I died on a rainy afternoon.
There was nothing poetic about it.
No last words. No dramatic farewell.
Just the sound of tires screeching, a flash of white light—
—and then silence.
When I opened my eyes again, the first thing I saw was a chandelier made of crystal and gold.
The second thing I felt…
…was the weight of a crown resting lightly against my hair.
No.
Not a crown.
An engagement diadem.
My hands trembled.
Marble floors. Velvet curtains. Dozens of nobles whispering behind jeweled fans.
And in front of me—
Him.
The Crown Prince of the Empire.
Tall. Impossibly composed. Silver hair falling neatly over sharp, unreadable eyes. His uniform was immaculate, embroidered with the royal crest. Cold. Distant.
Beautiful.
And terrifying.
Because I knew exactly who he was.
And I knew exactly how this scene would end.
"I cannot continue this engagement."
His voice echoed through the grand hall.
In the novel I once read—
the one I stayed up until 3 a.m. obsessing over—
this was the beginning of the villainess's downfall.
This was the moment when she humiliated herself, begged, screamed, accused the heroine of seducing him.
This was the moment that sealed her fate.
And unfortunately for me—
I was her.
Lady Seraphina Valmont.
The most hated noblewoman in the empire.
The woman destined to die.
My heart pounded violently.
This wasn't a dream.
I could feel the silk gloves against my fingers.
I could hear the sharp inhale of the crowd.
I could smell roses from the banquet arrangements.
This was real.
And if I followed the script—
I would be executed within a year.
The Crown Prince continued, voice detached.
"Lady Seraphina has failed to uphold the virtues expected of a future Crown Princess."
The nobles murmured.
Here it comes.
In the novel, she throws a wine glass at the heroine right about now.
I slowly lifted my gaze.
And for the first time since waking up—
our eyes met.
Something strange happened.
He froze.
Just for a fraction of a second.
His expression did not change.
But his eyes—
They were not indifferent.
They were searching.
Almost…
Almost as if he was afraid.
I lowered my gaze before I could overthink it.
This is not the time.
Survive first.
Romance later.
I took one controlled breath.
Then I curtsied perfectly.
"If that is Your Highness's wish," I said softly, "then I will accept the annulment."
Silence.
Complete silence.
That was not how the story went.
Gasps erupted across the hall.
The Crown Prince did not respond immediately.
When I dared to glance up again—
his composure had cracked.
Just slightly.
"You… accept?" he asked quietly.
His voice was different now.
Lower.
Tighter.
"As I should," I replied with a calm smile. "The Empire deserves a Crown Princess chosen by Your Highness's heart."
In the novel, those words belonged to the heroine.
Not me.
But I was not here to compete for love.
I was here to live.
The ceremony ended abruptly.
The nobles dispersed in confusion.
I turned to leave—
And a gloved hand caught my wrist.
Firm.
Warm.
Dangerous.
My breath hitched.
I looked up slowly.
The Crown Prince was standing far closer than etiquette allowed.
His eyes—those unreadable silver eyes—were no longer calm.
They were intense.
Burning.
"Why?" he asked.
It was barely a whisper.
Why what?
Why didn't I beg?
Why didn't I cry?
Why didn't I cling to him the way Seraphina always did?
Because I already knew how that story ends.
Because I have no intention of loving a man who will watch me die.
Because this time—
I refuse to become the villainess.
"I simply grew tired, Your Highness," I said gently.
His grip tightened.
For a brief, dangerous moment—
I thought he might pull me back.
Instead, he leaned closer.
So close I could feel his breath against my ear.
"You changed."
It was not an accusation.
It was not curiosity.
It was certainty.
And something else.
Something almost desperate.
My heart stuttered.
Does he suspect?
No.
Impossible.
Only I remember the novel.
Only I know the ending.
Only I know that he will fall in love with another woman.
Only I know that I will die.
"I have always been this way," I lied.
He went very still.
Then, in a voice so low no one else could hear—
"Then why," he murmured, "does it feel like I am losing you again?"
Again?
The word sent a chill down my spine.
Before I could respond—
He released me.
His expression returned to that cold, royal mask.
"As you wish, Lady Seraphina."
But as I walked away—
I could feel his gaze on my back.
Not distant.
Not relieved.
But unwilling to let go.
And for the first time—
I wondered.
In the original story…
Why did the Crown Prince look at the villainess like that?
End of Chapter 1