Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Alice Blake had always been an avid reader. Her earliest memory was of trying to read her mother’s books. Her mother had an extensive collection of all sorts of novels: historical, detective, mystery, thriller, and fantasy. But, you see, the problem was that Alice could never see herself in those stories; they were always about a woman falling in love with a strong, handsome man. She always wondered if there was something—anything—that would make her heart beat faster. And it was then, on a warm afternoon, that she found Helen’s Diary.
She still remembered every detail of that day—the day that changed her life.
Alice was a very shy 14-year-old who never had many friends, and because of that, she didn’t have anyone to hang out with after her classes ended at 4 p.m. So she went to the only place where she knew she would never feel lonely.
She spent all her afternoons at the Cambridge Public Library, reading about knights in shining armor rescuing helpless princesses from danger.
The thing was, she didn’t want to read about them. She wanted to find a story… no, the entire story was too much. She was sure she would never find an author who had the courage to write about characters like her. She just wanted to read at least a paragraph—maybe even a side character—who loved the fairer sex.
Just the thought of finding something like that made her blush, but she was determined to find it that day.
It was her third book that afternoon. Skimming unsuccessfully through the pages, she searched for any indication of the kind of love she desperately wanted to read about. She sighed, almost giving up on her exhausting and seemingly useless quest when she spotted a velvety hardcover book at the top of a wooden shelf.
She looked up curiously at the book and could see its title: The Secret Diary of Helen Foster.
A woman as the main character of a book? Was that even possible? Was she another helpless princess? Who was this Helen?
Alice had so many questions in just a few seconds that the only way to answer them all was by getting the book and reading it.
She tried to reach for it, but she wasn’t tall enough. Scanning the quiet library, she realized she was alone and grabbed the nearest heavy wooden chair to help her reach it.
Maybe it was just her romantic mind playing tricks on her, but she remembered how she felt when she touched the book. A wave of emotions washed over her. She felt her heart race inside her ribcage, and her breath came in short gasps as she opened it while still standing on the chair.
"She looks at me like she knows. Like she has always known. But she never speaks of it. And so, we live in silence—her lips saying one thing, her eyes another. I cannot touch her. I cannot have her. I cannot even ask her to want me. She belongs to God, to her husband, to the laws that keep women like me hidden in the dark. And yet, she lingers in doorways, in pauses, in spaces where I can only imagine what it would be like if she dared to stay."
Her mouth was slightly open in awe as she realized that not only had someone dared to write about a character just like her, but they had written an entire book about it!
And since then, Alice had read all 14 volumes of this incredible story about Helen Foster—a woman who defied every expectation placed upon her, building a name for herself in a world that never wanted her to exist. She was a journalist, a businesswoman, a woman who loved as boldly as she could in secret. And against all odds, she had found love—not openly, never openly, but in the stolen spaces where the world wasn’t watching.
The thing was, it had taken exactly 14 years for her to read them all because the author only released one book a year!
Alice had spent half of her life engrossed in this incredible character’s journey—loving her, admiring every step of her path. And the most frustrating part? She had never been able to learn who was behind those books. The author only signed as H.F.
Why had she never revealed herself? Was she afraid of what people might do to her? Could it have been a man writing the books? No—a man would never capture a woman’s essence so deeply. It had to be a woman. But whoever she was, she had made it very clear that she did not want public exposure.
And because of this stunning and brave character—who had been with her throughout her teenage and adult years—Alice had decided to apply for college, specifically for a Literature degree at Wexley University.
If H.F. had done such an amazing job for the community, Alice could contribute too—writing all the stories inside her mind. But she would have the courage to write her real, full name on the cover of her books.
The mansion felt unbearably quiet that morning.
Alice sat at the edge of her bed, gripping the sheets like they might hold her together. She should be excited, shouldn’t she? This was the first thing she had ever done entirely for herself. No one had forced her, no one had pushed her—she had made this decision alone.
So why did she feel like she was making a mistake?
She glanced at the clock on the wall. 6:02 a.m.
Her driver, Ethan, would be waiting downstairs by 6:30. That meant she had exactly 28 minutes to gather herself, put on the mask she had perfected over the years, and convince the world that she belonged in it.
She finally stood and walked to her vanity.
Her reflection stared back at her, composed and unreadable.
She wasn’t extravagant in her choices—she didn’t like drawing attention to herself. But still, there were expectations when you came from her world. Elegance. Perfection. A silent message that she belonged somewhere, even if she didn’t.
Today, she toned it down—simple but polished. She’d decided to wear a fitted white blouse, dark, high-waisted slacks, small pearl earrings and her mother’s watch on her right wrist.
Her hands hovered over her rings before she pulled them off. Too much.
She didn’t want to stand out. Not today.
Ethan had the car waiting outside. As she settled into the leather seat, she stared out the window at the grand estate she had never truly felt at home in.
She should feel nervous, but what she felt most of all was curiosity.
Would she meet people like her?
Would she finally belong somewhere?
Would she find something—someone—who would make her feel alive?
She sighed, leaning back against the seat as Ethan started the car.
This was it.
Her first day at Wexley University.
Her first day of something real.
Her car pulled up outside Wexley University precisely at 7:10 a.m. She exhaled in relief when she realized she wouldn’t be late for her very first class.
"Thank you, Ethan. I’ll text when I’m finished," Alice said as she gathered her things before leaving the car.
The university was bustling with life, lots of students walking around the corridors, some smiled confidently as if they truly belonged there and others barely made contact with anyone.
"Oh Lord, this is it," she thought as she walked toward her first class.
She thought of giving up, maybe Ethan was not too far from the university and if she called him he would immediately come back and pick her up. But this was what her family would expect from her.
"I am not a coward. I can do this. I’ll show you all that I am capable of great things," she thought as she entered the classroom.
And there she was, sitting in the front row of the classroom, anxiously waiting for her professor to arrive. She was nervously fidgeting with her pen, unaware of how fast the small object was moving between her fingers, when it suddenly flew out of her hand, landing near a pair of black shoes.
Her eyes slowly followed the owner of those shoes—who was now reaching down for her pen and walking toward her.
"I believe this is yours."
She could feel her face burn as she averted her eyes from the striking figure standing before her.
"Tha… Thank you."
She heard the woman hum quietly as she moved away, walking toward the board and writing her name on it.
"Good morning. I’m Doctor Helena Harrington, and I’ll be your History of English Literature professor this semester."