Villager A Wants to Save the Villainess no Matter What! - Chapter 45

“My only regret was.. living like a puppet for my sister!”Olivia Witherland had no one but her sister in this world. So when her sister Oriana married the duke of Aykroyd and became the duchess, she had no choice but to follow her there. Despite knowing that her sister had killed the previous duchess and going to harm the child left behind, she kept her eyes closed. But when the child grew up as Demon,he killed everyone including her and the innocent kids, Oriana gave birth to.Olivia regretted that her silence had harmed not only Damon but her innocent nephew and niece. Everyone was killed, but the killer lived a hollow life too.But fate gave her a second chance. Would she be able to save everyone or would destiny play a cruel game again?

Transported to a rural family in 1973, where eating required food stamps, dressing needed cloth tickets, stepping out asked for a letter of introduction, doing business was considered speculative profiteering, and securing a job demanded an urban household registration. She, a young girl from the countryside, faced an indifferent mother, a troublesome younger brother, and an elder sister who often had poor ideas. Life had become insufferable.Memories from her past life are mostly forgotten, yet the myriad of objects in her magical storage ring baffles her greatly.

Transmigrated into a trash body of general's daughter as female lead? Peh! Too mainstream! Transmigrated to be a villainess? Common! What about transmigrating and ending up as cannon fodder? Have read it before!

What happens when, in the midst of struggling to keep up with life, you suddenly discover that you were a princess in a past life? Now, you're just a waitress with a drunken mother and a pile of bills to pay. But deep down, you know one thing: you’ll find the stupid jerk responsible for ending your royal life, no matter what it takes.Alexia POV:Then there are the spoiled, narcissistic rich jerks who think their daddy's car gives them a free pass to treat women like objects. Not today, Satan. These guys are like walking perfume ads with egos bigger than their bank accounts. I swear, they should just marry themselves—they're clearly their own type.When one of those jerks lands at my table, I can smell the entitlement from a mile away. I don't even wait for the inevitable sleazy pickup line or the “accidental” brush of their hand against mine. Nope. I pawn them off on one of the other waiters faster than you can say “unpaid rent.”