Pain came first.
Sharp.
Blinding.
And entirely undignified.
"...ugh..."
Esmeralda groaned as consciousness returned, her body aching in places she didn't even know could ache. The world swayed as she opened her eyes, her vision swimming beneath the glare of a grand chandelier above her.
"...What... happened...?"
Voices murmured around her.
Panicked.
Distant.
"My lady!"
"Call the physician—quickly!"
"She fell from the stairs!"
Fell...?
The word echoed strangely in her mind.
And then—
Something snapped into place.
Memories—no, not just memories, but an entire lifetime—crashed into her like a tidal wave.
A cramped apartment.
Cold nights.
Skipping meals.
A worn-out book clutched tightly in her hands.
A story.
About a kind girl who was loved by everyone. But it was not her—
She was Esmeralda. The villainess of the story.
Her breath hitched.
"...Ah."
It all made sense now.
The fall.
The pain.
The sudden clarity.
She remembered everything.
Her life before this one.
And the story she had once read to escape it.
"...I'm in the book."
The realization came calmly—far too calmly for someone who had just fallen down a staircase.
Slowly, she pushed herself upright despite the protests of her body. A maid rushed forward, trying to support her, but Esmeralda barely noticed.
Because she already knew what she would see.
Marble floors.
Grand pillars.
Luxury beyond reason.
The kind of life she once could only imagine.
"...So it's real."
Her lips curved faintly—not in fear, but in quiet awe.
In her past life, she had been poor.
Truly poor.
The kind where comfort was a distant dream, and survival came first.
That was why she had loved that book.
It was her escape.
A world filled with elegance, beauty, and indulgence—
And a foolish villainess who wasted it all chasing love.
"I remember thinking..." she murmured softly, "what a waste."
Now she was that very girl.
Esmeralda.
The villainess who would lose everything.
Who would be cast aside.
Who would die.
Her fingers curled slightly against the cold marble.
"...Not happening."
Her voice, though quiet, carried certainty.
She had no intention of following the story.
No intention of fighting over a man.
No intention of suffering for a narrative that had once merely entertained her.
"I just want to live comfortably."
The words felt almost sacred.
Simple.
Honest.
"I want to eat well... sleep well... and never worry about money again."
No drama.
No heartbreak.
No execution.
Just a peaceful, luxurious life.
Her gaze sharpened.
And at the center of everything she needed to avoid—
Was one person.
The crown prince.
Rael.
No—Israel Sullivan.
The male lead.
The man the heroine would fall in love with.
The man Esmeralda, in the story, had loved to ruin.
She exhaled softly, unimpressed.
"...I don't even like him."
Yes, he was handsome.
Yes, he was powerful.
Yes, he was everything the story painted as perfect.
But she knew the truth.
The arrogance.
The entitlement.
The subtle, suffocating expectation that the world should revolve around him.
In the book, it had been called charisma.
In reality?
"...Narcissism."
She almost laughed.
"No, thank you."
If she stayed engaged to him, she would inevitably be dragged into the story—into jealousy, rivalry, and her eventual downfall.
Absolutely not.
She refused.
Her plan formed instantly.
Clear.
Efficient.
"The festival ball."
A perfect stage.
A public event where she could sever ties cleanly—before the heroine, Amaria, even appeared.
Before the story truly began.
"If I break the engagement there..."
She smiled faintly.
"...I can walk away from all of it."
A peaceful ending.
Exactly what she wanted.
—
The night of the festival arrived in a cascade of light and music.
Everything was just as she remembered from the book.
Glittering chandeliers.
Elegant nobles.
Hidden schemes beneath polite smiles.
It was beautiful.
And entirely exhausting.
Esmeralda stood at the center of it all, poised and graceful, though internally she felt nothing but determination.
Tonight was the night.
Break the engagement.
Escape the story.
Secure her peaceful life.
"...Esmeralda."
She resisted the urge to sigh.
That voice.
Smooth. Confident. Familiar.
Rael approached her, every inch the crown prince described in the book—golden hair, sharp features, and that quiet, ever-present superiority.
Once, she might have admired him.
Now?
She just saw a problem to eliminate.
"You seem distracted," he said.
"You seem observant," she replied lightly.
A flicker of irritation crossed his face.
Good.
"Walk with me," he said. "We need to talk."
Perfect.
"Of course, Your Highness."
They stepped away from the ballroom, the music fading into a distant echo as they entered a quiet corridor lit by soft candlelight.
Esmeralda exhaled slowly.
Stay calm. Stay elegant. Break it cleanly.
She reached for her wine.
Just a little.
Then another.
And perhaps—
One too many.
"...You've been acting differently," Rael said.
"Have I?"
"Yes. Less attentive."
There it was.
Expectation.
Ownership.
She smiled faintly.
"Well... people change."
He frowned. "Esmeralda—"
"You know," she interrupted, her tone drifting slightly, "I read a story once."
"...What?"
"A tragic one." She took a sip. "About a girl who ruined her life over a man who wasn't worth it."
His eyes narrowed. "What are you implying?"
"Nothing." Another sip. "Just that she was very stupid."
A pause.
"...Are you talking about yourself?"
"Technically? Yes."
Another pause.
"...What?"
Ah.
This was going poorly.
Also—
The floor was moving.
That's not good.
"I was supposed to do this properly," she muttered.
"Do what?"
"The engagement," she said, nodding to herself. "Break it off at the ball."
Rael stilled.
"...Break it off?"
"Mm-hmm." She looked at him, far too honest now. "Because I don't love you."
Silence.
"I don't even like you that much," she added.
Ah.
That slipped.
"You're kind of... exhausting," she continued. "And narcissistic."
His expression darkened.
"Excuse me?"
"I used to think you were amazing," she said, swaying slightly. "But that's because I didn't know better. Now I do."
Then—
Her stomach dropped.
"Oh no."
Rael frowned. "What—"
"I think—"
And then—
Everything went horribly, catastrophically wrong.
—
Silence.
Esmeralda stared at the very expensive, very ruined front of Rael's formal attire.
Her mind caught up slowly.
"...I threw up on the crown prince."
Rael stood frozen.
Utterly shocked.
And somehow—
She made it worse.
"You see," she mumbled, swaying, "this is why I don't want to marry you."
"...What."
"You're too self-centered," she said. "It's tiring."
A pause.
"I think I hate your personality."
Another pause.
"...and maybe your face a little."
Silence.
Absolute.
Devastating.
Silence.
Somewhere in the distance, Esmeralda realized—
This was not the peaceful, drama-free life she had planned.
"...Well," she murmured weakly.
Then—
She collapsed.
—
When Esmeralda woke the next morning, she stared blankly at the ceiling.
"...I just wanted a quiet life."
A long pause.
"...Why did I ruin it immediately?"
She covered her face with both hands.
"...This is worse than the book."