Kieran woke to the soft creak of wood and the faint smell of rain-soaked velvet.
A ray of sunlight entering the room, touching the curtains. The ceiling was too high, the wallpaper too ornate, the silence too perfect.
He blinked, pushing himself upright from a matress so soft it might swallow him, which he didn't remember lying on. His reflection shimmered faintly in the polished wardrobe opposite — but it wasn't quite his. The man staring back wore a fitted waistcoat, a pressed white shirt, and hair slicked in a style two centuries too early.
Then the memories hit.
Not his memories.
Names, duties, places — a torrent of thoughts crashing through him like half-remembered dreams. Arthur Richard Wellesley. The son of a viscount. The heir to an estate.
As he was processing all this suddenly he felt something in his pocket.
His pocket buzzed.
He fumbled for the source — a phone. His actual, modern phone, impossibly out of place in this candlelit world. The screen flickered alive with static before clearing into a glowing briefing message:
> Assignment: Accept the marriage proposal from Lord Wellesley.
> Target: Lady Eleanor Harrington.
> Reward: 10 Skill Points.
> Bonus Objective: Maintain disguise integrity.
He closed the pop-up window to see another screen opened below that.
A faint tab read [Skill Shop] — but it was locked and had a message below which read,
"Complete tutorial to unlock"
He tried to switch off the phone but it didn't. His own phone was gone and this one just showed this strange shop.
"What the hell…" he muttered.
He tried to remember how he got here, but that's when he heard it — footsteps. Fast, desperate, approaching his door.
He shoved the phone beneath a pillow just as the door burst open.
"Arthur!"
It was Edward. Dressed in a dark coat, cravat half-loose, his expression frantic. "Thank God, you're awake. You need to find your phone."
Kieran blinked. "What?"
Edward stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Wait, you don't have your phone. It usually is in a thing that you cherish. Mine was in my childhood teddy bear, shocking ain't it?"
Then he jumped back—almost as if he remembered something, his voice louder than before,"I am such a bad friend, Arthur. Wait, but you were, Kieran. But I am Edmund Graystone, the friend of Arthur Wellesley now. My father, Richard Graystone told me to befriend you when we were kids because your father was a Viscount and his status would ease our life. Honestly, never said it, but he truly —"
"Edward!" Kieran yelled. "Snap out of it."
"I need to ask you about how we—"
Before I could complete what I was about to say I heard footsteps outside the door.
Then the door opened.
"Lord Wellesley?"
The man who entered wore a long brown coat and a hat pulled low against the drizzle outside. His expression was sharp, his stance deliberate — and the small gleam of metal beneath his lapel caught Kieran's eye. A detective's badge.
"Apologies for the intrusion," the man said smoothly. "My name's Detective Adrian Holt. And I'm not Italian."
Kieran almost smiled despite himself for the man standing before him was Dante himself.
But another voice followed immediately — female, cold, and clipped with authority.
"Detective, I told you — you cannot simply barge in here. This is a private residence and a respected one, at that!"
She appeared in the doorway like a shadow sharpened by light — tall, poised, and wearing mourning black trimmed with lace. Every inch of her radiated wealth and control.
Arthur's memories flowed in Kieran's mind.
She was Linda Wellesley.
Arthur's mother.
Behind her trailed a flustered line of maids, wringing their hands, voices tumbling over one another.
"We are terribly sorry, ma'am! We tried to stop him, truly we did—"
"Enough."
Her single word silenced them all.
She turned her gaze to Dante, eyes like glass polished too long. "Detective. Out. Now."
Kieran reacted before he could think. "Wait. He's an acquaintance. We met at the bar last night."
For a heartbeat, silence. Then, to his relief, Dante understood the cue.
He tipped his hat with easy charm. "Indeed we did, my lady. Shared quite the lively debate over whisky, didn't we? Your son invited me for breakfast to continue the discussion. I would like pancakes."
Linda's sternness melted almost instantly. "Oh… is that so?"
Her tone softened, a faint, forced smile tugging at her lips. "Then I must apologise, Detective Holt. The weather has been dreadful, and I've clearly mistaken your purpose.We don't often host guests this early. But, do join us for breakfast."
Turning, she addressed the maids with brisk efficiency. "Prepare the dining room. See that everything is served fresh. Lord Wellesley and his friends will be down shortly."
The maids bowed and scurried off.
As the room emptied, Edward exhaled shakily. Dante stepped closer once Linda had gone, lowering his voice.
"So when will the director say cut?"