Chapter 1: The Execution Warrant is Soft and Warm
My sister was a disaster.
That's the only way to describe a twenty-four-year-old woman who spent her weekends weeping over 2D men and shouting at her phone. She was an addict, and her drug of choice was a trashy, high-society romance novel called Romance of the Dawn.
"Brother, listen!" she'd wail, shaking me while I tried to eat my cup noodles. "The Crown Prince is a god! But this Duke? This Lucien Auremont? He's a walking dumpster fire! He has an affair with the Grand Duchess! The Grand Duke—Alaric Valecourt—is going to behead him in the 'Beast Hunt' arc! It's coming! He doesn't deserve her! It's a jumbled mess of betrayal and—"
Blah, blah, blah. Fragments. Jumbled garbage. "Affair arc." "Downfall." "Beheaded." I didn't care. I just wanted to finish my noodles.
Then I choked.
A piece of dehydrated narutomaki went down the wrong pipe, my sister screamed something about a "cliffhanger," and the world went black.
In those stories, the villainess is usually the one who gets a second chance.
The universe, however, has a sick sense of humor.
My first sensation wasn't the afterlife. It was heat.
Soft, suffocating, silky heat.
I was buried in something—no, someone. My face was pressed into a valley of warm, fragrant skin. I felt the steady, rhythmic heartbeat of another person against my cheek. I was naked. Completely, skin-to-skin naked.
Wait. I'm alive? I felt a surge of joy. A second chance! I opened my eyes, ready to thank whatever God had saved me.
Then the memories hit. It wasn't a stream; it was a goddamn flood.
* Grand Duchess Sofia Valecourt.
* Grand Duke Alaric Valecourt (The "Human Demon" of the North).
* I am Lucien Auremont. The idiot villain.
My heart didn't just skip a beat; it tried to exit my ribcage.
I am cooked. I am absolutely, 100% well-done.
"You're awake," a voice purred. It was low, husky, and vibrated through my very bones.
A pair of slender, pale arms tightened around my neck, pulling me deeper into the embrace. I looked up. Sofia Valecourt was staring down at me. She was breathtaking—disheveled silver hair, flushed cheeks, and eyes that looked like they were still glowing from a fire that hadn't quite gone out.
"I crossed every line for you yesterday, Lucien," she whispered, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw with terrifying tenderness. "You promised me. You said you'd take responsibility. You won't abandon me now, right?"
My brain was a drumming mess. This wasn't a Shonen manga. I didn't have a 'System' window. I didn't have a magic sword. I was in a romance novel, lying in the bed of a woman whose husband could level a mountain range with a glare.
And apparently, I—or the idiot who inhabited this body before me—had just performed a marathon.
"I... I'm here," I managed to croak out. My voice was raspy. My body felt like it had been run over by a carriage, then backed over for good measure.
"I know you are," she giggled, a sound that should have been sweet but felt like a noose tightening. She kissed my forehead, her body pressing flush against mine. "You scared me, you know? You collapsed right after... well, after the last time. I thought I'd worn you out completely."
The body died of exhaustion? I thought, horrified. He did the deed and then his heart gave out? What kind of pathetic, stamina-less villain is this?!
"Where... where are we?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
She nipped at my earlobe, a playful, dangerous gesture. "You dummy. We're in my private bedroom. In the heart of the Valecourt estate."
Panic Mode: Level Max.
We weren't just in an affair; we were in the Lion's Den. I had crossed the rubicon, burned the bridge, and then salted the earth.
"The... the Grand Duke?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Sofia shifted, rolling so she was draped over me, her hair falling like a curtain around us. Her eyes danced with a teasing light. "Alaric? He's long gone. He's inspecting the fortresses on the Northern Border. Some Nordhavn raids. He won't be back for several days."
She leaned down, her lips brushing against mine, her breath smelling of expensive wine and ruin.
"We could even do a few more rounds," she whispered. "Since you're so worried about him."
Why are you teasing me?! I screamed internally. I'm going to be executed because of you!
"You won't leave me, right?" Her tone suddenly shifted—less teasing, more desperate. "You promised me with your mouth. You promised me with your body. You said Alaric didn't deserve a woman like me."
I looked at her—at the most beautiful, dangerous death sentence I had ever seen. I had two choices: tell the truth and get kicked out into the hands of the guards, or play along and live for another hour.
I reached up, my hand trembling slightly as I brushed a strand of hair from her face. I pulled her down into a hug, burying my face in her neck to hide my sheer terror.
"I won't leave," I lied, the words tasting like ash. "I'm right here."
For now. Until the 'Beast Hunt' starts and I become the prey.