It was the smell of roses that first registered in her senses—a cloying sweetness, almost suffocating in its intensity. Her head throbbed as though she had been dunked into an ice-cold lake and dragged back to shore only to be tossed again. The next sensation was the softness of silk beneath her fingers, an unfamiliar weight draping her form.

She opened her eyes to a world that wasn't her own.

A gilded canopy loomed above her, embroidered with golden vines on crimson fabric. The walls were painted in hues of ivory, their edges trimmed with opulent carvings of mythical beasts. Everything in the room screamed wealth and excess, a stark contrast to the sparse apartment she had fallen asleep in the night before.

Her heart raced. What is this? Where am I?

The questions echoed in her mind as she pushed herself upright. Her limbs felt foreign—slender and dainty, far removed from the body she had known her entire life. She glanced down, her breath catching in her throat. The pale hands she saw were not hers.

"Miss Lila, you're awake!"

The voice startled her. She turned to see a young maid rushing toward her, a tray of steaming tea in hand. The maid's eyes glistened with relief, her delicate features framed by a simple bonnet.

Lila.

The name struck her like a thunderclap. Memories that weren't hers surged forward, unbidden and overwhelming. They came in flashes: a noble family, a cruel fiancé, and a fiery death that marked the end of the villainess in the novel she had read just a week ago.

"No, no, no," she whispered, clutching her head as the truth dawned on her. "This can't be happening. I'm… I'm in the novel. I'm her."

Lila Argent. The infamous villainess destined for betrayal, isolation, and a fiery demise.

Her chest heaved as panic clawed at her, but she forced herself to breathe, to think. This wasn't just a bad dream. The opulent room, the maid's concerned gaze, the aching clarity of her senses—it was all too real.

How did this happen? Why am I here?

Her mind raced through the events of the novel. She had loved the book, devoured every page, even if she despised the fate of Lila Argent. The villainess had been nothing more than a stepping stone for the adopted sister, Aria, and the crown prince, Ciel. No one mourned her. No one cared.

But here she was, thrust into the role of the doomed villainess three years before her death.

A strange calm washed over her as realization set in. The story hadn't yet reached the point of no return. Aria had just been adopted into the Argent family, and Ciel was still her betrothed. The world had yet to turn against her.

"Miss Lila, are you alright?" The maid's voice broke through her thoughts, tentative and soft.

Lila—no, she—took a deep breath, forcing a smile that she hoped didn't betray the storm brewing inside her. "I'm fine, just… a little disoriented."

The maid hesitated, then nodded. "You must be tired after last night's celebration. Shall I bring breakfast here, or would you prefer to join the family in the dining hall?"

The family. Her mind conjured images of the duke and duchess, Lila's cold and distant parents who would one day lock her in a burning room. And her brothers—Callum and Adrian, who had turned their backs on her in favor of Aria.

She straightened her shoulders. The villainess had played her role to perfection, antagonizing everyone around her. But she wouldn't make the same mistakes.

"No need," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "I'll join them."

If she was to survive this new reality, she couldn't waste any time. The story might have been written, but that didn't mean it couldn't be rewritten.

As she stepped out of bed, a strange determination burned within her. She would not be the villainess they expected. She would not burn.

This time, the story will be mine to tell.