Chapter 1: The writer's trap
Ella was an aspiring writer in Los Angeles, working endless hours in the quiet of her room. Her manuscripts were constantly rejected, but she never gave up. Her latest creation was a dark romance novel centered around a ruthless mafia boss and an innocent, cute mute girl destined for an early, tragic death. Exhausted after finishing the final edit late one night, she collapsed asleep right in front of her glowing laptop screen.
When she opened her eyes, the ambient click of her keyboard was replaced by the crisp rustle of night grass.
Ella sat up, disoriented. She tried to speak, but no sound escaped her throat. Before she could panic, heavy footsteps approached. A strikingly handsome man in a tailored black suit stood under the moonlight, a lit cigarette between his fingers.
*Don Matthew.*
She recognized him instantly—the dangerous villain of her own creation. Panic surged, and Ella tried to retreat into the shadows, but Don’s sharp instincts caught her immediately. In a flash, his hand gripped her throat, pinning her down. He assumed she was a spy or an assassin sent by a rival faction.
Ella tapped frantically at his arm, tears welling in her eyes, silently pleading for air.
He finally released his grip, throwing her to the ground. "Who sent you?" Don demanded, his voice like cold iron.
Coughing and rubbing her neck, Ella’s mind raced. *I transmigrated into my own story as the mute girl who dies in chapter three! I'm only nineteen, homeless, and terrified.*
Desperate to survive, she grabbed a nearby fallen stick and scratched hurried words into the dark soil: *No one sent me. I am lost, hungry, and homeless. Can I please have some food?*
Don stared down at the dirt, then met her wide, trembling eyes. The coldness in his demeanor softened just a fraction. "You can't speak, can you?" he asked, his tone surprisingly measured. "What's your name?"
She erased the dirt with her palm and wrote again: *My name is Ella. I have nowhere to go. I can work. I'll do anything.*
Don looked at her, surprising both himself and the armed guards hovering in the background. "You can stay," he said quietly. "As a maid."
