I woke up drowning in silk.
Warm sunlight filtered through thin crimson curtains, turning everything gold and red—like the inside of a gemstone. For a moment, I thought I had overslept in my tiny apartment, that the noise outside was traffic or construction.
But the world was quiet. Too quiet.
And the sheets beneath me were too soft. Too luxurious. Too… expensive.
My eyes snapped open.
Above me stretched a chandelier dripping with crystals, glittering like thousands of tiny frozen stars. The ceiling was painted with roses and dark clouds, the artistry so real it felt like I could reach up and pluck a petal.
"What… where am I?" I whispered, sitting up.
My voice sounded different—lighter, colder somehow.
And then I saw my reflection.
A tall mirror stood across the room. What stared back wasn't me. Not the tired college student with dark circles and tangled hair.
This girl—this woman—was stunning.
Long raven hair fell around porcelain skin, brushed to a perfect shine. My eyes—no, her eyes—were sharp, crystalline ice-blue, framed by lashes too thick to be natural. Even half-awake, the figure in the mirror looked like she'd been sculpted for a painting.
My throat went dry.
I knew this face.
This room.
This world.
"No way," I breathed, horror and awe crashing into me at once. "I reincarnated as her… Countess Anastasia Volkov. The villainess of this stupid otome novel?!"
The door burst open.
"L–Lady Anastasia?" a maid squeaked, nearly dropping her tray when she saw me sitting upright. "Y-you're awake? We heard shouting—"
I forced myself to smile, the kind I imagined a noble villainess would use: polite, distant, just a bit dangerous.
"Oh. I was merely… startled."
She bowed so fast her braid swung forward.
"Forgive me, my lady. Should I prepare your morning tea and call for Lady Irina? She insisted on attending you today."
"Yes," I said slowly. "Send her in."
The maid left with hurried steps, as if terrified I'd suddenly decide to throw a vase at her. Which, according to the novel, was completely in character for Anastasia Volkov—the ill-tempered countess who bullied the heroine and fought Ksenia Romanova for the affection of Prince Nikolai.
And later… who died for it.
I swallowed. Nope. Absolutely not. I wasn't dying for anyone's storyline.
I pushed myself off the bed, wobbling slightly from the unfamiliar weight of the silk nightgown. My feet touched a velvet carpet as red as spilled wine. The room was luxurious, but suffocating—the kind of rich that felt like a cage.
A soft knock sounded.
"My lady?"
Irina Sokolov entered—my supposed closest friend. In the novel, Anastasia used Irina as a pawn, but Irina remained loyal despite everything.
The moment her warm brown eyes landed on me, she froze.
"You look… different," she murmured.
"Different good or different bad?" I asked.
She blinked, surprised by my casual tone.
"…Good. Softer. Less… irritated than usual."
I laughed under my breath. "Let's keep it that way."
Irina studied me for a moment, then smiled cautiously—like she wasn't sure if this was a trap. It hurt a little, knowing the original Anastasia treated her so terribly.
"Well?" I tilted my head. "Tell me what's on our schedule."
Irina straightened. "A court gathering, my lady. High nobles, including Prince Nikolai and Duke Dmitri Ivanov."
My heart lurched.
Dmitri.
The man almost every reader adored.
The man destined to fall in love with the heroine, Ksenia—
and definitely not the villainess.
In the novel, Anastasia barely interacted with him. But I remembered everything about him: his cold elegance, quiet strength, unreadable eyes.
And the way the entire palace buzzed whenever he walked into a room.
Irina approached with a dress—deep black satin embroidered with silver thorns.
A villainess dress.
I smiled.
"Perfect."
The palace ballroom glowed like the heart of a star.
Crystal chandeliers spilled light over polished white marble floors, music floated like warm smoke in the air, and hundreds of nobles swirled in elegant gowns and polished boots. Perfume, velvet, jewels—everything shimmered.
Walking into this place felt like stepping onto a stage where everyone already knew my lines… except me.
Conversation died the moment I entered.
People parted. Eyes darted away. No one dared approach.
The villainess had arrived.
Irina leaned close. "Everyone is staring."
"Let them," I said, lifting my chin—not out of arrogance, but survival.
I scanned the sea of nobles until my gaze landed on a familiar figure.
Prince Nikolai Petrov.
Golden hair, gentle eyes, a practiced smile. He truly looked like the perfect male lead, surrounded by swooning ladies. Even from across the room, he radiated effortless charm.
He noticed me and nodded politely. Respectful. Distant.
Good. Stay that way.
Then—like ice sliding down my spine—another presence pulled my attention.
A man stood alone near the tall windows, half his face bathed in moonlight.
Duke Dmitri Ivanov.
His dark hair fell slightly over storm-gray eyes, sharp and unreadable. His uniform fit perfectly, crisp black and silver embroidery lining the edges. Compared to Prince Nikolai's gentle warmth, Dmitri looked carved from winter.
And he was watching me.
Directly.
Pinned beneath that gaze, my breath hitched. His eyes didn't flicker away. Didn't politely shift. He studied me with quiet intensity, like he was analyzing every move I made.
Irina whispered, "The Duke rarely looks at anyone that long…"
I swallowed. "Lucky me," I murmured.
But inside, my pulse hammered.
The villainess and the Duke rarely interacted in the original story.
This was new.
Completely off-script.
I stepped away from Irina and headed toward the refreshment table, trying to pretend I wasn't hyperaware of Dmitri's gaze following me through the crowd.
Just as I reached for a glass of wine, a voice spoke behind me—low, smooth, velvet over steel:
"Countess Volkov."
My heart nearly leapt out of my chest.
I turned slowly—carefully—meeting the full force of his icy stare.
Up close, Dmitri was devastating. Tall. Beautiful in a dangerous way. His presence wrapped around me like a cold breath.
"My lord Duke," I answered, giving a slow, graceful curtsey.
"Your demeanor is unusual today," he said. No greeting. No small talk.
Straight to observation.
I forced a smile. "Unusual? How so?"
"Calmer," he said. His eyes narrowed slightly. "Less… volatile."
A normal girl might have panicked. But being told I'm less terrifying than usual was… progress?
"Should I take that as a compliment?" I asked lightly.
He blinked. A tiny, almost invisible reaction. Then his gaze dropped to my lips, then back up.
Dangerous.
"Interpret it how you wish," he murmured.
For a long moment, neither of us said anything. The ballroom buzzed around us, but his presence felt like a still point in a storm.
He leaned slightly closer—just enough for only me to hear.
"Tell me, Countess… what changed?"
Everything, I wanted to say.
But I smiled instead—slow, confident.
If I was going to survive this world, I needed allies. Influence.
And why not start with the most dangerous man in the room?
I lifted my chin and whispered, voice barely a breath:
"Perhaps you may call me Nastia, my lord… in private."
His eyes widened—only slightly, but enough to catch.
A spark.
A fracture in the ice.
The corner of his mouth threatened to lift—just a hint of a smile, as if the idea amused him far too much.
"Nastia," he repeated softly, tasting the name.
My breath hitched.
Then I leaned in—not too close, not improper, but enough to whisper something only he could hear.
"And maybe," I murmured, "I'll call you Dima."
His entire body stilled.
The name hung between us—intimate, dangerous, forbidden.
No one called him that.
Not nobles.
Not servants.
Not even the heroine.
Only I would.
His gray eyes darkened, something sharp flickering within them—interest, warning, curiosity, I couldn't tell.
"Nastia," he said again, quieter now, "you are… full of surprises today."
"I intend to be," I whispered.
Before he could reply, someone called out behind us:
"Duke Dmitri! Prince Nikolai requests your presence!"
The moment shattered. Dmitri straightened, his expression sliding back into cold neutrality.
But before he turned away, he spoke softly—so softly only I could hear:
"Tell me again sometime," he murmured. "That name."
And then he was gone.
Leaving me breathless, heart racing, and painfully aware that I had just rewritten the entire beginning of this story.
Irina rushed to my side, whisper-shouting, "What did he say? What did you tell him? Why did he look at you like that?!"
I exhaled slowly.
"I think," I said, lifting my wine glass with trembling fingers, "I may have started something I can't undo."
Irina stared at me like I'd lost my mind.
But I just smiled.
If I was destined to be the villainess, then I'd be the most unpredictable villainess this world had ever seen.
And maybe—just maybe—
I'd steal the Duke's heart along the way.