The Villain's Skin
Hello, everyone.
I'm no one important. What I do—or did—isn't something worth sharing. Let's just say it doesn't matter now.
For a reason only God knows, I found myself transmigrated into a novel. One I had casually read before dozing off in the backseat of a car, headed home after a long day.
Vanquisher.
A thriller centered around a sharp, self-made heroine. A sidelined, ineffective hero. And a villain—cruel, brilliant, magnetic. I liked the book. Though I always felt the villain's past was glossed over, his motives left unexplored. Not that it mattered. Villains are always doomed in the end anyway.
Or so I thought—until I woke up.
I was no longer in my world. No longer in my body.
I opened my eyes to find myself in a lavish room, facing an older man—mid-fifties, perhaps—his voice sharp with rage. I blinked, trying to understand what was happening, my mind still groggy and detached. I barely heard his words, too busy soaking in the richness of my surroundings—marble floors, antique furniture, velvet drapes. But then came the sentence that shattered my daze:
"Aarav, you will be marrying Arundhati today. Prepare yourself and get downstairs within thirty minutes, or I swear, I'll make your life a living hell."
The door slammed behind him with a force that echoed through the silence.
I stood frozen.
Aarav? Did he just say… Aarav?
I turned instinctively—and found myself staring at a mirror.
What I saw wasn't my face.
A stranger looked back at me. Sharp jawline. Cold eyes. Elegance laced with danger. Familiar, somehow. It took seconds for the truth to crash down on me.
I wasn't me anymore.
"Fuck," I muttered.
Why him? Why not a side character? Why the antagonist of all people?
It all made twisted sense.
I had transmigrated into Aarav Trivedi—the villain of Vanquisher. Son of Kailashnath Trivedi. Heir to the Trivedi Empire. Emotionless, ruthless, a man who lived for the thrill of psychological games and power plays. I used to enjoy watching him fall in the book—seeing the heroine outsmart him brought satisfaction.
But now, I was him.
And there was no escape.
If I was here, my body in the real world was probably gone. Dead. Buried. Forgotten.
There was only one option left: adapt or die.
---
"Aarav, people are waiting for you."
A knock snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts.
I let out a deep breath that wasn't entirely mine. "Let's go meet our heroine," I whispered to no one in particular.
---
Descending the stairs felt like walking into a performance.
People watched from the sidelines—distant relatives, curious guests, strangers dressed in silk and secrets. Their eyes trailed me with expectation, judgment, intrigue.
And then I saw her.
Arundhati Bharadwaj.
The heroine of the story. The bride.
She stood at the center of it all—graceful, composed, draped in a deep red saree that shimmered under the chandelier light. Her beauty was effortless. Her smile, however, wasn't. It was mocking, laced with a quiet contempt that could slice a man in two.
And for a moment, I understood the original Aarav's obsession.
She was unforgettable.
I cursed him inwardly—What kind of idiot throws away a woman like this for his own ego?
But don't worry, brother. Since I'm in your body now, I'll make sure no harm ever touches her. And maybe… just maybe, she'll fall in love with you again—this time, for real.
"Aarav," she said suddenly, her voice smooth and sharp like silk against glass. "You seem distracted. Lost your edge?"
I turned toward her, letting the corners of my lips lift into a gentle smile. "Just thinking how lucky I am to marry someone so beautiful."
My tone was calm, almost sweet. But my eyes held a coldness I couldn't mask. It wasn't intentional. This body remembered her—deep down in its marrow. But those feelings weren't mine.
She scoffed lightly. "Back to your cheap lines? Good luck, but I won't be fooled this time."
We were careful with our words. Eyes were everywhere. Cameras. Journalists. Guests pretending not to eavesdrop. Every sentence was calculated, every glance choreographed.
Soon enough, Kailashnath called us forward.
We exchanged rings.
Smiles.
Lies.
And just like that, the ceremony was over.
---
Later that night, the mansion had settled into uneasy quiet. The guests were gone. Most of the household staff had retired. Everyone was asleep—except two.
Me. And her.
Tonight was supposed to be the consummation. A victory for Arundhati, the first time she'd beat Aarav at his own game. I didn't mind. Let her think she was in control. Let her grow confident. That confidence would become her weakness.
I wasn't here to play fair.
I was here to win.
But oddly enough, our room wasn't the master bedroom. It was a guest room. Small detail. But I noted it.
She wanted distance. Even now.
Still, I smiled. Mischievous. Curious.
I entered the room, taking in the dim lights, the soft floral arrangements. Romantic in all the expected ways.
And then I saw her.
Sitting at the dressing table, her back to me. Lost in thought. The golden light haloed around her, turning her into something otherworldly.
Without a word, I walked up and slipped my arms around her waist.
She flinched at the contact.
But I didn't stop. My fingers explored the warmth of her skin, my lips brushing against her neck, down to her collarbone.
"You look beautiful in this saree," I whispered.
She grabbed my hands mid-motion and turned around, eyes flashing.
"What do you think you're doing, Aarav?"
Her voice was angry.
Her body… wasn't.
I raised a brow, feigning confusion. "What do you mean, Arundhati? I'm just fulfilling my duty as a husband."
She shoved me back.
"Don't. Just don't. We both know this marriage is a lie. We hate each other. Why pretend? This acting—it sucks."
I chuckled softly, my voice dropping an octave.
"You're the one who begged for this wedding, remember? And now you're running away? That's not very fair."
I moved to the small table near the bed and picked up two glasses of milk.
"But fine. Before we begin tonight's festivities, let's have a drink."
I offered her the glasses—one in each hand.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Really?" she said. "You think I don't know you mixed something in these?"
She stepped closer, and her smirk returned.
"Let's make it fun. We switch the glasses. And whoever drinks the one you tampered with—loses."
She raised her glass.
"Deal?"
---