Vivien never thought her favorite mafia novel would become her prison-until she woke up inside it, trapped as the villainess fiancée who was supposed to die.
She wasn't the heroine. She was the cruel woman who tormented Alina, the girl sold to Dante...
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By the time she returned to the dining room, her seat was still empty—untouched.
Not out of respect. Just pure indifference.
Everyone else was finishing their food. Plates mostly cleared. The wine had been poured. The laughter had faded. The tension, however, remained like leftover grease on the silverware.
She stood there in silence, her heels softly echoing as she walked back to her chair.
No one looked up.
No one said anything.
Except—
"Sit," her father commanded, not even glancing at her. "And apologize."
She sat slowly, staring at her untouched food.
They weren't even going to wait for me?
She looked around.
Dante sipping his wine in silence. Alina awkwardly nibbling on salad. Her mother giving her the side-eye. Her sister—oh, her sister—already on her third glass of wine, smirking like she'd just watched her favorite soap opera live.
That's when it hit her.
They didn't care. Not even a little.
Not about the truth.
Not about what actually happened.
Not about her.
No wonder the original Vielle was so cold. So sharp. So... cruel.
She hadn't been born that way. She'd been made that way. Carved into it by dinners like this. People like this.
Her jaw clenched. Her chest burned.
Her father cleared his throat. "We're waiting."
And she snapped.
Slowly, she picked up her wine glass.
"So, Father," she said sweetly, eyes burning. "You're making me apologize... for something I didn't do. And no one in this room will ever believe me anyway?"
She swirled the wine.
"Then... I suppose I should just make it fair."
And before anyone could react—
She dumped the wine over her own head.
Gasps.
The red liquid soaked through her gown, her hair, dripping down like blood on velvet.
"Oh no," she said with mock shock. "Look! I'm wet too! Just like the poor dear maid. Justice is served!"
Alina's mouth opened slightly. Dante stared, glass frozen halfway to his lips.
Her sister clapped once, slowly. "Bravo."
But she wasn't done.
She picked up the glass again—shattered it against the side of her plate.
