lunge forward.

The man paused, casting one final, piercing look over his shoulder before he stepped out and the door clicked shut, leaving her utterly alone.

Luna sank back into the pillows, a cold dread washing over her. It’s true, then. That man must be the one who bought me.

"But... seriously, what kind of place is this?" she murmured into the empty silence. Despite her terror, as she truly looked around, she couldn't help but be mesmerized. This room is like a VVIP suite, but everything looks so... vintage. So classic, she thought. The chamber was impossibly spacious, brimming with opulent, archaic ornaments. Her wandering gaze finally settled on the far wall, where something striking caught her attention.

Hanging there was a massive oil painting, executed with extraordinary detail and profound elegance. It depicted the very man she had just encountered. His face was stern, his gaze sharp, his posture impossibly perfect. Beside him stood a stunningly beautiful woman, flashing a bright, radiant smile. He looked remarkably young in the portrait—perhaps only sixteen or so? Luna pondered, her confusion deepening.

Shortly after the terrifying stranger's departure, the heavy door creaked open once more. A middle-aged woman bustled inside, carefully balancing a wooden tray laden with warm towels and clean garments.

“Excuse me, Madam…” she greeted softly, offering a polite, warm smile.

Luna could only stare in muted bewilderment. The woman was dressed in a dark, traditional maid’s uniform, complete with a crisp, stark-white apron tied neatly around her waist.

“Mrs. Lyra, I am so very glad to see you have finally regained consciousness,” the maid said gently, setting her tray down on a nearby table.

Luna remained frozen in silence, her mind racing to process the absolute absurdity of the situation. Did I miss something?

“I will help you change your garments today, Mrs. Lyra. The master asked us—”

“Mrs. Who?” Luna interrupted, her brows knitting together in utter confusion.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Lyra? A-are you quite all right?” The maid paused, her friendly expression melting into sudden concern.

“Who on earth is Lyra?”

“You are, Madam. Your name is Lyra Lensford, the wife of Duke Rex Raimonds,” the maid replied with a reassuring smile, her hands moving to slowly unbutton Luna’s ruined nightgown.

“Wait!” Luna’s mind short-circuited. “Me?! Whose wife am I?!”

“Mr. Rex Raimonds, Madam…”

“Who is that?!” Luna’s eyes blew wide. Her heart began to hammer erratically against her ribs. Something is terribly, horribly wrong here.

The servant stifled a soft, polite laugh, clearly assuming this was merely a bizarre prank from her eccentric mistress. “Do you truly take such joy in upsetting Duke Rex, Madam?” she teased lightly.

Luna shook her head vigorously, fighting through the pain. “No. I am completely serious. I have absolutely no idea who you are talking about...”

With a gentle sigh, the servant turned and pointed toward the magnificent oil painting on the wall—the one depicting the handsome, imposing man dressed in an extravagant, aristocratic coat.

“That is… Lord Duke,” the servant explained softly. “Your husband.”

Adrenaline surging, Luna forced herself to stand. Her legs trembled violently beneath her, but with the servant’s steadying grip, she managed to hobble over to the massive portrait. She studied it intensely. Her battered body felt terrifyingly weak, but a cold, blinding panic was rapidly seizing control of her mind.

“You mean… the man in that portrait?”

The maid nodded respectfully. “That is right, Madam. And the beautiful young woman standing beside him—that is… you. It is a portrait from your wedding day to the Duke.”

Luna’s brow furrowed in utter disbelief, her eyes glued to the painted faces for another long, suffocating moment. But before she could form a single coherent word, the servant gently guided her away, leading her toward a tall, ornate standing mirror.

“Come, Madam. Let me help you change your clothes.”

But as Luna finally stood before the polished glass, the entire world seemed to screech to a sudden, horrifying halt. Something utterly impossible stared back at her—she saw a beautiful, unfamiliar reflection that was decidedly not her own.

This body… this face… none of it is mine.

A hand suddenly waved in front of her paralyzed features. “Mrs. Lyra?” the maid called out, her voice laced with caution. “You look frightfully pale—are you feeling unwell again?”

“What is happening to me…” Luna whispered, the sound barely escaping her throat.

The maid took a step forward to offer support, but Luna instinctively raised her trembling hand, commanding her to stay back.

“Is that… me?!” Luna gasped. The sheer, terrifying magnitude of the truth began to crash down upon her—she had somehow been dragged into another existence, a timeline she never asked to be part of. But why? Why me?

“Is something wrong, Madam?”

Luna desperately wanted to slap herself, needing to prove that this was merely a vivid, twisted nightmare. But she didn't have to; the excruciating, raw agony radiating from every burn and bruise on this foreign body was proof enough. So… this really isn’t a dream?!

“Where exactly am I? What kind of place is this?” she demanded breathlessly.

“Madam? This is Mr. Rex’s private mansion.”

“What year is it right now?!” Luna stared at the maid, wide-eyed and bordering on hysteria. The servant merely sighed softly, reaching out once more to gently help her mistress into her fresh garments.

“The year is 1692, Madam. And you will be turning twenty-two very soon...”

Luna flinched, startled by the bizarre coincidence. In her original world, her own twenty-second birthday was fast approaching.

“So, whoever the true owner of this body is… we are exactly the same age…” she murmured softly to herself.

“Did you say something, Madam?”

“No, no, it is nothing.” Luna forced a small, tight smile, desperately trying to mask the chaotic storm of unease raging inside her mind.

At the very least, she felt somewhat cleaner now. The beautiful, long hair that had been stiff and tangled with ash was now meticulously combed and elegantly braided to one side. The servant had thoroughly tended to the horrific wounds covering Luna’s new body, wrapping them in soft linen and applying a soothing, warm herbal ointment that eased the stinging.

"So, tell me... how did I end up with injuries like this? And... what should I call you?"

The maid’s hands paused mid-motion. Her warm gaze suddenly shifted to one of deep hesitation, as if frantically weighing whether she was even permitted to answer such a dangerous question.

“You may call me Marie, Madam.”

“And what about these awful wounds?”

Marie cast her eyes to the floor, her voice dropping to a nervous whisper. “As for your injuries… I am not entirely sure I am permitted to speak of it. But—”

Suddenly, the heavy latch of the bedroom door clicked, swinging open from the outside and cutting Marie’s words off instantly.

The towering figure of the Duke stepped back into the chamber.

Marie immediately dropped into a deep, trembling curtsy. “Your Grace.”

Rex merely gave a curt nod. With a single, sharp flick of his hand, he silently ordered the maid to leave. Without daring to utter another word, Marie hurriedly backed away, slipping out and pulling the heavy door firmly shut behind her.

Now, they were completely alone.

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