The maids moved like elegant shadows around me, lacing up the emerald-green gown with gold thread that shimmered every time I breathed. The fabric felt too soft, too expensive, like it belonged to someone who never spilled instant ramen on her hoodie at 3 a.m.
I stared at my reflection. Fiery red hair pinned in loose curls, fire-opal eyes that glowed a little too brightly, and that tiny beauty mark under my left eye that made the whole face look both innocent and dangerous.
Okay, Ava. Or Emily. Whoever I am now. Breakfast is the first death flag. Original Emily slips poison into Logan's tea while smiling like a snake. Everyone cheers when she gets caught later.
My stomach did a nervous flip. Not from fear of dying well, mostly not, but from the terrifying realization that the cinnamon-roll duke with those warm golden eyes was waiting downstairs.
And I had the biggest, stupidest crush on him.
"Lady Emily, you look… different today," one maid said softly, tilting her head. "Almost… kinder."
I forced a bright smile. "Maybe I had a good dream. Let's not keep the young master waiting."
The rose garden was breathtaking. Sunlight filtered through trellises heavy with pink and white blooms. A crystal table sat under a white canopy, set with delicate porcelain and silver that probably cost more than my entire old life. The air smelled like fresh roses and warm honey.
Logan was already there.
He rose politely when I approached. Tall, dark hair slightly tousled by the breeze, golden eyes that caught the light like melted sunlight. His white shirt and dark coat made him look effortlessly noble, exactly like the dense but endlessly kind male lead I'd simped over for months.
My traitor heart skipped.
"Good morning, Lady Emily," he said, voice low and steady. There was a faint politeness in it, the kind you use with someone you don't quite trust but have to be civil with.
"Morning, Lord Logan," I replied, curtsying with what I hoped was graceful energy instead of my usual clumsy flop. "I hope the garden is to your liking today."
He blinked once. Slowly. Like my tone had short-circuited something in his brain.
We sat. A silver teapot steamed gently between us. My sleeve felt heavier, because the small hidden vial of poison was still there, exactly where original Emily kept it.
Don't touch it. Don't even look at it.
I reached for the teapot instead, pouring his cup with careful hands. Two sugar cubes. A tiny swirl of cream. The way the webtoon always described his secret preference.
Logan's golden eyes widened a fraction. "You remembered how I take it."
I almost dropped the pot. Crap. Original Emily never cared about his preferences.
I laughed lightly, trying to sound airy and not like a fangirl who had reread his character profile a hundred times. "I… had a strange dream last night. It made me think about small kindnesses. Life feels too short for bitter tea, don't you think?"
He took the cup, fingers brushing mine for half a second. Warm. Steady. A tiny spark shot up my arm and straight into my chest.
Slow burn. Do not combust on the spot.
We talked about safe things, the upcoming spring ball, the blooming roses, how the academy was treating the heroine (sweet Marianne, who was apparently excelling and being her usual sparkling self). Every word I spoke was light, every gesture soft. No sharp remarks. No hidden venom.
But every time our eyes met, Logan looked a little more… curious. Like he was seeing a puzzle he suddenly wanted to solve.
Then the head maid brought a fresh tray of scones. As she refilled the teapot, I caught the faint suspicious shimmer on the new pot's handle, the poison had been swapped in.
My pulse spiked. Not today.
I "accidentally " knocked my elbow against the teapot. Hot tea splashed across the table, everywhere except on Logan.
"Oh no!" I gasped, jumping up with genuine panic (mostly because I'd almost burned my own hand). "I'm so clumsy this morning! Are you alright?"
Logan caught my wrist gently to steady me. His touch was careful, almost protective. Those golden eyes searched my face, soft and wondering.
"You really are different today," he
murmured. Not accusing. Just… noticing.
"You smiled at me. And you tried to serve me tea the way I like it. The old Emily would have let it burn my tongue and laughed."
My cheeks heated. I couldn't help the small, nervous laugh that escaped. "Maybe I'm tired of being cold. Or maybe the roses are making me soft."
For a moment, the garden felt quieter. Just the two of us, rose petals drifting lazily, his fingers still lightly around my wrist.
He didn't let go right away.
Instead, the corner of his mouth lifted, just the tiniest, almost shy smile.
My villainess heart did a full somersault.
Oh no. This slow burn is already dangerous.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, one chaotic thought screamed louder than the rest:
I think I just dodged the first death flag… and accidentally made the male lead look at me like I might be worth knowing.