Rain fell like mourning tears over the kingdom of Elondria, washing the blood from the palace courtyard. The air was thick with the stench of smoke, steel, and betrayal. And at the center of it all, chained and kneeling in the mud, was Lady Evelyne Saren of House Virell, the woman they all called the villainess.
Once adorned in silk and jewels, she now wore a tattered execution gown, her auburn hair tangled and soaked. Her green eyes—once sharp enough to wound—were dull, defeated.
Trumpets wailed.
From the marble steps of the royal dais, Crown Prince Kaelion stepped forward in full ceremonial armor. The man she had once loved. The man who had ordered her death.
"Lady Evelyne Virell," he proclaimed, his voice thunderous despite the storm. "You are hereby sentenced to death for high treason, conspiracy against the crown, and the attempted murder of Princess Lyria Thorne."
The crowd roared in approval. The people always hated her. She was too cold, too ambitious, too powerful. The villainess who dared to walk among royals with her head high.
Evelyne lifted her chin.
"Do it," she said bitterly. "Play your part, Your Highness."
Kael flinched.
He didn't speak again. Instead, he nodded once. The executioner raised his blade.
As the steel flashed through the air, Evelyne thought only one thing:
If I could live again… I'd burn this kingdom before letting them destroy me.
But death… had other plans.
Rebirth
Evelyne gasped awake.
The scent of lavender oil and parchment filled her lungs. She blinked.
She was lying in a velvet chaise, firelight flickering across the grand study of House Virell's manor. Her skin was smooth, unscarred. Her hands—once blistered from shackles—were soft and adorned in rings.
She sat up too fast, breath catching. Her eyes darted to the mirror.
There she was. Seventeen years old. Unmarried. Alive.
No execution. No betrayal. No Kaelion.
"No," she whispered. "This… this isn't possible."
The door opened. In walked Lady Morgana Virell, her mother, still alive and imperious.
"You're awake? Good. You have fittings today. Prince Kaelion will be here by noon. Try not to embarrass us."
Evelyne's blood turned to ice.
This is the week he proposed. The beginning of the end.
But now… she knew everything. Who would betray her. Who would smile while stabbing her back. Who would pretend to love her while secretly plotting her downfall.
She could stop it all.
She could burn their plans to ash.
The Villainess Awakens
The engagement ball was exactly as she remembered: opulent, suffocating, dripping with honeyed lies. Nobles danced under golden chandeliers, courtiers whispered behind feathered fans, and Evelyne—the villainess-to-be—was expected to smile through it all.
But this time, she did not wear innocence like armor.
She wore power.
She glided through the ballroom in a crimson gown, a deliberate insult to the virginal whites and soft pinks expected of noble daughters. The color of blood. Of war.
Kaelion approached with his usual princely grace. He looked the same: tall, golden-haired, with stormy blue eyes that once made her heart race.
"My lady," he greeted, offering his hand. "May I have this dance?"
Evelyne took it—but her smile held a secret.
"I would be honored, Your Highness."
As they danced, their bodies in perfect rhythm, she studied him with calculating eyes.
This was the man who had stood by while she was accused. Who had let another woman—the "saintly" Princess Lyria—frame her. Who had looked her in the eye and still chosen the crown.
Not this time.
A New Game Begins
In the days that followed, Evelyne began her quiet war.
She strengthened House Virell's estate finances under the guise of preparing for marriage, discreetly investing in merchant fleets and securing allies among neutral houses.
She visited Lyria's sickbed and "confessed" her past "jealousy," planting the seed of false guilt in the saintess' mind.
She smiled at the court ladies who once poisoned her tea and now found their families mysteriously audited by the royal treasurer.
But the biggest move came when Duke Renard Corven—the man who orchestrated her downfall—approached her privately at a hunting banquet.
"Lady Evelyne," he purred, "you seem… different lately."
"I've simply matured, my lord."
He narrowed his eyes. "If you ever seek protection, House Corven is—"
She leaned in, her voice silky and sharp.
"Renard, dear, the only protection I'll ever need is the knowledge that your bastard son is not your heir—and I have the letters to prove it."
He paled.
And thus, the villainess began reclaiming her throne—not with fire and sword, but with wit and fear.
Unraveling Love
But one piece didn't fit.
Kaelion.
The prince who once destroyed her… now seemed to hesitate.
He brought her flowers for no reason. Spoke to her gently, watched her when he thought she wasn't looking. His courtship was different—less cold, more real.
He took her riding, listened to her ideas, defended her when other nobles questioned her motives.
Was he always this kind?
Had she simply missed it before?
Or had her change… changed him?
Was it possible that this time, he might choose her? Truly choose her?
Evelyne didn't know.
But she didn't trust it.
Love had been her greatest mistake in her last life.
She would not make it again.
Unless…