Seraphina Valemont, known as Phina, Sera, or Sare, was reborn into a BL fantasy romance novel she knew far too well. For an entire year, she considered herself lucky: she was the younger daughter of a duke, had her own comfortable home, inherited a fortune, and had successfully avoided the novel’s obsessive male leads. Better yet, the story had already ended, with its protagonist, Lucien Arvane, happily bonded to his five soulmates. Seraphina built a life of her own, creating a profitable fashion business focused on comfortable, elegant clothing for women—flowing dresses, breathable fabrics, trousers, and alternatives to the traditional dress look. With her signature light pink hair, matching pink eyes, petite 5’2” frame, and a practical mind, she had no intention of becoming involved with the original plot. Then everything changes in a crowded market. From ten feet away, Seraphina makes eye contact with Lucien, instantly recognizing the protagonist by his striking lavender hair with white streaks and vivid violet eyes. He’s accompanied by two of his soulmates when she suddenly feels her soul reach toward all three of them. Her blood runs cold as she realizes the impossible: they are her soulmates. And if she is bonded to three of them, she already knows what that means. She is bonded to all five. Cassian Valerius, the powerful Grand Duke; Rhydian Blackthorn, the formidable Magic Knight Commander; Alistair Evermont, the brilliant royal Archmage; and Dorian Ashbourne, the charismatic Crown Prince, are all her soulmates too. Seraphina panics and runs. Unfortunately, she forgets to cover her unmistakable pink hair. Now the five men know another soulmate exists, and they have no intention of allowing her to disappear. Lucien, once cherished and spoiled by his four men, discovers that he is just as capable of loving and indulging Seraphina, while the other four become fiercely protective and possessive of their unexpected soulmate. Seraphina thought being reborn into a finished novel meant she had escaped the plot. She was wrong. The story simply found a way to include her.

Chapter 2: The Market's Fatal Glance

For weeks, the world had stayed safe and solid. The panic that had seized her in her parents' dining room faded like a bad dream. She immersed herself in her work, finishing the cream silk dress and starting a velvet cloak design with silver tracery that mimicked winter branches. The market in Everhold was familiar, a place of commerce, not fate. Seraphina had truly believed she’d immunized herself.

Seraphina had truly believed she’d immunized herself. Now, woven linen bags heavy with fabric samples and herbs hanging from her crook'd elbow, she navigated the mid-morning throng with a practical focus. The scent of baking pastry wafted from a familiar stall ahead, making her stomach grumble pleasantly. She shifted her bags, already planning to ask for extra honey, and glanced toward the merchant's friendly face. Her gaze instead snagged on a shock of lavender and white streaked hair ten feet away.

Her gaze instead snagged on a shock of lavender and white streaked hair ten feet away. It was him, Lucien Arvane, with two other men unmistakable even in this simple setting—the imposing, broad-shouldered frame of Cassian Valerius and the honed, watchful posture of Rhydian Blackthorn. Their eyes met, hers wide pink pools of shock, and a searing, electric pull ignited in her chest, a phantom tether snapping taut and reaching frantically toward all three men at once.

Her breath vanished. Aren't they gay? The idiotic, frantic thought skittered through her mind a second before the deeper horror dawned: Lucien's bond was the keystone. If she was tied to him, she was inevitably bound to all five. No matter, I can overthink later. Right now, every instinct screamed run. She turned, shoving blindly into the crowd, forgetting entirely the hood that had slipped from her head just moments before. Its absence left her signature pink hair streaming behind her, a dazzling, damning beacon in the sea of common brunettes and blondes.

A collective, sharp intake of breath seemed to sever the market’s noise behind her, but she was already moving, elbows shoving past cloaks and baskets in a desperate, twisting dash. She ducked down a dank-smelling alley crammed with crates, pivoted into a side row of dyers' stalls where bolts of wet, heavy fabric blocked her pursuers' line of sight, and then dove headlong under the sagging canvas flap of a second-hand clothing vendor, the proprietress yelping in surprise. With shaking hands and without asking the price, Sera shoved coins into the woman’ withered palm, snatched a heavy, mud-gray woolen jacket off the rack, and pulled its blessedly cavernous hood over her head as she fled out the rear of the stall.

Her lungs burned, but the carriage waiting for her beyond the city outskirts, one from her parents' stable on a prearranged weekly route, had just pulled into its spot when she tumbled inside, gasping a single command to the driver. As it creaked into motion she peered through a sliver in the curtain and saw them from afar—Lucien’s hand clasped over his own sternum while Cassian raked a hand through his dark hair, Rhydian standing rigid as he scanned the departing traffic.

They had not seen her. Only her coat.

Letting out a shuddering breath that misted the cool glass, she slumped against the seat, her heart a trapped bird against her ribs, and tried to process the violent truth: that whole group, Prince, Duke, Knight, Mage—Lucien's entire, closed circle—were apparently, unbelievably, her soulmates.