Transmigrated into My Own Tragic Novel

Escape

The towering floor-to-ceiling windows framed a glittering skyline, the city bursting with life beyond the glass. Yet inside the office, the air was still—frozen.

Kane sat behind a massive ebony desk, his expression unreadable. In front of him lay a stack of unsigned contracts, but his eyes… they were distant, cold, elsewhere.

Lucas, his assistant, stood silently at attention, having just finished briefing the day’s packed itinerary. He was about to make his exit when—

“Wait.”

The single word, deep and commanding, sliced through the silence like a blade.

Lucas froze mid-step, bowing slightly. “Yes, sir? Do you need anything else?”

Kane didn’t answer immediately. He leaned back slightly, fingers tapping against the polished wood. When he finally spoke, his tone was almost careless, as if the question had just occurred to him—an afterthought, nothing more.

“How has she been… these past few days?”

Lucas stiffened.

There was no need to ask who “she” was.

“According to the housekeeper and Nancy,” Lucas said carefully, “Madam has been… in good spirits.”

Kane’s eyes lifted—sharp, probing.

“In good spirits?” he echoed, voice low.

Lucas nodded. “Yes, sir. She’s been resting in her room most of the time. Watching shows. Eating regularly. No unusual requests. Nothing… out of the ordinary.”

Kane’s brow twitched, barely noticeable. Too calm. Too quiet. That wasn’t like her.

“She didn’t say anything?” he asked after a pause. “No complaints… no remarks?”

“Nothing at all, sir.”

⸻

Across the estate, behind locked doors, Evelyn was pacing.

She needed the story to unfold as it had in the original plot. But the biggest problem was—this wasn’t the original Betty. In the book, Betty had a minor leg injury, not a virtual prison.

She, however, was most definitely not free.

The mansion was under heavy watch, and Nancy—Kane’s most trusted aide—was a fortress of loyalty and precision. No cracks to be found there.

But Evelyn’s eyes flicked toward the hallway.

There was someone else. A younger maid who had accompanied her downstairs that afternoon. Nervous. Unsteady. And most importantly—not Nancy.

Maybe… just maybe, she was the key.

Evelyn didn’t have to wait long.

Just before sunset, she heard faint sniffles from the corridor. She opened the door silently and saw the young maid—Sandra—eyes red, hurrying past as if trying to disappear.

Evelyn followed quietly.

At the far end of the servant’s corridor, the sound of stifled sobs confirmed it. She gently pushed open the restroom door and found Sandra crying by the sink.

“Sandra?” Evelyn called softly.

The maid jolted, spinning around. Her eyes widened in horror when she saw Evelyn. “M-Madam! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—I’ll leave right now!”

“Don’t be scared.” Evelyn blocked her path gently, her voice warm. “What’s wrong? Did something happen? Maybe I can help.”

Sandra hesitated. Perhaps it was the softness in Evelyn’s voice—or the overwhelming desperation in her own heart—but the truth tumbled out between sobs.

“It’s my brother,” she whispered. “He’s sick… he’s in the hospital. They said he needs surgery but… I don’t have the money. I’ve tried everything…”

Tears streamed down her face.

Evelyn’s heart tightened, but she also saw her chance.

With a reassuring smile, she reached up and removed the small diamond earrings from her ears—simple, but real. Among Betty’s collection, they were inconspicuous… yet undeniably valuable.

“Take these,” Evelyn pressed them into Sandra’s hand. “They’ll cover what you need.”

Sandra stared in shock. “No! Madam, this is too much! I—I can’t accept—”

“Listen to me.” Evelyn held her hand firmly. Then, her voice dropped to a whisper. “I just need one small favor in return.”

Sandra blinked, alarmed.

“It’s nothing dangerous,” Evelyn said quickly. “I need you to stay in my room tonight. Wear my robe. Lie in my bed, facing away from the door. If anyone knocks—don’t respond. Just pretend you’re asleep. I’ll tell Nancy I’m feeling unwell and don’t want to be disturbed.”

She leaned closer, her voice coaxing, smooth.

“No one will check. No one will know. And this money… it will save your brother’s life. You help me. I help you.”

Sandra clutched the earrings, trembling. Her eyes flicked between Evelyn and the door. After a long, heart-pounding pause, she nodded.

“…Yes, Madam. I’ll do it.”

⸻

The plan was set in motion.

That evening, Evelyn called for Nancy, feigning a headache. “No dinner tonight. I just need rest. Absolute quiet, please.”

Nancy, though slightly suspicious of her “sudden fatigue,” did not argue. She issued the order without question.

Once night had fallen, Evelyn and Sandra exchanged clothing in silence. Sandra, pale with nerves, slipped into Evelyn’s silk robe and climbed into the massive bed, curling up under the covers, her back to the door.

Evelyn, meanwhile, dressed in the simple maid’s uniform. With a tray in hand and her head bowed, she mimicked the silent shuffle of a servant and slipped out into the hallway.

Her heart thudded in her chest.

Target: Kane’s study.

The butler, David, often left the next day’s itinerary there. She needed to know where Kane would be—so she could be anywhere but near him.

Luck was on her side.

The study was empty.

She slipped inside, moving swiftly to the desk. Papers. Files. And then—there it was.

7:30 PM — Eastside Real Estate Charity Gala

She memorized the address, then slipped back out into the shadows.

Now came the riskiest part—leaving the estate.

She couldn’t use the front door. But the author in her remembered everything. There had been a small, rarely-used back exit. A passage for the staff, barely mentioned in a footnote of the manuscript.

With her head low and steps cautious, Evelyn crept through the servant’s corridor, ducking behind pillars, moving with purpose.

And finally—there it was.

An unmarked wooden door.

She slipped outside into the heavy night air. The weight of the Langston estate fell behind her as she vanished into the darkness.

Minutes later, she flagged down a taxi on the road.

“Eastside Gala,” she told the driver.

Her eyes gleamed with purpose as the city lights blurred past the windows.

“I’m coming, Elma. Are you ready?”