The Villainess Refuses to Follow the Script-Chapter 38

Beatrice woke up feeling like she had lost a fight in her sleep.

Not physically, no. She had woken up in worse states before. But mentally? Emotionally? She felt like someone had reached into her mind, shaken it around, and left her to deal with the mess.

All because she had been stupid enough to dwell on the past.

She groaned, rubbing her temples as she sat up. The memories from last night still clung to her like an annoying second skin. The writing. The thoughts. The fact that she had once again fallen into the trap of remembering too much.

Her mood was already souring, and she hadn’t even stepped out of bed yet.

Lily entered, cheerful as ever, setting down a tray.

"Good morning, my lady."

Beatrice squinted at her. "Is it?"

Lily paused. "...Should I come back later?"

Beatrice sighed, waving a hand. "No, no. I’ll survive."

Lily gave her a wary glance but wisely didn’t comment.

The rest of the morning didn’t improve things.

By the time she was dressed and ready, she already knew she wasn’t fit for socializing. She was too lost in her own head, still reeling from the weight of her own words the night before.

And it showed.

Because the moment she entered the palace halls, the energy in the air shifted.

Servants stepped aside a little too quickly. A noblewoman, passing by, glanced at her and immediately averted her gaze.

Lila, catching sight of her, raised an eyebrow. "What’s with the face?"

"What face?" Beatrice frowned.

"The one that makes you look like you’re about to sentence someone to exile."

Beatrice rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. If I wanted someone exiled, I’d at least be subtle about it."

Lila smirked. "See, that? That’s exactly why people are looking at you funny today."

Beatrice exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. Great. Just great!

She wasn’t even doing anything, and people already assumed she was slipping back into her villain era.

Across the corridor, she caught sight of Johanna, who—while still ever graceful—was eyeing her with thinly veiled concern.

Wonderful! Now she looked unstable.

And then, of course, Francois arrived.

She could feel him before she saw him, that ever-present awareness creeping up her spine. He stepped into the corridor, sharp-eyed as ever, and of course, immediately noticed her mood.

Beatrice braced herself.

"Lady Beatrice." His voice was as even as always, but there was a carefulness to it.

She met his gaze, forcing a pleasant smile.

"Your Highness."

A beat of silence. He studied her.

"...You’re in a mood," he observed.

"How very insightful of you, my prince."

Lila muttered, "Here we go."

Francois didn’t react to the sarcasm.

"Did something happen?"

Beatrice tilted her head, crossing her arms. "Do I need a reason to be irritated?"

"No." Francois’ gaze didn’t waver. "But you usually have one."

Beatrice fought the urge to scowl. She really, really didn’t want to deal with him right now.

And yet, here he was. Still watching her. Still picking apart every little thing.

Still waiting.

Beatrice exhaled sharply, forcing herself to turn away. "It’s nothing, Your Highness. Nothing at all."

Lila, still watching her with that amused yet knowing look, let out a dramatic sigh.

"Well, this has been entertaining, but if you two are going to spend the rest of the morning staring each other down, I’d rather not be here for it."

Beatrice shot her a look. "Oh, how will I ever survive without your commentary?"

"You won’t." Then, with a lazy wave, she strolled off down the hall.

Francois, to Beatrice’s dismay, did not follow.

Instead, he remained exactly where he was, watching her with that frustrating patience of his.

"Don’t you have important things to do?" Beatrice crossed her arms.

"You’re avoiding something."

She forced a scoff. "I avoid many things. Be more specific."

"You’re not acting like yourself."

Beatrice let out a short laugh. "And what exactly is myself to you, Your Highness?"

Francois didn’t hesitate. "You’re never quiet for this long."

"Maybe I’m just tired." She looked away.

He didn’t buy it. She noticed it in the way he held himself, the way his fingers tapped idly against his sleeve.

Beatrice hated it. She hated how easily he saw through her.

But she was too drained to fight him on it today.

She exhaled sharply. "Look, Your Highness, if you’re waiting for me to have some grand confession about my inner turmoil, you’re going to be disappointed."

Francois held her gaze. "I can wait."

Beatrice clenched her jaw.

Of course he could.

Before she could think of a response, before she could try to deflect again, someone called Francois’ name from the far end of the hall. A court advisor.

His gaze flickered briefly toward them, then back to her.

Beatrice seized the opportunity. She plastered on her most unimpressed look and waved a dismissive hand.

"Oh, don’t let me keep you from your oh-so-pressing duties, Your Highness."

Francois was silent for a moment longer, as if debating whether to push her further.

Then, finally, he inclined his head. "Very well."

Without another word, he turned and strode away.

Beatrice let out a slow breath. That was too close!

Her thoughts were still a tangled mess, her emotions too raw, too exposed. She couldn’t afford to let anyone, especially Francois, get any closer to the truth.

She rubbed her temple, frustration simmering beneath her skin.

She needed to pull herself together. Because whatever this was, whatever this strange, bitter weight pressing down on her, she couldn’t let it consume her.

Beatrice lingered in the corridor for a moment, watching Francois disappear into the distance. The tension in her shoulders refused to ease, even as the hallway emptied.

She turned on her heel, walking briskly in the opposite direction, needing to shake off the uncomfortable tightness in her chest.

The problem was, no matter how fast she walked, no matter how many corners she turned, she couldn’t outrun her own thoughts.

Her frustration simmered dangerously close to the surface, and it didn’t help that every servant and noble she passed seemed extra cautious around her today. Whispers trailed behind her, uncertain glances were exchanged.

Beatrice knew exactly what they were thinking.

The villainess is back.

Her fingers twitched at her sides.

Was it really so easy to fall back into that image? Was one bad mood all it took for people to assume she was slipping into her old ways?

She hated it.

She hated that no matter what she did, there would always be a part of the court that expected her to return to the cruel, desperate woman she had once been.

Maybe that’s why Francois had looked at her like that. Maybe he thought the same thing.

Beatrice exhaled sharply, forcing her emotions down, forcing her expression into something composed. She wouldn’t give them a reason to talk.

She needed a distraction.

Preferably one that didn’t involve any more deep reflection, or worse, another unexpected encounter with Francois.

A sudden thought struck her.

The library.

Books were safe. Books didn’t whisper behind her back or watch her every move like she was a threat waiting to happen.

Making a sharp turn, Beatrice made her way toward the library, her pace quick and determined.

She needed something, anything to take her mind off the mess in her head.

Because if she sat with her thoughts for too long, she wasn’t sure she’d like what they told her.