The Villainess Refuses to Follow the Script-Chapter 44

Beatrice’s breath hitched.

She sat frozen in place, eyes locked on the candle’s flickering flame, ears straining for any sound beyond the steady thrum of her own heartbeat.

The library was silent. Too silent.

Her fingers twitched over the cover of her notebook. She swallowed, forcing herself to turn her head. Slowly, carefully, and towards the door.

Nothing.

The door was still shut, the handle unmoved.

But she couldn’t shake the feeling. The presence of something, someone, just beyond her line of sight. It was ridiculous. The logical part of her mind told her that.

Francois had left, and no one else had entered. The library was empty.

And yet, she felt like being watched. Beatrice exhaled, forcing a laugh under her breath.

"Losing it," she muttered, shaking her head. "Absolutely losing it."

She pressed a hand to her temple, willing herself to focus. It had been a long day. No, a long week. And the exhaustion was finally catching up to her. That was all this was.

A trick of the mind. She needed sleep.

Beatrice sighed, closing the notebook and sliding it back under the pile of books where it would stay hidden. She had already tempted fate enough tonight.

Gathering her things, she rose from her seat, smoothing down the front of her gown. The eerie weight in the air had yet to fade, but she refused to indulge whatever nonsense her brain was conjuring up.

She turned toward the door.

And paused.

A shadow moved. Just barely. Just enough to make her heart stop.

Beatrice’s breath caught in her throat as she whipped around. Her pulse pounded against her ribs, eyes scanning every darkened corner, every bookshelf, every flickering shadow.

Nothing. The library was still empty.

Her stomach twisted. Something was definitely wrong.

She forced herself to breathe. To move. To walk to the door, open it, and step into the hallway as if she hadn’t just felt something crawl up her spine.

The corridor was dimly lit, the sconces along the walls casting a warm glow over the polished floors. Everything looked normal. Everything was normal.

Beatrice exhaled, shaking off the lingering unease.

It was fine. It was nothing.

And yet, as she walked back toward her chambers, she couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder.

Just in case.

Beatrice’s steps quickened, the distant echo of her heels against the marble floor is the only sound in the otherwise silent corridor.

She wasn’t running, she refused to let herself run. But there was a tension in her spine, a quiet urgency in the way she moved.

The feeling hadn’t left her.

That nagging, unsettling weight pressing against the back of her neck, like unseen eyes still followed her. Like something lurked just beyond the edge of her senses, waiting.

She clenched her jaw. Enough!

She was being ridiculous. She had spent too much time lost in her own thoughts, tangled in memories and rewriting fate. Her mind was playing tricks on her, twisting shadows into something they weren’t. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

That was all it was. A trick!

Beatrice exhaled sharply as she rounded the next corner... only to collide straight into a solid chest.

She stumbled back, inhaling sharply, already bracing to snap at whoever had the audacity to stand in her way at this hour.

Only to find herself staring up at a very familiar figure.

Of course it was Francois!

Beatrice groaned, resisting the urge to rub her face.

"Are you following me?"

"You nearly walked straight into me. Should I be asking you that question?" Francois raised an eyebrow.

She scowled, stepping back to put space between them. "I’m just heading to my chambers."

Francois studied her for a beat, then let his gaze sweep over her carefully.

"You’re pale."

Beatrice scoffed, folding her arms. "Oh, wonderful. I love unsolicited commentary about my complexion."

"What happened?" Francois ignored her deflection.

"Nothing."

He didn’t look convinced.

Beatrice huffed. "Your Highness, not every strange mood of mine is some great unraveling mystery for you to solve."

"Perhaps not," Francois admitted. "But something clearly unsettled you."

Beatrice hated how well he could read her.

"And what makes you think that?" She tilted her chin up.

"You were looking over your shoulder."

Beatrice stilled. Damn it!

She had been careful. She had forced herself to walk naturally, to move as if she weren’t checking for something unseen. But Francois had still noticed.

His gaze was steady, too observant.

Beatrice let out a slow breath, forcing a shrug. "It’s nothing. Just a long day."

Francois didn’t respond immediately. But after a moment, he took a slow step closer. Not enough to crowd her, but enough that she could feel the shift in the air between them.

"If it were nothing," he said quietly, "you wouldn’t be lying to me."

She clenched her jaw.

Because he was right. And she hated that he was right.

Beatrice’s grip tightened against the fabric of her skirts. She refused to look away first.

Francois was waiting, expecting her to give something away.

But she couldn’t.

Because if she admitted that something felt wrong, if she so much as hinted at the uneasy feeling curling in her stomach, then it would become real. And the last thing she needed was Francois paying even more attention to her.

So instead, she exhaled sharply, forcing a light chuckle.

"Lie is a strong word, Your Highness. I prefer - selective truth."

His expression didn’t change. "Will you quit deflecting?"

Beatrice looked away guiltily.

Francois let out a quiet sigh, tilting his head slightly, as if debating whether to press the issue further. Beatrice braced herself, already preparing for another interrogation.

But to her surprise, he stepped back.

"Fine," he said, tone unreadable. "Have it your way, Lady Beatrice."

Beatrice blinked, caught off guard by the sudden retreat.

Francois turned slightly, as if about to walk past her. But then, as he moved past her shoulder, his voice dropped low.

"But if you are being watched," he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear, "I suggest you figure out by whom, before they decide to stop watching and act."

Beatrice stiffened.

By the time she turned to look at him, he was already walking away. Her pulse thrummed against her skin, too fast, too unsteady.

Because for all her denial, for all her insistence that she was imagining things, Francois had just confirmed it.

She wasn’t the only one who noticed.