The darkness around me collapsed—swallowed whole.
And then—
I woke up.
Or at least, it felt like waking up.
But something was wrong.
There was light—warm, golden morning light streaming in through delicate lace curtains. A gentle breeze rustled them, carrying in the scent of fresh flowers and the faintest hint of dew from the gardens outside.
My mind was still hazy, struggling to make sense of where I was. The familiar four-poster bed, the soft embroidered sheets, the polished wooden floors reflecting the morning sun. This was my bedroom.
The Vandren estate.
Except… I wasn't in my body.
Because there, sitting at the vanity, brushing her golden hair with calm, deliberate strokes—was me.
No.
Not me.
The original Sera Vandren.
My breath caught in my throat.
She looked exactly like me—the same golden waves cascading over her shoulders, the same striking blue eyes, the same delicate features. But there was something… different. A weight in her gaze, an unnatural stillness in the way she moved. Like someone used to carrying an invisible burden.
She hummed softly under her breath, her movements graceful, refined. Every action was precise. Practiced.
It was a performance.
And she had played this role for a very, very long time.
A sudden voice—warm, gentle, yet carrying a refined authority—rang out from behind the door.
"Sera! It's time for the academy!"
I jolted.
Mother.
Eleanor Vandren.
The realization sent a shiver through me.
Sera paused for only a fraction of a second before responding. "Coming!" Her voice was perfectly level, not too eager, not too reluctant.
She placed the brush down, stood up, and walked toward the wardrobe, pulling out the pristine white uniform of the academy.
I immediately turned away as she began to change.
I still have some decency—even if it's technically me!
But something was clawing at the back of my mind. A feeling I couldn't shake.
This… wasn't in the novel.
The original Sera's past was never truly explored—only implied. She had always been the villainess, an arrogant noble who terrorized the heroines. No one ever bothered to ask why.
And yet, here I was, standing in her past, watching her move through these quiet moments that no one had ever written about.
Was this real?
Had she brought me here?
I wasn't sure, but I had to know more.
I followed her through the grand hallways of the estate, my footsteps silent, as if I were nothing more than a phantom watching from the shadows.
When she entered the dining hall, my breath hitched.
There, sitting at the head of the table, was Eleanor Vandren.
Our mother.
She looked just as I remembered—a regal beauty with the same golden hair, the same serene expression. Her presence was effortlessly graceful, yet undeniably warm.
"Good morning, my love," Eleanor greeted as Sera took a seat.
"Good morning, Mother," Sera replied, her voice calm, distant.
Eleanor poured tea into a delicate porcelain cup, setting it gently in front of Sera. "Are you excited for your first day?"
Sera hesitated.
"A little," she admitted, picking up her fork but not eating. "But I'm not sure what to expect."
She pushed the food around on her plate, her movements absentminded. "Not a lot of… good things are said about me."
My breath caught.
What?
What did she mean?
Were there already rumors about her before she even arrived at the academy?
Eleanor's expression softened, and she reached across the table, gently patting Sera's head.
"Ignore them," she murmured. "You know it's not true."
Sera's fingers tightened slightly around her fork, but she didn't say anything.
Eleanor sighed, brushing a strand of golden hair behind Sera's ear.
"Everything was in the past. They were the ones who picked on you first. They thought you were just a weak little girl…" She placed a gentle hand over Sera's chest, right where her heart was. "But they didn't know how strong you truly are."
She tapped lightly.
"You've always been stronger than them, my dear."
I froze.
This… this wasn't in the novel.
Had the original Sera been bullied before she became the villainess?
Had she always been fighting against the expectations forced upon her?
Had I judged her wrongly?
Sera let out a small sigh, finally picking up a piece of bread and taking a bite.
She finished her meal quietly, then stood from the table.
"I'll be going now, Mother."
Eleanor smiled. "Take care, my love. And visit often."
For the first time since I had arrived in this strange, intangible dream—I saw Sera smile.
A real, genuine smile.
And it was beautiful.
I blinked, feeling a strange warmth stir in my chest.
Wait—
Was I falling for her?
For myself?!
I need to get a grip.
I quickly followed her outside to where a carriage was waiting at the entrance of the estate.
The driver tipped his hat, opening the door for her. She stepped inside, her hands folded neatly on her lap.
And as the carriage began to move, I could see it.
The moment her expression changed.
The warmth in her eyes flickered—then vanished.
What replaced it was something colder.
Something lonelier.
Like she had already resigned herself to what the world expected of her.
I wanted to scream.
To reach out.
To tell her it didn't have to be this way.
To reach out and say she wasn't alone.
To break the cycle before it even began.
But I couldn't.
Because all I could do was watch.
Sera Vandren—the original Sera Vandren—leaned back against the plush carriage seat, her golden hair catching the soft morning light filtering through the window. Her expression was unreadable, her gaze heavy-lidded as she rested her head against the polished wooden frame.
Her hands, delicate yet poised, remained folded in her lap. Her posture was perfect, as if even in solitude, she refused to relax completely.
And I sat beside her.
A mere spectator in her past.
The rhythmic sway of the carriage, the distant sound of hooves clicking against cobblestone, the faint creak of the wooden wheels—it all felt too real. Too immersive. Like I wasn't just dreaming.
Was I going to watch how her first day at the academy played out?
Was I about to learn more about who she really was?
Because, despite what the novel had written, despite the stories of her cruelty, I could already tell—This girl wasn't the villain history had made her out to be.
The journey felt both long and fleeting.
By the time the carriage pulled to a stop, the grand academy gates loomed before us, tall and imposing.
Through the iron-wrought archways, the academy's sprawling stone structures stood like monuments of power and prestige. The main building stretched high, its towering spires and intricate stained-glass windows reflecting the golden hues of the morning sun. Students in crisp white-and-gold uniforms walked the paths beyond the gate, their voices a gentle murmur of laughter, chatter, and the occasional sound of books snapping shut.
Sera exhaled softly, her eyes flickering with something distant.
Then, her expression hardened—like a mask slipping into place.
The carriage door swung open.
The driver tipped his hat. "Lady Vandren, we've arrived."
Sera stepped out first, her movements fluid, almost mechanical. The moment her shoes touched the stone pavement, I saw it—the way heads turned.
Whispers. Murmurs.
Some subtle. Others not.
"That's her. The daughter of House Vandren."
"I heard she's ruthless. Cold-blooded."
"They say she's already mastered two elements—fire and ice. Can you imagine? A noble like that… she's terrifying."
"She's beautiful, but I'd never want to get on her bad side."
Sera's face remained unbothered. She walked forward with the grace of a noble who had grown used to it.
And I followed—invisible, unheard, but feeling everything.
We entered the academy halls—ornate corridors lined with golden chandeliers, bookshelves stretching to the ceilings, and pristine marble floors reflecting the light like a dream.
Sera walked with purpose, a quiet storm beneath her controlled steps.
Then—
She bumped into someone.
A student—a girl with deep auburn-red hair and sharp, intelligent eyes framed by glasses. Evelyn Sinclair.
Wait.
Ms. Sinclair?!
But—she looked younger.
Still the same elegant, composed aura. Still the same sharp eyes that missed nothing. But this was a different Evelyn. A student, not a professor.
Sera paused. Their eyes met.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then—
"Lady Vandren," Evelyn greeted smoothly, adjusting her glasses. Her tone held no fear, no reverence. Just observation.
Sera regarded her carefully before inclining her head slightly. "Sinclair."
Brief. Measured. Civil.
They studied each other, and I swore I saw something there—
A flicker of recognition. A silent understanding.
Like two people who already knew that one day, their paths would cross again.
What was this?
This wasn't in the novel.
None of this was in the novel.
"Class is about to start. Get there on time. I'll see you there in a bit." Evelyn said smoothly, her voice measured but firm.
Sera nodded, expression unreadable.
Evelyn studied her for a moment longer before adding, "I've spoken to your mother. She wanted me to make sure you were doing fine, to… keep an eye on you." A flicker of something—was it amusement?—passed through her golden eyes. "But, you kids probably want your freedom. Just don't cause any trouble for me."
Sera's lips twitched slightly, the closest thing to a smile I'd seen so far. "Okay. Thank you, Professor Sinclair."
With that, she turned and walked toward the classroom.
And I followed.
Everything unfolded just as it had when I first transmigrated here.
Sera entered the classroom—large, regal, with high-arched windows that bathed the desks in golden light. Rows of students murmured among themselves, sneaking glances as she walked through the aisle. The whispers were faint but ever-present, like an annoying hum in the background.
"That's her, right? Vandren?"
"Cold as ice, I heard."
"I bet she doesn't have a single friend."
None of it fazed her.
Sera's footsteps remained steady, her posture poised, chin slightly lifted as if the words meant nothing—or rather, as if they were expected.
Then—just like last time—she chose a seat in the far back, near the window.
And just like last time—Camille Winters took the seat next to her.
I watched carefully. Even though I knew Camille had heard the rumors about her.
This was the first time they ever spoke.
Or, at least, it was supposed to be.
Camille leaned in slightly, her platinum hair catching the light, and held out her hand. "Sera Vandren, right?"
Silence.
Sera did not respond.
She simply stared straight ahead, her posture perfectly still, not even sparing Camille a glance.
Camille blinked, then chuckled lightly, withdrawing her hand. "Not the hand-shaking type?"
A pause.
Then, without moving her gaze, Sera replied—"No need for your act."
Camille stilled.
For the briefest second, a flicker of surprise crossed her icy-blue eyes.
"What act?" Camille asked, her tone light, but there was a sharp curiosity beneath it.
Sera didn't answer.
But her silence was enough.
This… this was different.
When I transmigrated here, Camille had approached me just the same. But in my version of events, I had been confused, awkward—uncertain of how to respond. But Sera, the original Sera, was deliberate. Controlled.
She saw through something in Camille before they had even exchanged more than a sentence.
Did she know something I didn't?
What exactly happened between them…?
Before the conversation could continue any further, the heavy doors at the front of the room swung open.
A familiar voice cut through the murmurs.
"Settle down, everyone. Class is starting."
Evelyn Sinclair walked in, carrying herself with the same effortless authority I had always known.
And yet…
As she passed Sera's desk, I swore I saw her glance at her.
For the briefest moment.
A flicker of recognition.
Something I couldn't quite place.
This wasn't the novel I knew.
This wasn't the same meeting between Sera and Camille that I had lived through.
Something was different.
Something was missing.
And as I stood there, a ghost in the past, watching this all unfold before me—
I realized that the more I learned about Sera Vandren, the more I understood that…
There were a lot of layers until the truth unveils itself.