Alya's last memory was choking on a lukewarm cup of instant coffee at her dreary desk job. It was a tragically unremarkable end to a tragically unremarkable life. Her next memory was the feeling of suffocating silk against her face, the distant, frantic barking of a dog, and the unmistakable, metallic scent of blood.
"She's awake!" a high-pitched, reedy voice screeched, followed by the clatter of a silver tray hitting a marble floor.
Alya's eyes snapped open. She wasn't in her cramped apartment or the depressing office cubicle. She was in a vast, absurdly ornate bedroom. The canopy above her—draped in heavy, sapphire velvet—was so tall it felt like a theatrical stage curtain.
Holy hell, Alya thought, trying to sit up, Did I get hit by a bus and wake up in a museum?
A wave of dizzying pain shot through her temples, followed by a torrent of memories that were definitely not hers: dancing lessons, magic tutors, endless days of being ignored by a stern Duke, and the perpetual, burning jealousy of a beautiful, magically gifted adopted sister named Seraphina.
Alya blinked. The memories coalesced into a terrifying realization.
"Stella Everhart," she whispered the name to herself, the new voice a breathy soprano she didn't recognize.
This was the body of the minor, tragic villainess from the awful, overly popular romance novel, The Saintess and the Three Dukes, which she had read just before she... well, before she died of the world's most anti-climactic caffeine overdose.
The Stella Everhart in the novel was a selfish, magic-less girl who hated the heroine, Seraphina, and was hated in return by the three powerful Male Leads: Duke Kaelen Vesper, Lord Cassian Thorne, and Prince Aerion. Her end was humiliation and permanent exile.
Alya's eyes scanned her surroundings. The room was not a museum; it was the Duke's estate, and she was currently lying in Stella's bed. She was wearing a nightgown that probably cost more than Alya's entire wardrobe.
Suddenly, a massive, muscular man with the perpetually displeased face of a bulldog—the Duke's head butler, Mr. Grimsby, according to the novel's memory—was glaring down at her.
"Young Miss, you cannot simply faint during the Crown Princess's Ball! Do you know the scandal you have caused your father, the Duke?" Mr. Grimsby huffed, adjusting his pristine, starched collar.
Faint? Alya recalled the memories. Stella had tried to sabotage Seraphina's dance with Duke Vesper, tripped, and smacked her head on a marble statue. Classic Stella.
/Oh, for the love of all that is holy. A 'scandal.' Listen, buddy, I had a job that required me to wear pants with actual holes in them and eat instant noodles for three days straight. My former life was a scandal. This is just… rich people being extra. Just let me sleep./
"I apologize, Mr. Grimsby," Alya said, her new, sweet voice sounding foreign and a little too polite. "I seem to have overestimated my constitution. I promise to be more… understated from now on."
Mr. Grimsby stared at her, genuinely shocked. Stella Everhart never apologized; she only threw things.
The butler was still sputtering when the door burst open. Standing there was the novel's heroine, Seraphina, looking like a gilded, worried angel. Her long, silver hair shimmered, and her golden eyes were wet with tears. A soft, warm light emanated from her—the sign of a high-tier magic user.
"Stella! Are you alright? They said you were injured!" Seraphina rushed to the bedside, her voice laced with genuine concern.
In the original novel, this was the exact moment Stella would have slapped Seraphina's hand away and spewed venom about Seraphina stealing the spotlight.
Alya-as-Stella looked at the glowing girl who was, truthfully, ridiculously kind and beautiful. The villainess's envy in the novel was completely understandable, but Alya felt none of it. Only a faint, residual headache ., /she's even shinier in person. It's like standing next to a halogen bulb. Look, kid, I know your fans think you're amazing, but you're blinding me. Also, I don't care about the spotlight. I just want a big, fluffy bathrobe and maybe a historical documentary to watch. No drama, please./
"I'm fine, Seraphina," Stella said, offering a small, tired smile. "Just clumsy. I'm sorry if I ruined your evening."
Seraphina's jaw actually dropped. Mr. Grimsby looked like he might need a fainting couch himself.
"R-ruined? Stella, you… you never apologize," Seraphina stammered, her brow furrowed. "Did the fall hurt your head more than we thought?"
"Perhaps," Stella mused, touching her own forehead. "Maybe I'm finally realizing that being polite is easier than plotting. It takes less energy."
This was Alya's core strategy: radical passivity. If Stella was harmless, maybe the Male Leads would ignore her, and she could avoid her tragic fate.
A distant, sharp voice cut through the air, sending a noticeable chill through the lavish room.
"She's fine. Do not waste the healers' time with her theatrical antics, Seraphina."
A tall, imposing figure stepped into the room. He was dressed in a pristine black uniform embroidered with silver stars, and his face was the picture of aristocratic indifference. This was Duke Kaelen Vesper, the first Male Lead, known for his cold pragmatism and utter disdain for the original Stella.
Oh, great, Alya thought, The first one. And he's definitely judging my cheap-looking nightgown, which is saying something because it's probably made of unicorn silk.
Seraphina instantly brightened, her focus shifting entirely to the handsome Duke. "Kaelen! I was just worried about Stella."
Duke Kaelen didn't even glance at Stella. "Her injuries are self-inflicted drama. We have real concerns to attend to. The rumors are beginning to circulate. I need you to focus on the treaty details, not the Duke's nuisance daughter."
Ouch. "Nuisance daughter." Yep, definitely the Duke Kaelen from the novel.
/Hey, I hear you, buddy. Nuisance daughter is probably my official job title. But listen, Duke Vesper, I'm just trying to get some quality rest and avoid the whole 'being exiled' thing. You keep doing your treaty stuff. You won't see me around. Promise. In fact, if you need someone to sit in a dark corner and be quiet, I'm your girl./
Stella slowly slid her legs out of the bed, feeling the cool marble floor beneath her feet. She stood up, straightened her back, and looked directly at the Duke.
"Duke Vesper is correct," she said calmly, ignoring the sharp look of surprise Kaelen finally threw her way. "Seraphina, you are far too kind to worry over a trifle like me. The political matters require your attention. I'm going to take a long rest."
She gave them both a polite nod that felt completely alien in this body.
"And, Duke Vesper," she added, an unexpected spark of her old Alya-sass slipping past the filter, "if you're going to call me a nuisance, at least use the full title: 'The Duke's Expensive and Very Sleepy Nuisance Daughter.'"
Kaelen Vesper, the man who never showed emotion, actually looked flustered. His severe lips parted slightly. "What did you say?"
"Good day, Your Grace," Stella finished, curtsying—just a tiny, polite dip—and then she turned her back on the Male Lead and the Heroine.
She walked straight to a massive closet door and yanked it open, deciding that the most peaceful place in this ridiculous mansion was to just lock herself in the dressing room and inspect the horrifyingly expensive clothing she was now stuck with.
Seraphina ran to the door. "Stella! Where are you going? You need to rest!"
"Yes, and my rest requires me to avoid all things shiny, important, and dramatic," Stella replied, already pushing aside gowns that looked like they were spun from frozen galaxies. "Don't worry about me. I'm going to find the least important room in this wing and hibernate."
She closed the heavy oak closet door firmly, plunging herself into luxurious darkness and the scent of lavender and moth repellent.
Behind the door, she heard Kaelen Vesper's low, baffled voice. "Did she just... dismiss us?"
Seraphina murmured, "I think she did. She's never acted this way. Perhaps the fall actually made her... nice?"
/Nice? No, kid. Just tired. Bone-deep, soul-weary tired. And I'm not spending my second chance at life chasing after some rich dudes who already hate me. That's for amateurs. I'm playing the long game. The 'don't get murdered' game. And step one of the 'don't get murdered' game is finding the snacks. I wonder if this Duke's mansion has any decent instant ramen, or am I stuck with fancy pigeon pâté forever? The true horror of reincarnation./
Stella sank onto an ottoman hidden behind a rack of ball gowns, pulling one of the ridiculously soft, fur-lined cloaks around her shoulders. She still didn't have magic, but she did have an impressive collection of cashmere. Maybe life wouldn't be so bad if she could just secure an endless supply of high-thread-count blankets and avoid the three Male Leads who were currently confused and standing outside her door.
The story had officially been derailed. Now, all she had to do was survive the sequel.