Lightning streaked across the sky of the capital, Oakhaven, tearing through the dead of night. Thunder roared an instant later, as if intent on shaking the very stone walls of the Winter Palace.
Inside the vacant room, the tension was more suffocating than the storm outside.
Lillian de Valois was pinned against the edge of an oak table by the window. Behind her was the bite of cold glass; before her was a broad chest and the searing, oppressive breath of Crown Prince Alistair von Hapsburg. His deep blue eyes were now shot through with veins of red, a murderous aura enveloping Lillian as if to choke the life out of her.
"Lily, even now, do you still choose him?" Alistair's voice was hoarse, thick with a fury he could no longer suppress.
Lillian didn't flinch. Instead, a cold smile played on her lips. She slowly raised her hand, her long, chilled fingertips grazing Alistair's bare chest. She could feel his pulse, erratic, frantic, and fueled by a desperate refusal to let go.
"And why, exactly, should I choose you?" Lillian tilted her head, her tone dripping with nonchalant mockery.
Thunder exploded outside again, illuminating Lillian's angelic face for a fleeting second. Her retort was like a bucket of ice water splashed onto the future monarch's pride.
Alistair's arm tightened around her waist, so hard that Lillian felt a twinge of pain. But then, like an exhausted beast, he slumped his head onto her shoulder.
His rigid composure shattered completely, replaced by a despairing whisper: "I truly don't know what to do with you anymore, Lily."
Lillian remained silent, her gaze drifting toward the white veil of rain outside the window. She was unmoved. She understood this man all too well. Alistair didn't love her. What he was clinging to was merely the wounded ego of a man who had always had everything, except for the heart of the woman he once held in contempt.
How ridiculous. Since they were children, Alistair had never spared her a single kind look. No matter how much the original Lillian had poured her soul out or how many things she had done for him, all she ever received in return was cold indifference.
And why? Because in the world of this reverse harem novel, Lillian de Valois was born to be the Villainess, the stepping stone for the Saintess Celestia's glory.
And this damn life of hers had actually begun ten years ago…
***
Ten years ago, my world had no magic, no palaces, and certainly no handsome yet delusional men like Alistair.
Back then, I was just an ordinary office worker, drowning in endless deadlines and overtime. I remember collapsing at my desk after my third cup of coffee that night. When I opened my eyes, I didn't see the familiar flickering fluorescent lights of the office, but a soaring ceiling adorned with intricate gold-leaf moldings.
I was utterly shell-shocked to find myself in the body of a ten-year-old child.
It took a long time before I gathered enough courage to walk to the full-length mirror. Reflected there was a girl of such surreal beauty it felt wrong. Her auburn hair flowed like small ripples of flame, and her eyes, though brilliant with the same hue, held a sharp intelligence that didn't belong to a child. She looked like a vivid fire in the middle of a dark night, heartstoppingly beautiful, yet dangerous.
The door creaked open, and a maid in a classic uniform stepped in.
Seeing me standing there, she bowed respectfully. "Lady Lillian, you're finally awake?"
My name is Lillian?
The shock was so violent I felt the ground give way beneath my feet. My head spun as memories from a past life surged in like a flood. Lillian de Valois? The Villainess from the novel Light of the Saintess? The one who would be betrayed by those she loved most, stripped of her title, and eventually meet a gruesome end at the hands of an angry mob?
"No... this can't be..." I muttered, clutching my head.
Before waking up, I was still worrying about this month's financial reports. How could a single night's sleep turn me into a sacrificial lamb in a trashy romance novel?
I didn't belong here, I came from a strange, far-off place. The sheer agitation made my breath come in sharp, ragged gasps. My vision blurred, and before I could process anything else, I collapsed.
The last thing I heard was the maid's panicked scream: "My Lady! Lady Lillian!"
What followed was a long stretch of days lost in darkness. I ran a relentless high fever; Lillian's small body couldn't withstand the conflict between two souls. I drifted in a haze, teetering between consciousness and dreams, the world around me reduced to fragments of sound.
I heard a woman sobbing, likely Lillian's mother.
I heard the deep, commanding voice of a man ordering the doctor to save his daughter at all costs.
The hurried footsteps of servants, the clinking of medical tools.
And then, there was another voice.
A child's voice clear and bright, yet laced with arrogance and a hint of confusion: "Hey, Lily. Don't you dare die. If you die, who's going to chase after me and annoy me?"
At the time, I didn't know who that boy was. I only felt a small, slightly trembling hand gripping mine. In my delirium, I wanted to scream that I wasn't their Lillian, that I wanted to go back to my cramped office.
But fate had already made its move. When the fever finally broke and I opened my eyes to see my small, soft hands again, I knew there was no turning back.
I had become Lillian de Valois.
And if this novel wants me to die a miserable death just to serve as a backdrop for the Saintess. then I'm sorry, but I won't be following the script. If the world wants to see me as a villainess, then I will be the most clear-headed, most liberated villainess they have ever seen.
Little did I know that as I began to let go and live for myself, the pawns in the Saintess's game would start to veer off their original tracks all on their own.