Chapter 1 — The Novel That Should Have Ended Differently
The storm had been raging for hours, but I barely noticed.
I sat cross-legged on my bed, wrapped in a blanket, eyes burning from staring at the screen too long. My tea had gone cold three chapters ago — not that I cared. I was far too busy suffering.
The villainess had just been banished.
She stood in the pouring rain, stripped of her title, her dignity, and the friends she once thought loyal. Everyone was cheering for the heroine and her shining prince while the villainess — proud, lonely, misunderstood — was left to fall apart alone.
But it wasn't the villainess who broke me.
It was her maid.
The poor girl appeared only a handful of times, always in the background, quiet and gentle. And when the assassins came for her mistress in exile, she fought them off bare-handed — and died. The author didn't even give her a name.
I slammed my laptop shut and stared at the ceiling. "Why do they always kill the good ones?"
I could still see her in my mind: that nameless maid kneeling in the mud, whispering with her last breath, 'My life for yours, My Lady.'
I sighed, voice soft. "If I were her, I wouldn't let the villainess die like that. I'd protect her properly."
The thunder outside answered with a deep rumble.
Then, nothing.
---
When I opened my eyes again, there was no thunder. No bed. No laptop.
Just a dim ceiling, cracked with age, and the faint smell of lavender soap.
My head hurt. My body felt strange — lighter, smaller. My fingers brushed something rough and unfamiliar: a maid's uniform, black and crisp. I sat up slowly, heart racing.
A dagger lay beside my pillow.
I froze.
That dagger… was exactly how the author had described the maid's hidden weapon.
My pulse skipped. "Wait— no way."
Images flooded my mind — memories that weren't mine. Training in the palace shadows. Whispered orders. The scent of poison. The sharp rhythm of a heart trained to kill.
And then a name. Clara.
That was my name now.
---
I stumbled to the mirror. A young woman stared back — ash-blonde hair tied neatly behind a lace ribbon, eyes silver and steady, her expression calm but haunted. There was grace in her every movement, danger coiled beneath it.
"Oh no," I whispered. "I'm her. The doomed maid."
I pressed a hand to my chest. Beneath the fear, something else stirred — resolve. Because along with her memories, I had inherited her skills. Her loyalty. Her heartbeat.
And her final promise.
> Protect the Lady.
Save her from the world — and from herself.
---
A knock at the door startled me.
"Clara," a voice called softly. "Her Ladyship has awakened."
My throat tightened. The villainess.
I was about to meet the woman who, according to the novel, would soon be condemned and destroyed by her own story.
I took a deep breath and tied the black ribbon at my wrist — her ribbon, the mark of House Aureline.
"Well," I muttered, forcing a smile. "Time to save a villainess from bad writing."
---
The corridors were silent as I made my way to her chambers. Morning light spilled across the marble floor, soft and golden, painting everything in a fragile calm. The door to her room stood slightly open.
I knocked once.
"Enter," came a voice — cold, smooth, and tired.
When I stepped inside, she was sitting by the window, brushing her long, crimson hair. She didn't turn around, but the air around her pulsed with quiet strength.
Her reflection in the glass caught mine.
For a heartbeat, our eyes met — hers sharp and weary, mine wide and uncertain.
"You're staring," she said without looking away. Her tone carried a lazy amusement, but there was something else beneath it — exhaustion, maybe loneliness.
"I apologize, My Lady," I replied quickly, bowing my head. "It's simply… an honor to serve you."
She tilted her head slightly, as if deciding whether to be offended or curious. "Flattery, this early in the morning? How unusual."
"I find honesty works better," I said before I could stop myself.
Her lips curved — a small, genuine smile that vanished as quickly as it appeared. "Honesty, hmm? Then tell me, Clara, do you think I'm cruel?"
The question hit harder than I expected.
In the novel, this was the first day the villainess began to spiral — the day her isolation truly started.
I met her eyes in the glass and said softly, "I think you're someone who's been hurt too deeply to show kindness easily."
She blinked. For a moment, the perfect composure of the noble lady cracked.
Then she laughed — quietly, bitterly. "You're bold."
"Maybe foolish," I said, smiling faintly. "But I'd like to stay anyway."
"Why?" she asked, turning to face me at last.
Because I already promised, I thought.
But I only said, "Because I believe your story isn't over yet, My Lady."
Her gaze lingered on me, unreadable. And for a heartbeat, I saw something flicker in her eyes — curiosity, maybe warmth.
Then she looked away. "Very well. Stay, then. For as long as you can."
I bowed again, heart pounding.
For as long as I can, I echoed silently.
No, My Lady. This time, I'm staying until you're happy.