I Ghosted A Tyrant And Woke Up In His Dungeon

I thought I was just online dating a guy who was way too deep into his own fantasy world. Some tech-bro LARPer with a massive god complex who insisted he was a sovereign king. He was incredibly committed to the bit. If I disagreed with him, he’d threaten to have me dragged into the courtyard and executed. Honestly, it cracked me up. I treated him like a high-maintenance Tamagotchi. Every morning, I’d check in on him just to keep my streak alive. “Your loyal subject grovels before the Crown. Slay, Your Majesty. Literally.” When he went on a sprawling rant about the coastal guilds hoarding all the salt and starving the peasantry, I humored him. I dropped a YouTube link for a DIY solar desalination rig. When he told me the Northern Raiders were breaching the borders with heavy artillery, I did a quick Google search and forwarded him the chemical ratios for black powder. Eventually, the novelty wore off. It started getting a little too weird, so I blocked him. I never expected that when I woke up the next morning, I wouldn't be in my apartment. I opened my eyes and found myself staring at a damp, stone ceiling. I was in a literal dungeon. And the only thing on my person was my iPhone. Hands trembling, staring at a screen that miraculously still had a signal, I opened my blocked contacts list. The next morning, I was released from the cell. "The King is overjoyed!" the guards announced. "A general amnesty for the realm!" 1 I had somehow been transported to another dimension, armed with nothing but a smartphone. Because I was wearing my pajamas—what this world considered bizarre, scandalous rags—and had no identification papers, my starting point in this new reality was maximum security. I didn't even waste my breath screaming about my innocence. Instead, I grabbed the woman shivering in the cell next to me. "Are you absolutely sure this is Valera? And the King’s name is Roman?" My cellmate gave me a long, hard look. Then she immediately flagged down a guard and snitched on me for speaking the Sovereign's birth name. They tacked another three years onto my sentence. I slumped against the cold stone wall, pulled out my phone, and frantically scrolled to the very top of my chat history with the guy I thought was just a roleplayer. [I am Roman, Sovereign of Valera. You dare disrespect the Crown? I will have you dragged into the square and beheaded!] What did I even say to that back then? Oh, right. I had replied: [Lmao, my royal lungs are hurting from laughing so hard. Sure, and I’m the resurrected King Arthur. If you wire me fifty grand in Bitcoin, I’ll awaken the Knights of the Round Table and we’ll conquer the world. I’ll even make you my top general!] His response had been a masterclass in earnest gullibility. [Is this truly the Ancient King? How do I transfer this ‘Bitcoin’? Can I simply burn gold offerings at an altar for you?] It had been a long time since I’d encountered someone so purely, unironically dense. I didn’t even want to keep the scam going; there was zero satisfaction in outsmarting him. So, I had hit him with the truth. [I’m messing with you, Your Majesty. If you shake your head too fast, do your own ears slap you in the face?] He lost his mind. He bombarded me with furious texts. [You dare make a fool of the Crown?! I will eradicate your entire bloodline! You will be drawn and quartered!] I had been having the time of my life. [Ooh, am I getting the medieval torture package? Can we use a fleet of My Little Ponies to pull me apart?] Roman had gone silent for a few minutes. [Are you a demon? What manner of sadistic beast uses miniature painted horses for an execution?] At first, I really thought he was just a guy with a severe delusion. But as time went on, I realized his world-building was flawlessly consistent. He knew politics, strategy, and economics better than most professors. He was a literate delusional guy. So, he became my electronic pet. [Your loyal subject grovels before His Majesty. May your reign be as long as a CVS receipt!] At first, he tried to virtually execute my extended family every day. When he realized that did absolutely nothing to deter me, he just gave up and leaned into it. [You may rise, my Queen.] [Thank you, Your Majesty. May your bowel movements forever be smooth.] 2 Against all odds, we clicked. Two weirdos finding solace in the digital ether. I even started taking the roleplay seriously. When he complained that the corrupt southern lords had monopolized the salt mines, driving prices so high the commoners couldn't afford to eat, I casually sent him a diagram of how to evaporate seawater in shallow clay pans. He didn't text me back for three days. On the fourth day, he sent me a wall of exclamation points and declared he was going to officially crown me as his Queen. I had laughed and typed: [Pass! From what I can tell, your reign is a hot mess. You’re practically a figurehead. One wrong move and your head is on a spike. I’m not going down with that ship.] He got angry again, though this time he didn't threaten my bloodline. He just said: [Watch me. I will slaughter every corrupt lord who dares step on my authority. I will never let you suffer the indignity of a weak husband.] Later, when the Northern Raiders invaded with superior numbers and heavy cavalry, he texted me in what felt like genuine despair. [My sweet, if I do not survive this, find a good man and marry him. I buried five hundred pounds of gold beneath the gargoyle fountain at the Royal Abbey. If you ever fall on hard times, dig it up.] He said it with such visceral sincerity, it actually gave me pause. I felt a pang of pity, so I dug up a historical recipe for black powder and hit send. [You’ve been upgraded. Go get 'em!] I didn't hear from him for a month. When he finally returned, he was ecstatic, rambling about expanding the western borders and asking if I wanted any rare jewels from the conquered territories. That was the moment I snapped back to reality. I realized this parasocial relationship was getting deeply unhealthy. Afraid I was fueling a man’s actual descent into madness, I blocked him. I had no idea I was breaking up with a literal monarch. And I certainly had no idea that the moment I blocked him, the universe would violently rip me from my life and drop me into his. The regret I felt sitting in that cell was suffocating. If I had known I was going to get Isekai'd into his world, I would have kissed the ground he walked on! I would have been his biggest cheerleader, practically guaranteeing myself a cushy job as Co-Emperor on day one. Instead, I had relentlessly mocked him, trolled his decrees, and insulted his intelligence. My immediate priority was figuring out how to grow a hundred extra heads, because the one I had was definitely getting chopped off. For the sake of my own survival, he could never, ever find out that the girl from his magical chat window was currently breathing his air. But… I looked around my cage. A pile of rotting straw in the corner. Bare, weeping stone walls. A rat the size of a football casually strolling across my shoe. I immediately pulled out my phone and took Roman off the blocklist. 3 Sure enough, his was the only contact icon with a signal. The second I unblocked him, his messages flooded in like a dam breaking. [My sweet, you’re finally speaking to me! Do you know what these past few days have been like? I wept so hard I ruined my Egyptian cotton pillows!] [Never say the word 'breakup' to me again. I’m warning you, if you ever leave me, I will end my own life.] [Where have you been? Have you met another man? Speak to me! Are you trying to drive me to madness?!] This unhinged intensity was exactly why I had blocked him in the first place. Your Majesty, your toxic attachment style is showing. Before he could spiral any further, I cut him off. Me: [I’m back. Are you happy to see me?] Roman: [I am delirious with joy.] Me: [Prove it.] Roman: [I shall pardon the realm.] That was exactly what I needed to hear. I locked my phone, resolving to employ the golden rules of toxic survival: Do not initiate. Do not refuse. Do not take responsibility. The prison gruel was rancid. I took one tiny sip and nearly gagged. Knowing I was getting out tomorrow, I pushed the bowl away and pulled my knees to my chest, staring blankly at the iron bars. The cellmate who had snitched on me couldn't understand it. "If you're not going to eat that, can I have it?" I slid the sludge over to her. "What are you waiting for?" she asked between bites. "Aren't you afraid of starving?" I shook my head, keeping my expression perfectly stoic. "I'm waiting to be released tomorrow." She went dead silent for a few seconds before barking out a harsh laugh. "Are you delusional? Unless you've got serious connections in high places, nobody leaves this place early." The King is literally throwing a nationwide pardon just to prove he loves me. What do you know about romance? I ignored her and went to sleep. The next morning, as pale light filtered through the high grates, a guard unlocked the heavy iron doors. "The King is overjoyed! General amnesty for the realm!" My cellmate and I were both dragged out into the blinding sunlight, free women. My one-day prison tour was officially over. I hadn't even taken two steps before I felt a burning stare on my back. I turned to see my former cellmate looking at me like I was a deity. "Girl... your connections are insane," she whispered. "Can you tell me? Who exactly is your sugar daddy?" Try the Sovereign of the entire continent, babe. I offered a mysterious smile. "Trust me, you'd die of shock if I told you." I started mentally calculating how to find shelter. I had no identification, which meant I was essentially an undocumented ghost in this world. Seeing my lost expression, the woman hurried after me. "Look, I can see you don't have anywhere to go. I live alone. I've got a little bakery. If you don't mind the tight space, we could be roommates." I looked at her—the second person I had met in this strange, terrifying world. We had shared a cell. There’s a certain bond in that. Plus, if things went south, at least I’d have a buddy when they threw me back in jail. "Okay," I said. 4 Her name was Hannah Abbot. She came from a decent family and ran a rustic, generational bakery in the lower district. Late one night, over a cup of bitter tea, she told me about her younger sister, Haley. After their parents passed, the family fell on hard times, and Haley took a job as a servant in the Royal Palace. Thanks to the bakery, Hannah eventually saved up enough money to buy Haley out of her contract. Haley had even smuggled a letter out, saying she was desperate to come home. But when Hannah took the bribe money to the palace steward, he coldly informed her that Haley had died of a sudden fever three months prior. The math didn't add up. Haley's letter had been dated only a month ago. When Hannah started asking too many questions, she was suddenly framed for poisoning her own pastries and thrown into the dungeon. "So, what now?" I asked softly. "Are you going to keep looking into her death?" Hannah offered a broken, bitter smile. "I don't dare. If I dig any deeper, I'll be the next one in the ground." Now, she just wanted to bake her bread and leave a single candle at her sister's empty grave every year. "My name is Harper," I told her, deciding to drop my guard. "I don't have any family here. I just got lucky with the amnesty. I don't actually have any connections." Hannah nodded. "I figured. You don't exactly carry yourself like high society." She smiled. "But Harper... that sounds like a name from my mother's village. From now on, just think of me as your older sister." And just like that, I moved in. I woke up at dawn to help her knead dough, prep the ovens, and serve customers. It was a simple, exhausting life, but it kept me grounded. Still, the fear of being undocumented gnawed at me. Every knock at the door made my heart stop, terrified it was a city guard coming to check my papers and deport me back to a cell. I asked around the black market and found out that forging a legitimate citizen's registry would cost about fifty gold marks. That was an astronomical sum. A working-class baker wouldn't see that much gold in a lifetime. Before I could figure out a side hustle, Hannah got sick. When it rains, it pours. My new life was drowning. Unable to afford her medicine, I sat on my lumpy mattress and furiously texted Roman, cursing him out just to vent my frustration. It was only after my rant that a memory violently clicked into place. The gargoyle fountain. The Royal Abbey. Five hundred pounds of gold. The whole monastery would be asleep by now. I was going to get my money. I waited until midnight, dressed in dark clothes, and hopped the stone wall into the Abbey's sprawling gardens. Why were there so many monks patrolling tonight? Their bald heads practically glowed in the moonlight, saving me the trouble of bringing a lantern. I finally located the specific gargoyle Roman had described. I spat on my palms, gripped the shovel I’d stolen from the bakery, and started digging. 5 Come to mama. Where is my gold? Roman had buried it absurdly deep. I couldn't tell if he was trying to hide it from thieves or from me. I kept digging, sweat dripping down my face, pausing every few seconds to look over my shoulder. To make matters worse, Roman was blowing up my phone. The device buzzed furiously against my thigh. Eventually, I got too tired to keep swinging the shovel, so I pulled it out. [My sweet, what are you doing?] [Why are you ignoring me again? Did I do something wrong?] [Please don't be angry. The moon is beautiful tonight. I lit a candle for you in the sanctuary, praying the gods might take pity and finally let us meet.] Cut the poetry and give me my money! I quickly typed back: [That gold you said you buried under the fountain at the Abbey... is it still there?] Roman: [Of course not. Once the Raiders retreated, I dug it back up. I couldn't just leave a fortune in the dirt! I put it in a highly secure vault for you, along with some jewelry.] My vision actually went dark for a second. Roman, you are the Sovereign of a continent! You practically wipe your nose with silk! Why did you take my gold?! What was the point of all this digging? Was I just providing free landscaping for the church? The sheer exhaustion, the terror of this new world, the prison, Hannah’s illness, and now the loss of my guaranteed fortune… it all crashed down on me at once. That was my money! My gold! The tears erupted before I could stop them. Terrified of being caught, I clamped a hand over my mouth, sobbing pathetically as I used my feet to kick dirt back into the empty hole. I didn't even notice Roman's new messages. [Wait. I think I hear someone crying. Is there a ghost out here?] [But this is holy ground. There shouldn't be ghosts.] [Hold on, my sweet. Let me go check.] I was mid-sob, still kicking dirt, when a cold, irritated voice drifted down from above me. "Are you a woman or a poltergeist?" I snapped my head up. Standing before me was a man in a dark, velvet tunic, a heavy gold signet ring catching the moonlight. He was young, viciously handsome, and his eyes were dark with annoyance. Roman glared down at me. "You dare interrupt my private time with my wife? What is your punishment?" 6 Oh my god, it's over. I was hallucinating. My brain completely flatlined. My only coherent thought was: Wow, our first in-person date is going terribly. Then reality hit me like a freight train. No wonder the Abbey was swarming with guards tonight. The King was visiting. Fate, you absolute menace. Roman, you psycho. He wasn't sleeping because he was out here romantically texting me, and now my life was going to end. I swallowed my pride and lowered my head. "Forgive me, Your Grace. I’ll leave immediately." I made it two steps before his voice cracked like a whip. "Halt. Which sector of the palace do you serve? I’ve never seen you before." His gaze dropped to the freshly mutilated earth at my feet. His eyes narrowed. "Furthermore… digging holes in the dead of night? What exactly are you looking for?" Think, Harper! Think! The more I panicked, the emptier my brain became. As my silence dragged on, the suspicion on Roman’s face began to shift. A terrifying, desperate glint of hope sparked in his eyes. "My sweet... is it you?" Half a second before he put the pieces together, sheer survival instinct took over. I dropped to my knees so hard they bruised. "Have mercy, Your Majesty! My name is Hannah Abbot! I came here tonight looking for a pendant buried by my late sister, Haley!" I am so sorry, Hannah! I promise I’ll find out who murdered your sister! The shift was instantaneous. I could physically feel Roman lose all interest in me. He let out a flat, disappointed, "Oh." I forced myself to keep talking, weaving the lie. "My sister Haley served in the royal sector. I was told she died of a fever, but her body was never returned to us, nor was our family’s heirloom pendant. In her last letter, she said she buried something important in the Abbey gardens, so I came looking..." I dumped Hannah’s entire tragic backstory onto him, then looked up at him with the wide, honest eyes of a desperate peasant. Roman pondered this for a moment. "Haley… yes, the name is vaguely familiar. Fine. Your devotion to your kin is admirable. I will allow you to serve in my personal staff so you may uncover the truth behind her death." Wait, what? No, no, no! You're supposed to laugh a haughty, arrogant laugh, wave your hand, and order your Royal Guards to investigate it for me! Then, when the truth comes out, I thank you, and we never see each other again! Where did my script go wrong? How did I just get promoted to his inner circle?! God wasn't ignoring me; He was actively picking the worst dialogue options in this RPG! Seeing me frozen in horror, Roman raised an eyebrow. "You aren't pleased?" I clenched my jaw. "I am delirious with joy." Satisfied, Roman reached into his tunic and pulled out a small, rectangular slab of polished obsidian that glowed faintly with magic. He tapped it twice. A second later, the phone in my pocket buzzed twice. My jaw practically hit the grass. Are you kidding me? That’s his phone?! Once he turned his back and walked away, I pulled out my screen. [My sweet, I bestowed mercy upon a pathetic peasant woman today. Am I not a benevolent King?] Benevolent my ass. I ignored his self-congratulatory paragraphs and fired back one message: [Thanks for walking into my life like a stray cat, but I’m a rat, and you’ve ruined everything! I will never forgive you!] Then I blocked him again. Ah. That felt good.