The novel "Lyra's Love Choice" had become an unstoppable force on social media, not for its plot but for its breathtaking illustrations. Every post, every fan art shared, only further fueled the obsession. Readers weren't just drawn to the tale; they were captivated by the world painted so vividly through every stroke of color.

At first glance, Lyra's Love Choice appeared to be a typical reverse harem romance. Lyra Clarisse, a noblewoman, became the object of affection for four obsessive men—each of them more mysterious and possessive than the last. But the title hid the truth behind the dark complexity of the story. What began as a romance transformed into a tale of manipulation, obsession, and tragedy. Lyra was caught in a web of emotions she couldn't control, as the men around her spiraled into dangerous obsession.

I, too, had been caught in its web. Like so many others, I joined in the conversations about the story. At university, it was the talk of the day. Debates about the morality of the male leads, Lyra's decisions, and how the story twisted into such dark places filled every corner of campus. I didn't find the plot particularly ground-breaking, but it was easy to get swept up in the frenzy. After all, who didn't want to join in the discussion? But amidst it all, I couldn't help but find myself drawn to Esranne Reline.

She was a side character in the novel—a "best friend" to Lyra, but one who was far from loyal. Esranne harboured jealousy behind a friendly facade, constantly undermining Lyra's happiness. It was easy to hate her. Her cruelty, the way she pitied herself while casting Lyra aside, the way she fed off others' misery—she became the character readers loved to despise.

But I didn't just read about Esranne. I became her.

I had been Esranne since birth. I realized it at the tender age of four. The moment I could comprehend the world around me, I understood who I was and what my future held. Esranne's story, the one laid out in the novel, was inevitable, or so I thought. Her fate was sealed, and it was tragic. By the time she reached seventeen, she would find herself working as a maid, her family crushed under the weight of debt.

But I refused to let that happen. I wasn't going to let my life—or rather, Esranne's life—spiral into such a grim conclusion.

It was around my sixth birthday that I realized just how deep our family's financial troubles ran. I overheard my parents discussing bills they couldn't pay and creditors who were threatening to take everything we had. The Reline family was a noble house, but nobility meant nothing when the debts ran in the hundreds of thousands of gold coins. To a child, those words meant nothing. But to me, they spelled doom. I knew that if the situation wasn't addressed, we would lose everything.

By the time I was seven, I had already taken charge. I spent my early childhood not playing with dolls or running outside, but learning about the family finances. When the house staff wasn't looking, I sneaked into my father's study and studied ledgers, accounting books, and reports. The numbers were cryptic at first, but I had a mind for them. I quickly learned that the key to our survival lay in managing our assets carefully, making every coin count.

It wasn't enough to just observe. I started making small, quiet suggestions to my parents, disguised as innocent comments from a curious child. If my mother was ordering another expensive dress, I would ask if it was truly necessary. If my father was about to make a lavish purchase, I would propose cheaper alternatives. At first, they didn't pay much attention, dismissing it as the musings of a child. But little by little, I began to make a difference.

I took every opportunity to study our income, our expenses, and our investments. By seven, I had devised a plan to cut down on waste, to consolidate our resources, and to delay unnecessary expenditures. I made sure to take advantage of any savings I could find—whether it was negotiating with merchants for better prices or advising on energy-efficient changes to the estate. I wasn't just helping—I was saving us.

One day, when I was about seven and a half, my father looked at me in surprise as I presented a report on how much we could save if we sold certain unused land parcels and consolidated our debts. It was a simple solution, but it was something that had eluded him for years. For the first time, he didn't dismiss me as a child. He took my advice seriously, and it worked. We were slowly turning the tide.

By the time I turned seven, the Reline family's debt was no longer an insurmountable mountain. It was a hill, manageable, something we could climb. The creditors who once hovered over us like vultures were now kept at bay.

And while the world around me continued to see me as just a child, I knew the truth. I wasn't just a little girl in a noble house. I was the one who had saved us.

I sat in my room now, surrounded by the ledgers I had maintained since I was five. They were more than just records of numbers; they were the blueprint of my success. Every page, every calculation, was evidence that I had rewritten my family's future.

The candlelight flickered softly as I ran my fingers over the inked pages. The weight of everything I had done settled around me, but I couldn't rest. There was still work to be done. The Reline family's recovery was just beginning, and I had a future to secure—not just for them, but for myself.

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I glanced at the mirror across from me. My reflection was a young girl, no older than any of the other children at court. But my eyes—deep blue, filled with determination—told a different story. Coral pink hair framed my face, but it was the determination in my gaze that made me who I was.

"This time," I whispered, "Esranne Reline's story won't end in tragedy."

I wasn't going to be a maid. I wasn't going to be a failure. I would choose my path, and I would make sure that no one, not even the author, could dictate how my life would unfold.

With the ledgers in hand, I made my way out of the room, my footsteps echoing through the quiet hallway. The world outside was still, but inside, I was already planning my next move.

I wasn't just rewriting Esranne's fate—I was crafting my own.

I knocked softly on the door, the familiar sound of my knuckles against the wood echoing in the quiet room. Almost immediately, a gentle voice called out, "Come in." I turned the doorknob and stepped inside; the room bathed in soft golden light. My mother, in her early 40s, sat at the tea table alone, sipping from a porcelain cup. The faint scent of jasmine tea lingered in the air, warm and comforting, wrapping around me like an old, familiar blanket.

"Esranne!"

"Yes, Mom," I answered, stepping further in and making my way to the chair across from her. I settled into it, folding my hands neatly in my lap, careful not to show any sign of my inner unease.

She looked at me, a knowing glint in her eyes. "I'm sure you didn't just come in here for a casual chat. There's something on your mind."

I nodded and reached into my bag, pulling out a carefully folded sheet of parchment. I slid it across the table toward her. "Here's the budget for the month. I've outlined all the expenses we can manage and what we need to adjust to stay within our means."

She took the paper, her gaze scanning it quickly. A small crease formed between her brows as she read. "...It says the amount is increasing," she noted, her voice tight with concern.

"It's only two gold coins more," I replied calmly, my voice steady. "It's within reason, and I've made sure we'll be able to manage."

My mother sighed deeply, tracing the edges of the paper with a finger. "It still doesn't leave room for that gown and necklace I've been wanting," she murmured wistfully. "I suppose I'll have to wait."

I kept my expression neutral, though inwardly I felt a sharp sting of frustration. I had worked tirelessly to improve our finances, to ensure we wouldn't repeat the same mistakes as in the novel, where Esranne and her mother's reckless spending had led to financial ruin. But it was never easy to fight against the pull of desire for things they couldn't afford.

"Never mind, Mom," I said quickly, trying to ease the tension. "I have to get ready for the Lostine Academy. The start of the year won't wait."

She looked up at me then, her face softening, and a hint of concern flickered in her eyes. "Take care of yourself, Esranne," she said gently. "And don't forget to tell your brother the same."

Brother... The mention of Elkan made my stomach twist. Elkan Reline, my older brother. Tall, with fiery red hair, three years my senior, and known for his short temper. This year marked my first time entering the academy, and though he played a small role in the novel—barely more than a side character—he had always been an integral part of my life. But unlike the characters in the novel, Elkan wasn't the kind to show his care in obvious ways.

"I will," I said, standing up and preparing to leave. "I'll tell him." But deep down, I knew that if Elkan knew I was leaving for the academy, his reaction would be more complicated than simple concern.

"Make sure to stay safe," she added, her voice lower now, filled with a mother's quiet anxiety. I turned to leave, but she caught my arm for just a moment, her grip light yet firm. "I'm proud of you, Esranne," she whispered. "I know you'll do well."

Her words were kind, but they left me with a lingering unease. I couldn't help but feel as if I were walking a precarious line—doing everything I could to break away from the traps that had ensnared Esranne in the original story, yet carrying the weight of my family's expectations and failures.

As I stepped out of the room and into the hallway, I heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching from the other side of the house. I recognized the heavy, deliberate tread—Elkan. I didn't have to look up to know it was him.

"Hey, where are you off to in such a rush?" his voice called out from behind me, laced with mock curiosity. His tone was teasing, like always, but there was something under it—an edge I couldn't ignore. He was always like that. His words were laced with sarcasm, and his playful jabs always seemed like they were aimed at keeping me on my toes.

I turned to face him, and as expected, he was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. His fiery red hair was tousled as if he hadn't bothered to tame it, and his eyes, though full of mischief, held a deeper intensity I couldn't ignore.

"Off to the academy, aren't you? Got your bags packed? Maybe you should take a spare brain with you this time," he teased, his lips curling into a smirk. His words were sharp, but the flicker of concern in his eyes was unmistakable if you knew how to read him. He was good at hiding it, but I could see the way his posture stiffened when he saw me, the way he always seemed to be watching out for me in his own way.

"You're really something, Elkan," I replied, rolling my eyes but trying to hide the smile tugging at my lips. He was insufferable, but I couldn't help but appreciate how, in his strange, roundabout way, he cared. "I'll be fine. I'm not a little kid anymore."

He snorted, pushing off from the doorframe. "Yeah, I know. But don't go doing something stupid, alright? And don't go acting like you're some big shot just because you're at the academy."

I stopped in my tracks, meeting his gaze. "I won't," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "But you take care of yourself too, Elkan. Don't go starting any fights, alright?"

His eyes softened for a split second, and his usual smirk faltered, just for an instant. "I'll be fine. Just don't get into trouble there."

With that, he turned and walked away, but not before I caught the briefest glimpse of something—something protective in the way he moved, in the way he seemed to be keeping his distance, but never too far.

Elkan never said the words, but I knew—his teasing, his rough exterior, all of it was his way of showing that he cared. And though he'd never admit it, he was always looking out for me.