Elara had never realized how heavy being rich could feel. Literally. The dress her maid had squeezed her into was the size of a small circus tent, complete with more lace than a bridal shop. It took three of them just to lace her up, and even now, as she stood in front of the mirror, she wondered if she'd ever be able to breathe again.
"Is it normal to feel like I'm being strangled by fabric?" she muttered as one of the maids adjusted the corset.
"Pardon, Lady Seraphina?" The maid looked up, confused.
Elara cleared her throat, plastering on her best noblewoman expression. "I said, uh, splendid work. Very tight. Just the way I like it."
The maid smiled. "Thank you, my lady."
Elara looked back at her reflection. The woman staring back at her didn't look like a villain. She looked like a queen about to attend the most lavish ball of the century. If she wasn't trying so hard not to faint from the corset's grip on her lungs, she might've even appreciated the transformation.
"Right, let's get this over with," she muttered under her breath, steeling herself for what came next.
Her maid, Cora, led her through the vast, echoing halls of the Devereaux estate—emphasis on vast. The place was more like a castle than a mansion, with high, arched ceilings and more gold trim than a luxury watch. Every corner was dripping with wealth, and it would've been impressive if it weren't so absurdly intimidating.
"Lady Seraphina, your father is waiting in the dining hall for breakfast," Cora chirped, oblivious to the growing pit in Elara's stomach.
Right, Elara thought, panic bubbling up again. Breakfast with her—no, my father. Who, if I recall correctly, is about as pleasant as a thunderstorm at a picnic.
In the novel, Seraphina's father was Duke Devereaux, a cold, calculating man who cared more about power and status than his own daughter. He was part of the reason Seraphina had turned out to be such a nightmare in the original plot. And now, Elara had to sit across from him and pretend she hadn't transmigrated into his daughter's body. No big deal. She just had to act like a villainess who wasn't secretly plotting everyone's doom. Simple.
"Okay, no big deal, just breakfast," Elara whispered to herself as they approached the doors. "People have breakfast all the time. It's fine. You can do this."
Cora opened the doors, and Elara stepped inside.
The dining hall looked more like something out of a Renaissance painting. The table could easily seat thirty people, but there were only two places set at the far end. Her father sat there, dressed immaculately in a dark coat with a high collar that made him look even more severe than Elara had imagined. His eyes, cold and calculating, locked onto her the moment she entered the room.
"Seraphina," he said in a voice that could've frozen the sun. "You're late."
And here we go, she thought, forcing herself to smile. "Good morning, Father. My apologies, I was... adjusting my attire."
He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "See that it doesn't happen again."
Oh, he's delightful, Elara thought sarcastically, crossing the room with as much grace as she could muster in a dress that weighed more than a boulder. She sat down, trying not to look as out of place as she felt.
The silence was thick enough to cut with a knife as a servant brought in trays of food—eggs, pastries, fruit, all laid out in the most ridiculously elegant fashion. Elara reached for a croissant, determined to at least enjoy something about this morning.
Duke Devereaux's eyes narrowed. "I've heard troubling reports, Seraphina."
Elara froze mid-bite, the buttery croissant halfway to her mouth. "Troubling reports?" she repeated, trying not to sound as nervous as she suddenly felt.
"Yes." His voice was cold, his gaze piercing. "Your behavior at the royal garden party yesterday."
Her heart skipped a beat. Royal garden party? What garden party? She had no idea what Seraphina had done the day before because, well, she hadn't been Seraphina until this morning!
"I... was simply engaging with the guests, Father," Elara said, trying to sound as haughty as possible. She took a tiny, careful bite of the croissant, hoping to buy herself time.
Duke Devereaux's gaze didn't waver. "Engaging? Is that what you call it? A member of the royal court informed me that you insulted Lady Pennington to her face and nearly caused an incident."
Elara choked on the croissant.
"Excuse me?" she coughed, desperately trying to keep her cool.
The duke's eyes were like ice. "You heard me. Whatever games you think you're playing, I suggest you end them now. The Devereaux name is not one to be tarnished by childish antics."
Elara could feel sweat forming on her forehead. Great. I've been Seraphina for less than 24 hours, and I'm already in trouble for something I didn't even do.
"I'll... be more careful in the future," she said carefully, nodding like she was deeply considering his words. "You have my word."
He didn't look convinced, but he gave a curt nod and returned his attention to his breakfast. Elara, however, had completely lost her appetite.
As she pushed her plate away, Duke Devereaux quietly glanced at her, a small frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. For a moment, it looked like he wanted to say something, but instead, he adjusted the cuffs of his coat and cleared his throat.
"Eliza," he called to the maid, who stepped forward swiftly, "ensure Seraphina's afternoon schedule is cleared. I'll be meeting with her tutor myself later today."
Elara blinked in surprise. Her tutor? In the book, Seraphina was known for being independently educated by the finest minds, rarely needing additional lessons.
"Father," she started hesitantly, "that won't be necessary—"
"On the contrary," he interrupted, his tone calm but firm. "It seems you've been... distracted as of late. I want to ensure you're properly prepared for your future responsibilities."
Elara barely managed to suppress her groan. Responsibilities? More like impending doom. But what really struck her was the slight softness that flickered across his face when he spoke. It wasn't quite affection, but something close—something that didn't quite match the ice-cold exterior he was famous for.
"Very well," she muttered, trying to hide her confusion. Was he worried about her? No, couldn't be. In the book, Duke Devereaux was all business, all ambition. But now… she wasn't so sure.
As soon as breakfast was over, she practically fled the dining hall, her heart pounding. This is bad. This is really bad.
Cora was waiting outside the door, her usual cheerful expression in place. "Lady Seraphina, you have an appointment this morning with Lord Valen. Shall I prepare your carriage?"
Elara stopped dead in her tracks. "Lord Valen?"
"Yes, my lady," Cora said, oblivious to Elara's growing horror. "The lord arranged for a private meeting with you this morning. Something about a business matter."
Elara's brain scrambled for information. Lord Valen. Lord Valen... Wait—Aldric Theron Valen? The mysterious, super-rich nobleman who stayed out of court politics but secretly controlled half the kingdom?
The very same Aldric Theron Valen who, in the novel, had been one of the key players in Seraphina's downfall.
"Of course," Elara muttered under her breath. "Because breakfast with my terrifying father wasn't enough. Now I get to have a meeting with the guy who ruins my life."
As Cora bustled off to prepare the carriage, Elara stood frozen in place, contemplating her life choices. Her first day as a villainess was off to a rocky start, and somehow, she had a feeling it was only going to get worse.