By the time she returned to the dining room, her seat was still empty.
Not out of respect. Just pure indifference.
Everyone else was finishing their food. Plates mostly cleared. The wine had been poured. The laughter had faded. The tension, however, remained
She stood there in silence, her heels softly echoing as she walked back to her chair.
No one looked up.
No one said anything.
Except her father,
"Sit," her father commanded, not even glancing at her. "And apologize. I wont repeat myself again."
She sat slowly, staring at her untouched food.
They weren't even going to wait for me?
She looked around.
Dante sipping his wine in silence. Alina awkwardly nibbling on salad. Her mother giving her the side-eye. Her sister..oh, her sister already on her third glass of wine, smirking like she'd just watched her favorite soap opera live.
That's when it hit her.
They didn't care. Not even a little.
Not about the truth.
Not about what actually happened.
Not about her.
No wonder the original Vielle was so cold. So sharp. So... cruel.
She hadn't been born that way. She'd been made that way. Carved into it by dinners like this. People like this.
Her jaw clenched. Her chest burned.
Her father cleared his throat. "We're waiting."
And she snapped.
Slowly, she picked up her wine glass.
"So, Father," she said sweetly, eyes burning. "You're making me apologize... for something I didn't do. And no one in this room will ever believe me anyway?"
She swirled the wine.
"Then... I suppose I should just make it fair."
And before anyone could understand what she was trying to say,
She dumped the wine over her own head.
Gasps could be heard from maid
The red liquid soaked through her gown, her hair, dripping down wet
"Oh no," she said with mock shock. "Look! I'm wet too! Just like the poor dear maid. Justice is served!"
Alina's mouth opened slightly. Dante stared, glass frozen halfway to his lips.
Her sister clapped once, slowly. "Bravo."
But she wasn't done.
She picked up the glass again shattered it against the side of her plate.
The sound sliced through the air
Holding one jagged piece, she slowly raised it toward her arm.
"Wait, shouldn't I injure myself too? I mean, if I really want to match the drama-"
Before she could get close, a hand slammed down on her wrist.
Dante.
He was beside her in a second, gripping her hand hard, the glass clattering from her fingers onto the floor.
His eyes were dark and angry, but something else burned beneath it. Panic? Possessiveness?
"What the hell are you doing?" he hissed. "You invited us to watch this pathetic little show? Have you finally lost your mind completely?"
She yanked her hand back.
There was already a faint bruise forming.
"Ohhh, you care now?" she said with a hollow laugh. "Should've shown up five minutes earlier. I was killing it with my performance."
Her family said nothing.
Her mother just swirled her wine like this was a mildly amusing play.
Her sister leaned back and took another sip.
"Well, Father?" she said, turning to him, hands soaked in wine. "Now it's equal. Right?"
Alina, eyes wide, whispered, "Lady Vielle..."
Dante had enough.
"Enough," he said coldly. "We're leaving. Alina, get in the car."
He turned to her father without bowing.
"Mr. Darius Vielle. We'll discuss this... " his eyes stared straight at Viella's.."later"
And with that, he turned and left.
The room was silent.
Until-
SLAP.
Her mother's hand cracked across her cheek so hard it nearly knocked her hair loose.
"You've embarrassed this family for the last time," she snapped.
Her father didn't even look at her.
"Your allowance is cut for a month. And if this engagement is cancelled..." His eyes finally met hers, ice cold. "Just know your head will be next."
One by one, they stood up.
Left.
Didn't look back.
Her sister was the last to pass.
"You look like a clown drowned in red wine," she said with a chuckle. "But thanks for the entertainment. I needed it after a long time."
And then she was alone.
Soaking. Trembling. Stinging cheek, bruised wrist,
But she didn't cry.
No.
She smiled.
A slow, venomous, terrifying smile.
She turned to the maids, who stood frozen in the corners.
"Well?" she said, lifting an eyebrow. "What are you all looking at? Clean up this mess. I'm heading to my room."
She turned and walked away.
Take that, Dante.
Interested in me? Wrong. So wrong.
I will disappear behind your back before you get the chance to kill me.
And I'm not playing by your stupid mafia plot.
---
Later That Night
Wrapped in a fluffy robe, face still damp, she lay in bed.
"God, what a family," she muttered. "What a disaster of a fiancé. What a cursed plot."
She threw her arm over her eyes.
"Vielle deserves better. I deserve better."
She chuckled bitterly.
"Who knew the price of survival would be wine, glass, and familys nonsense?"
And slowly, she drifted off to sleep...
Not knowing..
The plot is changing...
---
The pillow beneath her is soft, surrounding silence but
There was whispering.
At first, distant.
Then louder.
Closer. and closer
"No matter what you do..."
She turned in her sleep, brows furrowing.
"No matter how you act..."
The air around her changed. Someone was standing beside her bed, Hands getting closer,
Suddenly, she was standing barefoot in the middle of a ballroom.
Empty.
Silent.
The grand chandeliers above flickered . The marble floors were cracked beneath her feet, threads of red seeping through them like veins. Shadows lined the edges of the hall, crawling up the walls.
She turned.
The mirrors that should've lined the walls reflected not her but Vielle.
The original Vielle.
Eyes full of fury.
Blood on her gloves.
Tears in her eyes.
"You took everything," the reflection hissed. "And you think you can rewrite me?"
"I didn't choose this!" Vivien shouted. "I didn't ask to wake up in your life!"
The reflection cracked. A jagged line split its face.
From behind her came the voice again.
"The plot doesn't care."
"It's written. It's law."
"And I will make sure you die. As you were meant to."
She spun around but there was no one there.
Only shadows.
Suddenly the ballroom walls peeled away like paper.
She was standing in the middle of the rose garden.
It was snowing.
But the snowflakes were ash.
Her hands trembled. Her silk robe turned to rags.
All around her stood silhouettes. Blurred faces. Some familiar. Some not.
Her father.
Her mother.
Her sister.
Alina.
Dante.
Each one of them silent. Still. Staring.
They began to whisper.
"Villainess."
"Witch."
"You don't belong."
"You're ruining the story."
She backed away but the garden twisted.
And there sitting on a throne made of shattered wine glasses and broken plotlines was a figure.
Their face was unseen.
But their presence was suffocating.
Like the narrator of a cruel story she couldn't escape.
"You can act sweet," the voice hissed. "You can be funny. Clever. Kind. Pathetic."
The figure leaned forward.
"But the plot remembers."
It reached out.
A pale, skeletal hand with ink-stained fingers grazed her cheek.
"You're still the villainess, darling."
"And no matter what path you choose..."
"You must die."
The garden crumbled.
She was falling...falling through ink and pages and screams.
And just before she hit the ground-
A whisper against her ear:
"I will drag you back to your fate. And I will watch you break."
---
She shot awake.
Sweating. Gasping. Clutching her bedsheets
The moonlight filtered through the window. Her heart thundered in her ears.
Her mouth was dry.
Her pulse racing.
And she could still hear the whisper.
Faint.
Fading.
"Die by the plot..."
She sat up, breathing hard, a cold chill running down her spine.
She touched her face. It was wet.
Tears?
No. Not tears.
Sweat
But the taste of fear?
That was new.
She looked out the window.
The wind rustled the curtains.
She didn't see the shadow flicker across the rooftop.
Didn't hear the quiet breath watching her from the dark.
But the plot?
It was waiting.
And now... it had noticed her.
.
.
.
.
.
TO BE CONTINUED