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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Viella’s POV
Ugh. My head… I groaned and cracked one eye open
“Ow ow ow ow OW!” I whined, clutching my forehead like it personally betrayed me. “Did I drink bleach or wine? What the hell was in that glass last night?”
I tried to sit up and blinked. Wait.
This… was not my room.
Soft black sheets. Minimalist decor. Cold, silent air. Suspiciously expensive cologne in the air.
“OH NO.” I sat up so fast I saw stars. “I died again, didn’t I?” I whispered dramatically, palms flying to my cheeks. “I messed up the plot, got drunk, and the system killed me for ruining canon!”
Then I looked down. Wearing a plain white oversized t-shirt. A man’s t-shirt.
“…WHOSE SHIRT IS THIS?” My brain went straight to red alert.
I froze. “Oh my god,” I whispered. “Oh my god oh my god oh my—” I screamed into a pillow. “WHAT DID I DOOOO?!”
Did I confess?! Did I lick his face?! Did I STRIP?! WHY AM I WEARING A T-SHIRT THAT ISN’T MINE?!
I was on the verge of calling an exorcist for my own soul when the door creaked open.
Please don’t be Dante. Please don’t be Dante. Or worse—Alina. I can't survive another Saint Girl glare.
To my immense relief, it was just a maid. Young. Innocent. Carrying a tray. She bowed politely, as if I wasn’t dying of embarrassment.
“Good morning, Miss Viella. Sir instructed me to deliver these new pairs of clothes and breakfast once you woke up,” she said calmly. Then added, “He said you should freshen up, eat, and rest.”
Rest? REST?! No, ma’am. I’m going to REST IN PEACE if I stay here!
But before I could bolt for the window, I caught a whiff of something divine. Strawberries? Caramel drizzle? …Wait, was that crêpes?!
I peeked. It was a full tray of my favorites—strawberry pancakes, warm buttery croissants, fresh fruits, and even coffee with a lil heart in the foam.
Tears gathered in my eyes.
I looked at the clothes. Then at the food. Then at the door.
“…I mean… running away on an empty stomach is unhealthy, right?” I picked up a fork. “Just one bite… okay maybe two… then I’ll flee”
I bit into the strawberry pancake and actually moaned. “…Oh my god. If this is what dying feels like, maybe it’s fine.”
And that’s how I ended up cross-legged on Dante’s bed, wearing his shirt, devouring breakfast, and plotting the most stealthy escape in mafia history.
