The Villainess Wants to Resign From Love

I woke up fully aware that my life had officially become a chaotic rom-com.

Step 1: Avoid romantic disasters.
Step 2: Avoid looking at Ronan.
Step 3: Do not—under any circumstances—swoon, blush, or melt into puddles of catastrophic feelings.

Step 3 was failing spectacularly.

Millie burst into my room like a glitter-covered tornado.

"Good morning, chaos magnet!" she cheered. "Newsflash: your Duke is asking about you at breakfast. And he's wearing that brooding face that's illegal in 12 kingdoms!"

"I—he—what?" I sputtered, nearly choking on my pillow.

"Exactly. And," she added, flipping through my journal, "he asked if you wanted to discuss... engagement formalities."

I froze. "Engage—WHAT?"

"Engagement," she said, grinning like she'd just set off fireworks in my skull. "Apparently, he wants to... plan ahead. You know. Strategically."

I leapt out of bed. "Strategically?! That's... that's—"

"A disaster?" Millie supplied.

"Yes!" I shouted. "Exactly that!"

.

.

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Breakfast was chaos. Ronan sat across from me, calm and devastatingly handsome, flipping through documents as if nothing had happened yesterday—or ever.

"I thought we should discuss the healing wards schedule," he said casually.

"Uh-huh," I muttered, stabbing my toast for emphasis. "Totally... professional..."

He smiled faintly. "Professional is overrated, don't you think?"

My internal organs screamed. "Science disagrees!"

"I wasn't asking Science," he said softly, leaning closer. "I was asking you."

I nearly dropped my fork. "I—I—"

"—don't answer yet?" he teased.

"Yes. Don't answer," I stammered. "Totally... ignoring your presence."

He chuckled. That low, warm sound that made my knees consider unionizing.

.

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After breakfast, I hid in the library, hoping to avoid what I was now officially calling Duke Disaster.

Of course, he found me immediately.

"I had a question," he said, leaning casually against a bookshelf. "About... us."

Us.
The word itself detonated in my brain.

"Uh... us?" I echoed. "We... what?"

"You know," he said softly. "You and me. I thought we could... start planning."

I blinked. "Planning?"

"Yes," he said, calmly dangerous. "The... future."

I tried to pivot. "I—I'm busy with—"

"Phase Two?" he teased, eyes glinting.

"I—Phase Three!" I yelled, slamming my notebook. "Phase Three is... ongoing!"

He laughed, and that laugh... it broke my resolve faster than any theoretical physics problem ever could.

.

.

.

Millie appeared again—apparently everywhere, always.

"Ohhh! Future wedding plans!" she squealed. "Should I bring the confetti, or is it too early?"

"I—Millie!" I shrieked. "Not helping!"

Ronan chuckled, leaning closer. "I think she's right," he said softly. "We should... consider it."

I groaned. "You are legally infuriating."

"And scientifically fascinating," he added.

I stared at him, helpless. "Do you ever stop being like this?"

"Not when it comes to you," he murmured.

I wanted to scream. And cry. And run. Simultaneously.

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Later, we walked in the courtyard, pretending to discuss "healing ward efficiencies," but I knew he could see straight through my flimsy scientific veneer.

"You're worried," he said.

"I am... conducting risk assessment," I said quickly.

"You're lying."

"No. Totally... not lying."

"You are."

"...Fine!" I admitted. "Maybe I'm... concerned about... wedding stuff."

He stopped in his tracks. "Wedding stuff?"

"Yes!" I shouted. "Totally professional concerns! You know... logistics, schedules,... cake."

"Cake?" he asked, amused.

"Yes!" I hissed. "Cake. Guests. Seating. Strategic... floral arrangements. Nothing personal!"

He smiled faintly. "Right. Totally not personal."

My pulse betrayed me. This is catastrophic.

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.

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Evening came, and I finally dared open my journal:

Day 18: Emotional containment failed. Subject officially compromised. Symptoms: swooning, blushes, irrational heartbeats, and involuntary cooperation with Duke Ardent's plans. Prognosis: doom.

Millie leaned over my shoulder. "You're ruined."

"Scientifically speaking, yes," I admitted.

"Personally?"

"...Also yes."

She grinned. "Then it's settled. You two are engaged... emotionally, at least."

I groaned, hiding my face. "If he knew how panicked I was, he'd laugh forever."

"Not if he already knows," Millie said.

I looked up. She was smirking. "Of course he knows. You're terrible at hiding things."

I sighed. "...He's going to be the end of me."

"Statistically inevitable," she said cheerfully.

I buried my face in my hands, but couldn't stop the small, helpless smile creeping across my face.

Because somehow... even through all the chaos, the heart-thumping disaster of Ronan Ardent, and the looming threat of actual engagement planning, I... didn't regret a single second.