I was smiling like a fool.
I knew it. I knew I was smiling, but I could not stop. My steps were light, my heart faster than my feet. Kit had written that letter with such awkward care, leaving a rose like a promise. A surprise. Just for me. I kept imagining silly things.
Maybe a secret place. Maybe words he had been practicing the whole night. Every corner I crossed, I hoped to see him standing there, pretending to be calm while his eyes searched only for me.
Then I saw him.
Kit was standing in the corridor, talking to Rowan.
My smile widened. Rowan. Of course. Maybe he helped him plan it. Rowan always knew more than he said. I slowed my steps, not wanting to interrupt. I watched from a little distance, feeling strangely shy, like this surprise was something delicate and I might break it by touching it too soon.
Rowan left.
This was it.
My heart jumped. I opened my mouth to call his name, already tasting the sound of it.
"Kit—"
But the word never reached him.
Because he lifted his hands and pulled off his wig.
For a second, my mind refused to understand what my eyes were seeing. The corridor blurred. The light felt wrong. The man standing there looked exactly like Kit, but also… not.
His hair fell differently. His posture changed. The easy warmth he carried as a guard vanished, replaced by something heavy, something born with authority.
The prince stood where Kit should have been.
I laughed softly, once, under my breath. This must be a trick. A cruel trick of tired eyes and foolish hopes. I blinked. Once. Twice.
He noticed me.
His face drained of color so fast it frightened me. His eyes widened, not with joy, but with panic. The wig slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a soft, final sound.
The sound of truth.
My chest tightened until breathing hurt.
"No," I whispered. "This… this isn't funny."
He took a step toward me. "Anastasia, please—"
My body moved before my mind could catch up. I stepped back.
Another step.
Another.
Every memory crashed into me at once. His smile. His clumsy kindness. The way he listened to me like I mattered. The way I trusted him without fear. The way I gave him my heart so quietly, thinking it was safe because he was just a guard.
Just Kit.
"You're… the prince," I said, the words tasting bitter and unreal. "So what was that, then? What was I?"
He shook his head desperately.
"I wanted to tell you. I swear. I was going to tell you today."
"Tell me what?" My voice trembled despite my effort.
"That you were pretending this whole time? That every word, every look, every promise was part of some game?"
"It was never a game," he said quickly. "Never. I fell in love with you as Kit. As myself. Not as a prince."
I laughed again, this time sharp and broken. "How convenient."
He reached for me. I flinched.
"Don't," I said, tears burning my eyes. "Please don't touch me."
His hand froze in the air.
"So I was… what?" I continued, the pain finally spilling out.
"A joke? A way to pass time before you marry the chosen bride? Something interesting to experience before your real life begins?"
"No!" His voice cracked. "You're not a joke. You're everything. That's why this is so hard."
"Hard for you," I said softly. "Because you had choices. You had truth. And you hid it."
Tears slid down my cheeks, hot and humiliating. I hated myself for crying in front of him. I hated myself more for still wanting to believe him.
"I trusted you," I whispered. "I trusted Kit."
"I am Kit," he said, almost pleading. "That part of me is real."
"But the lie is real too," I replied.
He tried to speak again, but I shook my head, backing away until the wall pressed cold against my spine.
"This ends here," I said, forcing the words out through my sobs. "Everything ends. Don't look for me. Don't meet me. Pretend I never existed."
"Anastasia, please—"
"I'm sorry," I said, my voice breaking completely now.
"Sorry for being so stupid. Sorry for believing someone like me could be loved without a price."
I wiped my tears with trembling hands. "I was just an ugly, foolish girl dreaming too much."
"That's not true," he said hoarsely.
But I had already turned away.
I walked past him without looking back, each step tearing something precious out of my chest. Behind me, I could feel his pain, heavy and desperate, but I did not stop.
Because if I did, I knew I would fall apart completely.
And some endings, no matter how much they hurt, do not allow turning back.
I reached my room somehow. I don't remember how my feet carried me there, only that once the door was closed, the world finally stopped pretending to be kind.
I locked it.
Then my strength left me.

I slid down the door slowly, my back scraping against the wood, until I was sitting on the cold floor with my knees pulled to my chest. My breath came in broken pieces. My head felt too full, like too many truths were shouting at once.
Prince.
Cinderella.
Glass slipper.
Story.
Villain.
The words tangled together until I could not separate them anymore.
I laughed softly, bitterly, pressing my fist against my mouth. How stupid. How unbelievably stupid I had been. In all my careful thinking, all my plans to survive this world, I made one choice purely with my heart. Just one. And that choice turned me into a fool.
Of course he was the prince.
Of course.
The prince was always Cinderella's. That was the rule of this world, written deeper than law, deeper than kindness. The prince could never belong to the villain. He could smile at her, talk to her, even fall for her briefly, but only as a detour. A mistake. Something to be corrected before destiny arrived in glass and gold.
My chest tightened painfully.
I was never meant to win. I was meant to learn my place.
I thought of my old world. The way some handsome or popular boys used to laugh with girls like me, make them feel special, chosen, only to reveal later it was all a joke. Entertainment. Something to pass time. I remembered the heat of humiliation, the way confidence crumbled quietly while everyone else moved on.
This felt the same.
Different clothes. Different world. Same ending.
I hugged myself tighter, nails digging into my arms as if I could hold myself together by force. Maybe this was my punishment. Because I was the villain. Because I carried that title, destiny allowed itself to be cruel to me without guilt. Villains were tools. Lessons. Stepping stones for heroes and heroines to shine brighter.
I had believed I could change that.
I had believed transmigration meant a second chance.
What arrogance.
My confidence, the fragile thing I had been building piece by piece, shattered completely. If I could not even protect my own heart, how could I change my fate? How could I rewrite a story that had already decided I was wrong simply for existing?
Tears slipped silently down my face, dripping onto my skirt.
"I don't belong here," I whispered to the empty room.
Not in the palace. Not in the story. Not beside princes.
Villains have no place in happy endings.
A strange calm settled over me then, heavy but clear. If I stayed, I would only keep hurting. Watching Cinderella walk toward her destiny. Watching the prince take his rightful place beside her. Watching myself fade into bitterness or madness like villains always do.
No.
I would leave.
I would return to the house. I don't want to stay in the palace, anywhere near prince and Cinderella's story, even if it was lonely, even if it was hard. At least there, my pain would be my own, not scripted. If the others didn't agree, then I would go alone. I had come into this world alone. I could leave it the same way.
I wiped my face slowly, standing up on unsteady legs.
This palace was never meant for someone like me.
And this story… would continue just fine without its villain trying to be human.
The next morning, Anastasia went to her mother's room quietly.
Lady Beatrice was arranging a few papers, her posture straight as always, the palace still clinging to her like a shadow. She looked up when Anastasia entered and immediately noticed something was wrong.
Her daughter's face was pale, her eyes dull, as if sleep had never visited her.
"Mother," Anastasia said softly, clasping her hands together, "can we… return to our house?"
Lady Beatrice paused. "Return?" she repeated. "So suddenly?"
"If not everyone," Anastasia added quickly, her voice almost mechanical, "then at least me."
Her mother studied her carefully. "Why?"
Anastasia opened her mouth, then closed it again. The words refused to come. How could she explain a broken heart, a shattered hope, a destiny pressing down on her chest?
"I just… want to go home," she said at last.
Lady Beatrice sighed, her expression unreadable.
"I can't allow you to live alone there, I will think it over," she said gently. "Go rest for now."
Anastasia nodded her head and left.
As she walked through the corridor, she barely noticed where she was going. Her steps were slow, her shoulders slightly bent, as if carrying an invisible weight.
Ahead, Prince Adrien was speaking with a councilman. Their voices were low, serious. Anastasia stopped when she noticed them, then moved forward out of courtesy.
She bowed. "Good morning, Your Highness. Sir."
Her greeting was perfect. Polite. Empty.
As she passed, her sleeve brushed against a stack of scrolls the councilman was holding. They slipped and fell.
"I'm sorry," Anastasia said immediately, kneeling to help. "I'm very sorry."
The councilman smiled kindly. "It's not your fault, my lady. Truly."
She handed the scrolls back, bowed again, and walked away without looking up.
The prince stood frozen.
Her eyes… they were lifeless. The girl who once smiled easily, who spoke with warmth and quiet courage, was gone. In her place was someone hollow, carefully stitched together by manners alone.
Something inside him cracked.
He realized then what he had done.
He had taken a blooming flower and crushed it with his own hands.
And for the first time, Prince Adrien felt completely helpless.
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SIDE NOTE: My heart hurts while writing this 😭
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