The morning sun filtered through the curtains of Isabella's chamber, casting a soft glow across the lavish room. As a princess, Isabella's duties were relatively straightforward—attending royal banquets, overseeing ceremonial events, entertaining foreign guests, and occasionally taking part in charitable appearances to uphold the family's reputation. Yet, when she wasn't tied up with such obligations, her time was largely her own.
At this moment, she lay sprawled on the plush bed, idly scrolling through the phone that belonged to the villainess whose life she now occupied. A sense of disconnection lingered as she flicked through images and messages, remnants of a person she no longer was.
Her thoughts drifted to Prince Theodore, the man who, in the original novel, despised the villainess for her role in Lydia's schemes. This would soon be her first proper meeting with him, and she couldn't shake the uneasy thought: Would this meeting set the stage for a different relationship between them? Would her rewritten fate also change her connection to the prince?
Isabella let out a conflicted sigh. She wasn't sure if she wanted things to change that much. The prospect of forming a bond with the prince—a man she only knew as a fictional character in her past life—was daunting. A blush crept up her cheeks as her parents' words resurfaced. They had subtly encouraged her to see Theodore as a potential match, hinting at his qualifications as a "befitting suitor."
The mere idea of courting the prince made her heart race, leaving her feeling giddy for reasons she couldn't fully comprehend. Was this nervous excitement because of his role in the story—or something more? She shook her head, trying to banish the thought.
Her main focus was clear: she was here to rewrite the villainess's tragic fate, to prevent her untimely death in the fire that consumed her future. She couldn't afford distractions like love or marriage. "I'll just do my best to steer the story in a good direction," she muttered under her breath. The rest will have to fall into place on its own.
Her musings were interrupted by a soft knock at her door. Sitting up, she called out, "Come in," her voice carrying the practiced poise of royalty. The door opened to reveal Queen Eleanor, her mother, dressed impeccably in a silk gown adorned with subtle embroidery.
"Isabella, darling, I hope I'm not disturbing you?" the queen asked, stepping gracefully into the room.
"Of course not, Mother," Isabella replied, setting aside her phone and straightening her posture.
Eleanor smiled. "Good. I wanted to let you know that we'll be heading out shortly to one of the high-end boutiques in the city. We need to select your wardrobe for the upcoming ball."
"The ball?" Isabella echoed, her mind scrambling to recall any mention of it.
"Yes," Eleanor confirmed. "It's in a week. You'll need to make an impression, especially with Theodore attending. Appearances are everything, my dear."
Isabella nodded, her heart skipping a beat at the mention of the prince. "Of course. I'll get ready right away."
"Good," Eleanor said, her tone warm but firm. "I'll meet you downstairs."
After the queen left, Isabella quickly changed into a simple yet elegant day dress and joined her mother in the grand foyer. As they discussed the details of their outing, Lydia appeared, her entrance perfectly timed to suggest she had overheard their conversation.
"Oh, are you going shopping?" Lydia asked sweetly, clasping her hands in front of her as though she were a child begging for a treat. "That sounds so delightful! Isabella, do you think I could come along? I've been meaning to pick something for myself, and it would be such a joy to have your input."
The sincerity in Lydia's tone was cloying, almost syrupy. Isabella caught the slight tightening of her mother's expression, though Eleanor said nothing.
Isabella forced a smile, the image of perfect decorum. "Of course, Lydia. The more, the merrier."
The agreement wasn't born of Lydia's coaxing but of strategy. Keeping her enemy close ensured she could monitor her every move. With a nod from Eleanor, the trio departed in a royal carriage, the journey filled with polite chatter.
When they arrived at the boutique, the air inside was perfumed with luxury. Rows of exquisite gowns lined the walls, and attendants greeted them with deference. Eleanor led the way, her discerning eye immediately scanning the selection.
As Isabella examined a midnight-blue gown, a commotion erupted at the far end of the boutique. A young noblewoman, clearly upset, was arguing with one of the attendants. Lydia, ever the opportunist, drifted toward the scene, her expression feigning concern.
"What's happening?" Isabella asked as she joined them.
The noblewoman turned, her tear-streaked face flushing with embarrassment. "They've refused to sell me the gown I reserved! They claim someone else offered more for it!"
Lydia's eyes gleamed with interest. "How awful! Isabella, surely we can help?"
Isabella's gaze fell on the gown in question—a breathtaking piece of crimson silk with intricate gold embroidery. It was stunning, a true masterpiece. But as she inquired further, she learned the other buyer was a prominent duchess who had offered triple the price.
The situation placed Isabella in an impossible position. Siding with the noblewoman risked offending the duchess, while staying silent would tarnish her reputation as a princess who valued fairness.
Eleanor approached, her presence commanding attention. "Isabella, what's the issue?"
Isabella explained, her tone steady despite the tension. After a moment of thought, she turned to the attendant. "Is there no way to replicate the gown? Surely a designer of this caliber can produce another, equally exquisite piece?"
The attendant hesitated. "It would take time, Your Highness."
"How long?" Isabella pressed.
"Three weeks, perhaps."
Isabella turned to the noblewoman. "If you're willing to wait, I'll personally ensure the gown is delivered to you free of charge."
The noblewoman's expression softened, though disappointment lingered. It's practically not fair right? The duchess is clearly at fault..I can't give into her"
"And how dare you compare or insult me?" An imposing voice came through, as a dignified lady stepped through, the boutiques door.