A dull ache throbbed in Beatrice's skull as she stirred awake, the lingering weight of exhaustion pressing down on her chest. Her eyelids felt heavy, her limbs strangely light, and for a brief moment, she thought she was still in the hospital.
Then she noticed something strange.
The sheets under her fingertips were impossibly soft. The air smelled faintly of fresh flowers and something sweet, nothing like the sterile, antiseptic scent of the hospital room she had spent months in.
Beatrice's brows furrowed. What the hell?
Her bed was never this comfortable. In fact, the last thing she remembered was… dying.
Her fingers twitched as she slowly sat up, her heart pounding harder with each passing second. Something wasn't right.
Her hands felt different. Her skin was softer, smoother. She looked down and froze.
These weren't her hands.
Panic flooded her veins as she yanked the heavy blankets off her body. She was wearing some kind of delicate silk nightgown, the fabric cool against her skin. Her legs, perfectly smooth and perfectly healthy, moved without effort. No IVs, no hospital gown, no frail body barely holding on.
She wasn't sick anymore. She wasn't dying.
She wasn't even… herself.
Before she could fully process it, the door to her room burst open.
"My lady!" A frantic voice cried.
Beatrice whipped her head toward the door as a girl in a maid's uniform rushed inside, her face pale with panic.
The maid stopped in her tracks as their eyes met. Then, to Beatrice's absolute horror, she burst into tears.
"You're awake! Oh, thank the heavens!" The girl clasped her hands together, practically sobbing.
Beatrice blinked. Then blinked again. Who? What?
"Uh… yeah?" she said cautiously.
The maid let out a loud sniffle before rushing forward, grabbing her hand like they were long-lost sisters.
"We were so worried, my lady!" she wailed. "The doctor said you collapsed because of shock! Lord Magnus was about to kill someone! Duke Conrad nearly sent a battalion to the palace! And Lady Ethel—"
"Wait." Beatrice held up her free hand. "Who the hell is Magnus?"
The maid stopped mid-rant, her teary eyes widening in horror. "M-my lady? You don't recognize Lord Magnus?"
Beatrice opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. Lord Magnus? Duke Conrad? Lady Ethel?
The names rattled in her skull like a distant memory. Like something she had heard before but couldn't quite place.
Her gaze darted around the room. Expensive furniture. Elegant decor. A massive full-body mirror standing in the corner.
A creeping sense of unease slithered down her spine. She turned toward the mirror, her breath hitching as she saw her own reflection.
Long, silky dark hair. Smooth, delicate features. Large, striking eyes.
This wasn't her face.
The realization slammed into her like a truck.
Oh. Oh, no.
A wave of memories rushed in all at once. The last thing she remembered before dying, the voice of her best friend reading her favorite novel aloud. The illustrations. The names. The storyline.
The villainess.
Beatrice Da Ville.
Her entire body locked up.
I've been reincarnated… as the villainess?!
Her breathing hitched. This wasn't just any novel, this was the novel. The one where Beatrice Da Ville was hated by the entire kingdom. The one where Beatrice terrorized the heroine, Johanna Lockhart. The one where Beatrice was executed for treason.
Beatrice clutched her head. I'M GOING TO DIE.
"My lady?" The maid's voice wavered. "Are you feeling unwell? Should I call for the doctor—"
"No," Beatrice said immediately. She forced herself to take a deep breath. Okay. Panicking is not an option.
Think. How far into the story am I?
Before she could ask anything, the maid continued rambling. "His Highness, Crown Prince Francois, has requested the presence of all noble maidens at the palace selection. We were preparing your gowns before your collapse, and—"
Beatrice stopped breathing.
The palace selection?! The start of the story?!
She nearly screamed.
This was the worst possible moment to wake up in this body. The palace selection was where the heroine, Johanna, won everyone's favor and Beatrice began her downfall.
This was the event where the royal family, terrified of the Da Ville family's power, decided to give Beatrice a fair chance at competing for the prince's hand.
This was the event that led to her execution.
Beatrice swallowed hard. Oh, I am so screwed.
The maid looked nervous. "My lady…? You're gripping the sheets rather tightly…"
Beatrice snapped out of her thoughts and immediately forced a smile. "I'm fine."
She was not fine.
The maid hesitated. "Should I inform Lord Magnus that you're awake?"
Magnus. Her 'brother.' A war-mongering menace who was ready to burn down the kingdom in the original novel after Beatrice was executed.
"…No need," Beatrice muttered. "Let's not stress him out." Or give him reasons to go on a murder spree.
The maid brightened. "Understood, my lady! I shall let the household know you're recovering!"
As the girl hurried out, Beatrice exhaled shakily, rubbing her temples.
Okay. Step one: Don't get executed.
Step two: Avoid the palace selection at all costs.
Step three: If step two fails, stay away from Prince Francois.
Simple plan. Very easy.
Then the door slammed open again.
A tall, intimidating young man with silver hair and murder in his eyes stormed in.
"You're awake," he said coldly.
Beatrice froze. Magnus Da Ville.
Her war-criminal brother.
She stared at him. He stared back. The tension could shatter glass.
Then Magnus crossed his arms and growled.
"Who the hell made you cry?"
Beatrice blinked. Huh?!