Luciana finds her parents waiting outside her room, their faces a mix of anticipation and pride. Her brother, slightly older, gives her a small nod as they all step into the hallway.
Her father, the Duke, reaches out and pats her head affectionately. "You look lovely, darling."
Luciana forces a smile, the gesture feeling both foreign and familiar. She's acutely aware of her parents' expectations, the role she's scripted to play.
Luciana:"Thank you, Father,"
She replies politely.
Luciana sits beside her brother in the carriage, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The frilly dress feels like a costume—one she's worn too many times in past memories.
She doesn't speak. Just stares out the window, watching the kingdom roll by: the bustling markets, the flower-lined streets, the commoners bowing as noble carriages pass.
Her brother glances at her once—curious, perhaps suspicious of her silence—but says nothing. Inside, Luciana's mind hums.
Odette's ceremony... where I should've thrown my first tantrum over a dance invitation I never got... where I started digging my own grave with jealousy.
A breeze flutters through the open window.
This time? No tears. No screaming.
Just calm.
And plans. ✨
As they ride on the carriage, Luciana steals glances at her older brother, Philip. She recalls her past encounters with him, how he would attempt to intervene when the old Luciana started one of her infamous tantrums.
At the thought, a pang of guilt flickers across her face. But it's quickly replaced by a neutral expression as the carriage ride continues. Her thoughts then drifts to the Crown Prince, Alan Ronald Craine. Luciana's heart sinks a little as she sees his age — eighteen, and already accomplished, graduating from overseas.
Luciana, flanked by her brother and parents, strides gracefully into the royal palace, her face a mask of calm detachment. Her gaze takes in the opulent surroundings with a practised nonchalance.
Nobles mill about, dressed in lavish silks and velvets, their voices a low hum of whispered gossip.
Luciana catches a few glances in their direction. Surprise, curiosity, and a hint of envy. "The Duke's daughter," someone murmurs. "So calm, today. How strange..."
Her gaze drifts across the opulent hall, skimming over the sea of faces. The whispers follow her: "The Duke's daughter... unusually calm today..."
She ignores them, her gaze instead falling on Odette at the center of it all. The future queen, surrounded by well-wishers and admirers.
Then, inevitably, her eyes find Alan Ronald Crane.
Luciana's breath catches in her throat. The Crown Prince stands there, regal and composed, and so maddeningly handsome.
She feels something stir within her. Not the familiar burn of jealousy...
In the whirlwind of the ceremony, a strange realization takes hold of Luciana. As her gaze drifts over the crowd, it's not jealousy towards Odette that stirs within her... it's a sense of nothingness. She looks at the future queen, the one everyone adores, and feels an unexpected indifference.
But there's another feeling that flutters, a pang of something else. It's a hint of envy, but not for Odette's position. It's a pang of envy for the affection all these people show her... affection that was notably absent in her past life.
Luciana's fingers tighten slightly on the edge of her fan as the memories rise—cold, quiet evenings in a cramped apartment, instant noodles and dog-eared romance novels her only company.
No one calling to ask how she was.
No parents to scold or soothe.
No brother like Philip, who at least tried with her.
And certainly no prince glancing her way.
She watches Odette laugh under a shower of rose petals, adored by all—and something cracks inside.
Not hatred.
Longing.
A fragile, dangerous thing. Not for Alan... not really. But for belonging. To be seen—not feared, not mocked—but wanted in this glittering world she's been tossed into twice.
But just as quickly, she seals it shut.
Her face remains neutral. A flicker of sadness? Gone.
After all... villains don't get happy endings.
Unless they rewrite the story first~ ✨
Luciana stands beside her brother and parents as they bow before Odette. She keeps her expression schooled into a mask of aloof civility.
Philip takes the initiative, bowing gracefully. Luciana follows suit, her curtsy smooth and practiced.
Their parents exchange a surprised glance. It was... unexpected. Polite. They'd mentally prepared for tantrums, at least. Odette beams at them, seemingly oblivious to the surprise. She speaks with her signature cheer,
Odette:"Oh, it's so lovely to see you all!"
Alan approaches Odette with a calm, regal presence, his hand settling on her waist—a gesture that's both tender and territorial.
Luciana's eye twitches. Just slightly.
Siscon. The word echoes in her mind like a tragic chorus. Of course he does. They all do.
She keeps her face perfectly neutral—lips soft, eyes downcast at just the right angle of respectful distance—but inside? Utter exasperation.
Honestly... is there no prince in this kingdom who isn't obsessed with his stepsister? Even the brooding ones from overseas come back for more?!
Still, she smiles faintly as Alan greets them with polite formality, voice smooth as aged wine.
"Duke Crain," he says, "a pleasure to see you again."
Luciana bows again—graceful, flawless—and murmurs the proper response.
And not once does she roll her eyes.
(Victory.)**
With Alan and Odette whisked away to mingle with other nobles, Luciana finds herself alone. Her parents are chatting with other nobles, her brother engaged in conversation with his contemporaries.
She stands there, a lone figure amidst the crowd. And her eyes drift towards the main couple of the novel—Alan and Odette. They move through the party like royalty, drawing admirers effortlessly.
She almost scoffs. It's a predictable scene, straight out of the novel's pages. But a bitter thought lingers.
Luciana:"(They have each other. What do I have?)"
Three noble girls—the blonde leading the trio—approach, voices high and shrill as sparrows.
They gush almost hysterically about how perfect the Crown Prince and Odette are for each other. "They're just so... magical!" "It's like they were meant to be!"
Luciana listens with calculated patience, her face schooled into a perfect picture of polite interest.
Perfect they say, for each other, she thinks dryly. A picture-perfect romance... and I'm just the scenery.
As the blonde noble girl continued gushing about the Crown Prince and Odette, something clicked in Luciana's mind. This girl, with the curly blonde hair and the shrill giggly voice—was also supposed to be a villainess.
The irony wasn't lost on Luciana. It seemed this novel wasn't just about Odette and the Crown Prince. It was also about the tangled web of villains and rivals who'd try to ruin everything. She kept her face neutral, listening politely as the girl prattled on. This could be useful information.
...Clara Montclair.
The name slips into Luciana's mind like a forgotten footnote—ah yes, Duke Montclair's only daughter. The other villainess. Not quite as infamous as her, but destined for a downfall all the same—usually framed after Luciana's own fall from grace.
Luciana keeps her expression smooth, eyes slightly lowered—like she's absorbed in the conversation.
But inside?
A spark.
Clara... loud, flashy, jealous of Odette too... but impulsive. Reckless. The kind who throws perfume at balls and regrets it three days later.
And yet...
She's watching Luciana now, head tilted slightly—curious why the usually shrieking brat is so calm.
Luciana:"You're right, Clara... they really do look perfect together."
Her voice? Soft. Agreeing.
But the words?
Poisoned with sugar~
Clara blinks, surprised at the agreement—and the change in Luciana's demeanor.
She was expecting screaming, insults, jealousy... not this.
She exchanges a surprised look with her friends, then hesitantly continues. "I mean, the way he looks at her... like she's the only one in the room..."
Luciana lets her prattle on, pretending to listen intently.
Inside, her mind is already busy. Clara was a loose cannon, easily baited into making stupid decisions.
And that could be... useful.
Clara's voice drops to an almost scandalized whisper. "Aren't you supposed to be jealous?! And mocking Princess Odette like usual...?"
Luciana doesn't flinch. Doesn't blink. Her gaze stays fixed on Alan and Odette—his hand still possessively at Odette's waist, her laughter ringing like wind chimes in sunlight.
Then, slowly, she turns to Clara.
Her purple eyes are calm. Empty. Like a still pond reflecting the sky—beautiful, but hiding depths no one dares swim in.
And in that same soft, even tone:
Luciana:"Maybe... I've finally learned my place."
A beat of silence.
Clara's smile falters—confused, unsettled. This isn't the Luciana Crain she knows. The shrieking brat who storms off when ignored? The one desperate for attention?
No.
This girl is different.
And somewhere beneath that neutral mask... something far more dangerous stirs:
A villainess who remembers.
Who plans.
Who waits.
But Clara doesn't see it yet...
Oh... she will~ ✨
Clara hesitates, thrown off by Luciana's calm demeanor. She tries to recover, crossing her arms and raising her chin—the picture of haughty noble girl.
Clara:"I mean... this whole calm and collected act isn't really your thing, Luciana. You're usually causing a scene or shouting insults. What's gotten into you today?"
She speaks softly—no sneer, no rage—just quiet finality.
Luciana:"I'm going to stop chasing after that 'Siscon' crown prince. After all... why should you keep on loving someone who doesn't love you back?"
The words hang in the air like a dropped glove.
Clara freezes mid-scoff, mouth slightly open. Her friends? Silent. Even the nearby chatter seems to dull for a breath.
Then—Luciana walks away.
Not with a storm of skirts and tears, but with measured grace, her frilly dress swaying like smoke in the wind.
No glance back.
No drama.
Just... departure.
And behind her?
Three noble girls rooted to the spot—one trembling on the edge of panic—as if they just witnessed the first crack before an avalanche.
Because this?
This wasn't just change.
This was war.
And Luciana Crain had just declared it~ ✨
As Luciana departs from the stunned noble girls, another pair of eyes follow her from across the room.
The fourth prince, Ajan Vivian Crane, stands apart in the shadows—a lean silhouette against the wall. His gaze is sharp, intense.
He watches with an expression that's almost... pleased.
There's something in Luciana's calmness, her quiet confidence, that sparks interest in him.
The words echo in Ajan's mind again—Luciana's quiet acceptance, the calmness that replaced the usual tantrums and rage.
It clashes with the image of the villainess from the novel—loud, shrill, jealous, petty.
Something is different.
He watches her weave through the crowd, her frilly dress moving through the sea of people with ease. It's as if she's a completely different person.
Luciana slips out of the crowded ballroom through a side door and lets out a sigh. Finally, some peace and quiet. She leans against the door, closing her eyes for a moment.
All the etiquette, the false smiles and small talk... it's exhausting playing the part of the well-mannered noble girl.
She can let her guard down here, just for a bit.
That is... until a soft, mocking voice breaks the silence.
As Luciana opens her eyes, she's surprised to find she's no longer alone. There, across the small hallway, is a young man leaning against the wall. Orange hair, a monocle, eyes blue like sapphires.
Prince Ajan Vivian Crane.
Luciana's face stays neutral even as her mind races. What is he doing here? Did he follow her?
She keeps her voice carefully even, hiding any sign of surprise.
Luciana:"Prince Ajan,"
She says, a cool greeting. Ajan raises an eyebrow at her greeting, taking a step towards her. His eyes scan her for a moment before he speaks.
Ajan:"I must say, I'm quite surprised, Miss Crain."
His voice is smooth, his words casual.
Ajan:"I expected a tantrum, a storm of tears and insults like usual. But here you are, leaving so quietly. What, no more chasing the crown prince around?"
He almost sounds amused. Luciana narrows her eyes just slightly—measuring him.
*Prince Ajan Vivian Crane.* The shadow prince. The one who slips between pages like smoke, barely mentioned... yet always *watching.*
She remembers now—no sister complex, thankfully—but still, he cares for Odette. Just... like a brother. A quiet protector in the wings.
And more importantly?
He's *not* in the original novel much.
Which means...
He might be unpredictable.
Unscripted.
Her lips part—calm, controlled.
Luciana:"Tantrums, are for people who don't know they're trapped in a story."
A beat.
Then—a flicker of challenge in her purple eyes.
Luciana:"And I've already read the ending." ✨
Her words hang in the air, a silent challenge. Ajan goes still for a moment, surprise etched into his features.
Then—understanding.
He leans back against the wall, studying her with narrowed eyes.
Another reincarnator.
That explains... just about everything. Her calm demeanor. Her words. He lets out a low whistle, almost admiring.
Ajan:"So, you know the script too, Miss Crain."
Luciana keeps her face neutral, but inside, her mind whirls.
*He knows she's a reincarnator too... which means he must be one as well.*
She watches him carefully, trying to gauge his next move. "You..." Her words are slow, measured, a hint of surprise slipping through before she catches it.
Luciana:"You're like me, aren't you? Remembering your past life..."
Ajan smiles faintly, not confirming or denying. But the glint in his eye makes it clear—he's not denying it either.
He pushes off from the wall, stepping closer to her, his tone almost conversational.
Ajan:"It seems we have that in common then. Two souls stuck in a script we know the ending of."
Luciana tilts her head, her voice suddenly soft—almost singsong.
**"London bridge is falling down..."**
A pause. A flicker in her violet eyes.
*...My fair lady.*
The unfinished lullaby hangs between them like a secret key.
Back in *her* past life, it was just a nursery rhyme.
But here?
In *this* world?
It was never in the novel.
Ajan freezes—just for a breath too long. His monocle catches the moonlight as his gaze sharpens, truly *seeing* her now.
Only someone from another world... would know that tune by heart.
And only a fellow prisoner of fate...
Would use it as a signal~ ✨
Ajan meets her gaze, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. His voice is quiet but steady as he picks up the tune.
"**London bridge is falling down... falling down...**"
The rest of the rhyme goes unsaid, but its echo hangs between them like shared understanding.
Yes... they're both the same. Reincarnators. Aware of the world they're stuck in. Caught in the same story.
Ajan leans back against the wall opposite her, his gaze never leaving hers.
A silent moment stretches between them—two souls adrift in a world of fiction, finally finding solid ground.
Then, without a word, they move.
Luciana steps forward first, just an inch. Ajan mirrors her.
And then—arms open.
No grand declaration. No tears. Just the quiet, fierce relief of *not being alone.*
They embrace—brief, tight—an anchor in the storm.
Luciana:"...Comrade,"
She murmurs against his shoulder.
Ajan:"...Friend,"
He replies softly, almost like a vow.
When they pull apart, their eyes still hold the weight of unspoken plans and shared survival.
The story hasn't changed.
But now?
Now they're playing it *together~* ✨
Luciana and Ajan walk side by side through the opulent halls, their strides even and unhurried. Her face is still the mask of calm composure as she takes in the lavish decor and the other nobles fluttering about.
He glances sideways at her, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Ajan:"You know... you don't have to keep up the 'aloof noble girl' act when it's just us."
Luciana:"That's how I always look?"
He eyes her skeptically, raising an eyebrow.
Ajan:"Oh please. You've barely cracked a real smile since I've met you."
Luciana doesn't deny it. She just gives him a cool look that says *your point?*
He laughs, a hint of wry amusement in his tone.
Ajan:"Oh, no offense, but you don't exactly scream 'approachable'. You could freeze soup with that look."
Luciana tilts her head slightly, voice cool and pointed.
**"You're not going back to your sister's ceremony?"**
The question hangs—innocent on the surface, but laced with knowing. She doesn't need to say *"Aren't you supposed to be the doting brother?"* or *"Shouldn't you at least pretend?"*
She sees through it. And so does he.
Ajan smirks, adjusting his monocle with a lazy flick of his fingers.
**"Odette's never needed me in the spotlight,"** he says lightly. **"She has Alan for that—the perfect brother who adores her."** He pauses... then adds, softer:
**"I protect her better from the shadows."**
Luciana studies him—really studies him.
Not just a reincarnator.
But a *player.*
And suddenly?
The stoicism cracks—just for a breath.
A faint, real smile tugs at one corner of her lips.
Luciana:"...Good answer." ✨
He glances at her, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
Ajan:"So... do *you* want to go back? Back to the ceremony? Back to the simpering nobles and the 'perfect
couple'?"
He asks low and teasing. Then gestures vaguely toward the ballroom, where music still drifts through the hall like perfume on smoke.
Ajan:"Or would you rather... skip the act for a while longer? I know a place where no one will find us—where we can actually *breathe*."
Luciana:"I'd rather stay at home, to read books or romance novels- To past the time than go such tiring gatherings... So yes"
He lets out a soft, knowing chuckle.
Ajan:"Ah... so even in this life, you're still hiding behind books? Romance novels, hm? How *predictable*."
He tilts his head- studying her. There's no mockery—only amusement, and something warmer beneath it.
Ajan:"Then again..."
He pushes off the wall and starts walking toward a quieter wing of the palace—the one leading to the hidden garden.
Ajan:"I've got a secret library no one knows about. Rare manuscripts... *forbidden* ones."
A sly glance over his shoulder.
Ajan:"Including original copies of... certain *trashy love stories*."
Luciana's eyes flicker—just barely—with interest. But she keeps her voice flat:
Luciana:"...Lead the way, comrade."
And just like that—two exiles from fate slip into the shadows together~ ✨
They stop in front of the library's heavy, ornate doors—carved with patterns of bookshelves, scrolls, and quill pens.
Luciana's eyes widen momentarily, a flicker of surprise showing in their violet depths.
Ajan chuckles softly at her reaction, and pushes open the door.
The library is magnificent—sprawling and silent, lit by dozens of flickering lanterns. Bookshelves line the walls from floor to ceiling, filled to overflowing with tomes and scrolls of all sizes and languages.
He grins, gesturing for her to enter.
Ajan:"After you... bookworm."
Luciana:"Is it really okay, to bring me to the royal library...?"
He chuckles again, leaning against the wall next to the door. He crosses his arms, watching her with an almost smug air.
Ajan:"Oh, this library is practically *sacred*, No one's allowed in without the Crown Prince's say-so... and the old librarian just turns a blind eye."
Luciana walks among the shelves, running her fingers over the spines admiringly.
Ajan:"But I have a *special arrangement*,"
He adds, his tone almost sly.
Ajan:"I'm allowed to bring... *interesting company*."
He pushes off the wall and wanders beside her, hands in his pockets. He glances at her sideways, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Ajan:"Besides..."
He reaches up, pulling a dusty book from one shelf.
Ajan:"You'd be the only person who truly appreciates this collection.... *Bookworm."*
He hands her the book—a worn, leather-bound manuscript, the title written in ornate gold text. *Tales of the Silver Lake.*
Ajan plucks her off the floor with surprising ease—before she can protest—and settles cross-legged on the plush rug between two towering bookshelves.
Then, with a calmness that dares her to argue, he pulls Luciana down onto his lap.
She stiffens—eyes sharp, back straight—as she turns to face him, one brow arched like a drawn sword.
Luciana:"...What do you think you're doing?"
Ajan only smirks, adjusting his monocle as if nothing's amiss.
"Comfort," he says smoothly. "You really expect me to believe you'd rather read *romance novels* while sitting on cold marble?" He leans slightly forward, voice dropping low. "Besides... we're comrades now. A little closeness won't kill you."
He taps the open book in her hands.
Ajan:"Now keep reading... *before I steal your spot back.*"
And though Luciana's cheeks burn faintly—hidden beneath her cool mask—she *does* keep reading.
(Just not without side-eyeing him every third page~ ✨)
The Royal Librarian, Shane, walks through the quiet aisles of tomes and scrolls, checking that the books are arranged perfectly—when he stops.
His eyes widen at the sight before him.
Prince Ajan, the fourth prince, is sitting on the plush rug between two towering bookshelves.
And a girl—only 12 by the looks of it—is perched on his lap as they read from a worn book.
For a moment, he's frozen in astonishment.
Shane stands rigid, arms crossed and face pale with disbelief. He clears his throat again—louder this time.
"...Sire."
Ajan slowly lifts his head from the book, not startled, not embarrassed—just *amused.*
Luciana? Already glaring like a cornered cat.
Then Shane drops the bomb:
**"You're not becoming a lolicon, are you?"**
Silence.
Then—
Ajan bursts into quiet laughter, leaning back against the bookshelf without disturbing Luciana on his lap. "Oh gods. No." He smirks. "Relax, old man. She's *twelve in body only.* Mind's older than your favorite grimoire."
Luciana snaps her book shut and turns slightly to glare at Shane over her shoulder—cold purple eyes sharp as frostbitten glass.
"And I'm sitting here because he kidnapped me mid-sit," she deadpans. "Not because I *wanted* to be on his lap."
(Though she doesn't exactly move.)
The librarian stares at them both... then sighs deeply, rubbing his temples like a man who just aged ten years in ten seconds.
Shane:"Just... don't damage any books,"
He mutters before walking off—but not without casting one last suspicious glance behind him~ 📚✨
Still nestled on Ajan's lap—though she'd *never* admit it was comfortable—Luciana flips a page with exaggerated calm, voice cool as if she weren't currently seated like a scandal waiting to happen.
"Mm. So," she murmurs, not looking up. "How's life with two full-blown *Siscons* for older brothers... and Odette caught in the middle of it?"
Ajan exhales through his nose—a half-laugh, half-sigh.
"Exhausting," he says dryly. "Alan treats her like a goddess descended from heaven. Raphael? He writes poems about her when he thinks no one's listening." He rolls his eyes. "Honestly, I'm surprised the palace isn't filled with portraits of her weeping roses or whatever."
He leans back slightly, voice dropping lower.
"But Odette... she doesn't care for that kind of obsession." A pause. Then—a smirk toward Luciana. "She once told me *'I wish someone would see me as just... ordinary.'*"
Luciana finally glances at him—just one slow side-eye.
"Funny," she says flatly, turning a page again without reading it this time.
**"The only person who sees her that way... is now sitting on your lap."**
Silence.
Then—
Ajan bursts into quiet laughter again, shaking his head as if defeated by fate itself~ ✨
She flips a page idly, still pretending to read—though her question hangs sharp in the air.
Luciana:"Where's your third older brother... *Jake Bray Crain*?"
Ajan glances toward the ceiling like praying for patience.
"Gods, don't get me started on my *third* brother," he mutters. "He's off on one of his 'personal quests' again. Trying to find himself, or something."
He shakes his head with a sigh. "He's... complicated. Always searching for some higher calling. I'm sure he'll come back soon."
He glances at Luciana, an amused glint in his eye. "Why do you ask?"
Luciana:"You two are the only brothers, who are *Sane*- In the royal family..."
Ajan lets out a dry chuckle, the sound low and laced with irony.
"*Sane?*" He repeats the word like it's a fragile glass ornament—tempting to shatter. "Luciana... in this family, *sane* is just the quiet before the storm."
He shifts slightly beneath her, arms loosely crossed behind his head—still impossibly relaxed for someone currently housing a 12-year-old reincarnated villainess on his lap.
"But yes," he admits, voice softer now. "Jake and I... we're not obsessed with Odette like Alan or Raphael." A pause. Then: "We love her—but as *family.* Not fantasies." He smirks sideways at her. **"Which makes us rare in this palace of delusion."**
Luciana gives a small nod—just one—and turns another page.
But beneath it?
She's thinking:
*Two sane brothers... two loose cannons...*
And one quiet girl who just wanted to read romance novels in peace—
Now tangled in something far more dangerous.
**The story is changing...**
One chapter at a time~ ✨
The moon hangs high, silvering the marble halls as Luciana closes the final page of *Tales of the Silver Lake.*
She stretches—just slightly—a rare moment of unguardedness—before sliding back into her usual composure.
Ajan stands first, offering a hand with that ever-present smirk. "Finished devouring forbidden romance, *bookworm*?"
She ignores his hand and rises on her own—but not fast enough to hide the faint flush when she remembers *how* she was sitting.
They walk side by side again, silence settling like dust on old books. The palace is quiet now—no music, no nobles. Just shadows and whispers.
Then Luciana speaks, voice soft but clear:
**"We should do this again."**
Ajan glances at her—surprised? Pleased?
He doesn't reply at first.
Just smiles.
And in that smile?
A promise.
Not of love.
Not yet.
But of **allies in a world written against them~** ✨
Ajan and Luciana stroll side by side through the palace hallways, moonlight guiding their path. He pauses for a moment, glancing at her.
"You know," he says—casually, as if discussing the weather— "If you ever need an escape from your noble duties, I can... bring you back to the library again."
His voice is neutral, eyes still facing forward. It's a simple offer, nothing more.
At first, that is. Because then he adds:
"But next time? Maybe not on my *lap*."
Luciana:"... That's acceptable"
Ajan smirks, though he doesn't look at her. "*Acceptable?* Such high praise. I should frame it."
They keep walking—quiet again—until the palace gates come into view, moonlight painting them silver.
Then, without breaking stride:
She adds softly, almost too quiet to hear:
Luciana:"...But the lap option is... *not rejected.*"
And with that?
She walks ahead just a step—leaving Ajan slightly behind.
This time?
He's the one who freezes.
Monocle glinting.
Mouth opening slightly.
Then closing.
A beat passes.
And from behind her back—a slow, triumphant grin spreads across his face like ink through parchment~
**Round one... goes to Luciana~** ✨
Ajan smirks, watching Luciana slip ahead—still reeling from her unexpected, quiet comment.
"You..." He says slowly, catching up. Then: "Minx. You said that on *purpose*."
She doesn't reply, just keeps walking—but he can see her smile faintly in the moonlight.
Ajan sighs—partly amused, partly frustrated. He runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head.
"You're going to be trouble, aren't you?"
Luciana:"What's your past life like?"