Resetting The Villainess

I was going to die.

Not soon — not yet — but the thought looped endlessly in my mind like a cursed song.
The moment I heard Elle Fenwyn’s name, the memory of how I was supposed to die came back in perfect, merciless detail.

A royal trial.
A velvet rope around my wrists.
The Crown Prince’s voice — cold, resolute — condemning me for poisoning his beloved saint.

Then the guillotine.

It wasn’t even quick in the story. The author had made it poetic: “The crimson rose of Valeria wilted under the dawn’s first light.”

Poetic. Disgustingly so.

I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady my heartbeat. I couldn’t go through that again — not the humiliation, not the fear, not the helplessness.

No. This time, I would rewrite everything.

---

I paced across my room, silk skirts rustling like whispers of doom.
Servants passed by outside the door, whispering about tonight’s royal banquet — the very one that would celebrate Elle’s “miraculous healing.” The first domino of the story’s tragedy.

In the book, this was where Seraphina Valeria’s downfall began.
She insulted the heroine publicly out of jealousy. The court turned against her.
Then came scandal, loss of favor, exile — and finally, the execution.

I grabbed the edge of my vanity, glaring at my reflection.

“Not this time,” I whispered. “I’m not dying for anyone’s plotline.”

I would avoid the heroine, avoid the prince, avoid everything.
I just needed a plan.

---

The problem was, my survival depended entirely on other people — my father’s goodwill, my brother’s control over family finances, the emperor’s favor.

If the Valeria name fell, I’d fall with it.

I needed independence. My own source of wealth. My own power.
Because even in this world, the rules hadn’t changed — money and influence were the real magic.

I sat at the desk, tapping my fingers against the polished wood, trying to think like Kathy again.

If this were a business case, I’d start with an analysis:
Goal: Avoid death and secure comfort.
Risks: Public scandal, political enemies, divine prophecy.
Solution: Build assets, gain leverage, stay unkillable.

I smirked despite myself. “Easier said than done.”

---

My door swung open without warning.

“Planning another tantrum, little sister?”

Adrian.

He entered with that infuriating calm he always carried — composed, polished, perfect. Even his shadow walked straighter than most men.

“What do you want?” I asked, too tired for pretense.

“To make sure you don’t embarrass the family tonight.” His tone was pleasant, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “The Crown Prince’s banquet is important. If you insult anyone again, Father won’t be able to save you.”

I clenched my jaw. “I wasn’t planning to insult anyone.”

“Oh? That would be a first.”

He circled me slowly, like a hawk eyeing prey. “You seem… different lately. Calmer. Almost tolerable. Should I assume it’s guilt, or did you finally realize you can’t buy affection with tantrums?”

His words stung sharper than I expected. I looked away.

He sighed, tapping his gloved fingers against the desk. “Listen carefully. The Valeria name stands because Father keeps it steady. Without him, you’d be nothing but a spoiled brat with a ruined reputation. Don’t forget that.”

“I don’t,” I said quietly.

He frowned — maybe because I didn’t argue back this time. He wasn’t used to that.

After a moment, he turned toward the door. “Good. Keep your head down tonight. For once, make yourself useful.”

He left without another word.

---

I exhaled slowly, letting the anger burn through me.

In my old life, I’d been used by classmates, taken for granted, dismissed.
Now, even in this gilded world, it was happening again — this time with servants and noble titles attached.

Maybe the faces changed, but the hierarchy never did.

If I wanted freedom, I’d have to earn it.
And that meant playing their game better than they ever could.

---

I called for my lady’s maid, Elen. “Bring me ledgers from the southern trade houses. And the records of Valeria’s shipments from the last season.”

She blinked, startled. “M-My lady? You mean the financial documents?”

“Yes. I want to review them.”

“B-but… His Grace handles—”

“Then tell His Grace his daughter is learning.” I smiled sweetly. “Do I need to remind you who I am?”

The poor girl nearly tripped over her skirt as she rushed to obey.

I didn’t actually know how trade in this world worked — yet. But knowledge was power, and power was safety.

If I could build something of my own — an enterprise, a secret income stream — then I’d never be cornered. Not by my father, not by Adrian, not by the Crown Prince or the Church itself.

I would buy my freedom if I had to.

---

As the sun dipped low, the manor came alive with preparation.
Servants carried gowns, polished carriages, lit chandeliers. The scent of roses and perfume filled the air.

In my chambers, maids surrounded me, fastening jewels and smoothing crimson silk. My hair shimmered like liquid night under the candlelight.

One maid whispered, “You look like the late Duchess tonight, my lady.”

For a moment, my reflection almost smiled back. Maybe I did.

Then I thought of my mother’s portrait — soft eyes, warm smile — and wondered what she’d think if she saw me now: reborn, terrified, pretending to be someone worth loving.

---

By the time the carriage rolled toward the imperial palace, my heart was pounding. The streets of Solaria shimmered with lanterns, the air thick with perfume and laughter.

Outside the window, the towering spires of the palace came into view — gold against the dusk sky, beautiful and suffocating.

This was where the story began.

Somewhere inside those halls waited the prince who once adored me — and the saint who would replace me.

But not tonight.

Tonight, I wasn’t the villainess on trial or the fool in love.
I was Lady Seraphina Valeria — and I would walk into that ballroom with my head held high, no matter what history said about me.

If fate wanted a tragedy, it would have to fight for it.