The first sensation that greeted Priam's consciousness was pain—
a dull, throbbing ache that pulsed through his skull like a war drum. His eyelids felt heavy, as though weighted down by iron chains, and when he finally managed to pry them open, he was met with an ornate ceiling painted with frescoes of angels and mythical beasts. Gold leaf decorated the edges of the elaborate artwork, catching the dim light filtering through velvet curtains.
Where the hell am I?
The thought crashed through his mind with the subtlety of a battering ram. This wasn't his cramped apartment with its water-stained ceiling and flickering fluorescent lights. This wasn't the mundane world where he'd fallen asleep after another grueling sixteen-hour shift at the convenience store, his only comfort being the dating sim game he'd been playing on his phone to escape reality.
Priam sat up abruptly—and immediately regretted it. His head spun violently, and he pressed a hand to his temple, trying to steady himself. As his vision cleared, he took in his surroundings with growing horror. The room was massive—easily the size of his entire apartment back home—and filled with furniture that looked like it belonged in a museum: a four-poster bed draped in silk curtains, an intricately carved wardrobe that reached nearly to the ceiling, a writing desk with genuine silver inkwells, and a full-length mirror framed in gold.
He stumbled toward the mirror, his legs unsteady, as if they didn't quite belong to him. And when he saw his reflection, his blood ran cold.
The face staring back at him was not his own.
Gone were his tired eyes with dark circles from too many sleepless nights, his slightly crooked nose from a childhood accident, his unremarkable features that he'd grown accustomed to over twenty-three years of existence. Instead, he saw a young man—no, practically a boy—with sharp, aristocratic features softened by youth. Jet-black hair fell across his forehead in an artfully tousled manner he'd never achieved before. His eyes were a striking silver-gray, luminous in the dim light, framed by dark lashes that would make any woman jealous. His skin was pale and unblemished, his jawline defined but not yet hardened by age.
He looked, Priam realized with growing dread, exactly like a character from the game.
"No. No, no, no, no, NO." The words tumbled from his lips, his voice—higher and more refined than he remembered—cracking with panic. "This can't be happening. This is just a dream. A really vivid, really detailed, really screwed-up dream."
He pinched his arm hard enough to leave a red mark. Pain lanced through his flesh, sharp and undeniable.
Not a dream.
Priam's mind raced, fragments of memory flooding back like a broken dam. The game—Eternal Hearts: Academy of Roses—a trashy dating sim he'd downloaded on a whim after reading a scathing review that called it "the worst example of otome game trash ever created." The reviewer hadn't been wrong. The game was riddled with plot holes, nonsensical character motivations, and a social system so biased it made his blood boil. It was set in the prestigious Rosevale Royal Academy, where noble ladies pursued the Crown Prince and other capture targets while treating commoners and servants like dirt beneath their heels.
He'd played it out of spite, determined to see just how bad it could get. And oh, it had exceeded his expectations in the worst possible way.
The main villainess of the game was Lady Seraphina von Ashcroft, the Duke's only daughter and the most ruthless, conniving, beautiful monster ever conceived by a hack writer's imagination. She was obsessed with capturing the Crown Prince's heart and would stop at nothing—including sabotage, blackmail, and outright violence—to eliminate her rivals. In every route, she met a terrible end: exile, execution, or, in one particularly brutal ending, death by "tragic accident."
And Priam, if his sinking suspicion was correct, had been reincarnated as her personal butler.
He frantically searched his new memories, and they came flooding back like water through a burst pipe. His name in this world was also Priam—Priam Ashford—a distant cousin of the Ashcroft family who had been taken in as a servant due to his commoner mother's status. He was seventeen years old, had been serving Lady Seraphina for three years, and was widely regarded as her most loyal—and most abused—retainer.
The game had barely mentioned him. He was a background character, a nameless NPC who appeared in maybe three scenes, always hovering behind the villainess with his head bowed in subservience.
"I'm screwed," Priam muttered, running his hands through his hair. "I'm completely and utterly screwed."
A sharp knock on the door made him jump.
"Master Priam! My lady has summoned you to her chambers immediately!" The voice was high-pitched and anxious, belonging to what sounded like a young maid.
Priam's stomach dropped. Of course. The villainess would summon him first thing. According to his fragmented memories, today was significant—it was the day before the academy's new term began, and also the day when the game's prologue took place. The day when Lady Seraphina would finalize her plans to ensnare the Crown Prince and crush any potential rivals.
"I'll be there shortly!" he called out, surprised by how naturally the formal speech pattern came to him. Muscle memory from this body, perhaps.
He quickly assessed his situation. He was wearing a simple white shirt and black trousers—sleeping clothes, presumably. His butler's uniform hung in the wardrobe, a crisp black suit with silver buttons bearing the Ashcroft family crest. He dressed quickly, his hands moving with practiced efficiency that definitely didn't belong to his original self. This body had been trained for years in the art of service.
As he buttoned the high collar and adjusted his cuffs, Priam's mind worked furiously. He knew this story. He knew every route, every choice, every bad ending. And if he wanted to survive in this godforsaken world, he would need to use that knowledge to his advantage.
The problem was, serving the villainess meant being complicit in her schemes. And when she inevitably faced her downfall, he would go down with her.
Unless I can change her fate.
The thought struck him like lightning. In the game, Lady Seraphina's obsession with the Crown Prince was her ultimate undoing. She alienated allies, made powerful enemies, and destroyed herself in pursuit of a man who would never love her. But what if that could be changed? What if, instead of enabling her self-destructive behavior, Priam could steer her toward a different path?
It was a long shot—a very long shot—but it was better than waiting for the inevitable execution scene.
With his resolve somewhat steadied—or at least, his panic channeled into something resembling a plan—Priam left his modest quarters and navigated the sprawling Ashcroft manor. The place was a labyrinth of marble hallways, grand staircases, and countless rooms, each more opulent than the last. Portraits of stern-faced ancestors lined the walls, their painted eyes seeming to follow him with aristocratic disdain.
He passed several servants along the way, all of whom bowed respectfully but kept their distance. Priam could sense the fear and pity in their gazes. Everyone knew that serving Lady Seraphina directly was a punishment worse than hard labor. The young lady had a temper like a winter storm—beautiful, deadly, and utterly unpredictable.
Finally, he reached the doors to her personal chambers, an imposing set of double doors carved from dark wood and inlaid with silver roses. Two guards stood at attention, their faces impassive as they pushed the doors open at his approach.
Priam stepped inside—and his breath caught.
The room was magnificent, decorated in shades of deep crimson and gold. Silk curtains billowed gently in the breeze from open balcony doors. A massive canopy bed dominated one side of the room, while the other held a seating area with velvet couches and a tea table. But Priam barely registered any of this.
His attention was fixed entirely on the young woman standing by the window.
Lady Seraphina von Ashcroft was, in a word, breathtaking.
She stood with her back to him, silhouetted against the morning light streaming through the window. Her long, flowing hair cascaded down her back in waves of spun gold, so bright it seemed to capture and reflect the sunlight itself. Even from behind, Priam could see the elegant curve of her neck, the graceful slope of her shoulders, the perfect posture drilled into her by years of etiquette training. She wore a morning gown of deep purple silk that hugged her slender figure before flowing out in layers of fabric that rustled softly with each movement.
Then she turned, and Priam understood exactly why the game developers had made her the villainess. She needed to be this beautiful to justify the Prince's initial interest—and the players' conflicted feelings.
Her face was a masterpiece of delicate features and cold perfection. Porcelain skin without a single blemish, high cheekbones that gave her an aristocratic air, a small nose that turned up slightly at the tip, and lips the color of rose petals curved in a subtle, knowing smile. But it was her eyes that truly captured attention—a startling violet, bright and intelligent, framed by thick lashes and arched brows that gave her an expression of perpetual superiority.
She was, by any measure, one of the most beautiful women Priam had ever seen.She was also, he remembered with a jolt of fear, completely and utterly ruthless.
"You're late," she said, her voice like honey laced with poison. It was soft and melodious—the kind of voice that could comfort or condemn with equal ease.
Priam immediately bowed, muscle memory taking over. "My apologies, my lady. I came as quickly as I could."
"Hmm." Seraphina walked toward him with measured steps, each movement calculated for maximum grace. She circled him slowly, like a predator assessing prey, and Priam forced himself to remain still, his head bowed respectfully.
"Look at me," she commanded.
He raised his head, meeting her violet gaze. Up close, he could see the intelligence burning there—the sharp calculation behind every expression. This was no simple-minded villain; this was a young woman trained from birth to scheme and manipulate.
"Tomorrow, the new term begins at Rosevale Academy," she said, her voice taking on a harder edge. "And tomorrow, I will finally have the opportunity to properly meet His Highness, Crown Prince Aldric. Do you understand what this means?"
"Yes, my lady," Priam responded automatically. "It is a crucial opportunity."
"It is the opportunity," she corrected, eyes flashing. "For three years, I have prepared for this. I have studied etiquette, music, dance, history, politics—everything necessary to stand beside a future king. I have cultivated my reputation, eliminated obstacles, positioned myself perfectly. And I will not fail."
The intensity in her voice sent a chill down his spine. This wasn't mere ambition. It was obsession.
"The Prince is everything a ruler should be," Seraphina continued, her expression softening for a moment. "Noble, powerful, dignified—blessed with both intelligence and strength. He is the only man worthy of someone of my station. The only man worthy of my affection."
And the man who will ultimately reject you in every single route, Priam thought but wisely kept to himself.
"You will assist me in capturing his heart," Seraphina declared, turning back to the window. "I expect absolute loyalty and discretion. Is that understood?"
"Yes, my lady."
"Good." She paused, then added softly, almost vulnerably, "This is my destiny, Priam. I was born for this. To stand beside the Prince, to become the Crown Princess, to help rule this kingdom. Nothing else matters. Nothing."
Priam felt an unexpected pang of something—pity, maybe. Sympathy. He crushed it quickly. This was the villainess. The woman destined to destroy lives and meet her own ruin. He couldn't afford to sympathize.
But a quiet voice in his mind whispered that maybe she was a victim, too—a girl raised to believe her worth depended on the attention of a man who didn't even know she existed.
"My lady," he said carefully, "may I speak freely?"
Seraphina turned with a raised brow. "That depends on what you wish to say."
"I only wish to ensure your success. To that end, I believe it would be wise to consider... multiple approaches. His Highness is known for his discerning taste and dislike of overt manipulation. Perhaps a more subtle strategy—"
"Are you questioning my methods?" Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
"Not at all, my lady," Priam said quickly, bowing again. "I merely wish to serve you to the best of my ability. Your success is my only concern."
Silence. Her violet eyes bored into him, searching for any hint of disloyalty.
Then, unexpectedly, she laughed—a soft, musical sound that somehow managed to be both beautiful and terrifying.
"How amusing. My butler thinks he can advise me on matters of the heart." She stepped closer, tilting his chin up with one delicate finger. Her touch was warm. "You forget your place, Priam. You are a servant. A commoner with barely a drop of noble blood. What could you possibly know about capturing the attention of a crown prince?"
The contempt in her voice was clear, but beneath it, Priam sensed something else—curiosity, perhaps.
"You're right, my lady," he said evenly, meeting her eyes despite the humiliation. "I know nothing of such matters. I spoke out of turn."
"Yes, you did." She released him and turned away. "But your loyalty is... commendable. Misguided, but commendable."
She waved a hand dismissively. "Prepare my luggage for tomorrow's departure. And Priam—"
"Yes, my lady?"
"Do not presume to advise me again. The next time you overstep, I will not be so forgiving."
"Understood, my lady."
Priam bowed deeply and retreated. As the doors closed behind him, he let out a long, shaky breath.
That had gone... surprisingly well. She hadn't struck him, hadn't screamed—nothing like the violent temper the game portrayed. She'd been cold, yes, but not cruel.
Maybe there's more to her than the game showed.
It was a dangerous thought. But if he wanted to survive, he needed to understand her—and perhaps, just perhaps, save her from herself.
The irony wasn't lost on him. Reincarnated as the butler of a doomed villainess, in a world he'd once mocked. His mission: survive, and maybe rewrite a tragedy.
"I just wanted a peaceful life," Priam muttered as he descended the grand staircase. "Why is that so much to ask?"
But even as he said it, he knew the answer. In a world of nobles and intrigue, peace was the rarest luxury of all.
And tomorrow, when the academy term began and the game's true story started, things would only get more complicated.
Priam just hoped he would survive long enough to see it through.