The Villainess Refuses to Follow the Script-Chapter 49

The weight of last night still clung to her, pressing down on her bones like something tangible. She sat up slowly, her body sluggish, her mind still tangled in the questions she had spent the night asking herself.

What else had she missed?

How much of the story had been hidden from Johanna’s perspective?

And more importantly, how much danger was she truly in?

A sharp knock at the door yanked her from her thoughts.

Lily entered before she could respond, carrying a tray of breakfast and already looking exasperated.

"You look awful," she declared.

"Good morning to you too," Beatrice muttered, rubbing her temples.

Lily set the tray down and folded her arms. "I heard about Lord De Silva."

Beatrice stilled.

Of course, she had known the rumors would spread. Court gossip traveled faster than wildfire, but she hadn’t expected to be dealing with it before she’d even left her room.

"Is it true?" Lily watched her carefully.

Beatrice forced a light scoff.

"Which part? That he walked me to my chambers? That Francois intervened? That I was left breathless by their dramatic standoff?" She rolled her eyes. "People do love a story."

Lily didn’t look convinced. "That’s not an answer."

Beatrice exhaled, reaching for the tea on her tray. "It’s nothing, Lily. Nothing happened."

Another lie. And just like Francois, Lily wasn’t fooled.

She let out a slow sigh, adjusting the blankets at the edge of the bed.

"You know, my lady," she murmured, "when you say nothing happened, it makes me worry more."

Beatrice took a sip of tea and forced a smirk. "You should know by now, I’m impossible to worry about."

Lily’s lips pressed into a thin line. "That’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told me."

Beatrice didn’t respond.

Because, for once, she had nothing clever to say.

Beatrice left her chambers later than usual, stepping into the palace halls only to immediately feel the weight of too many eyes on her.

The whispers had started early.

As she passed by groups of nobles, she caught snippets of their conversations. Soft, hushed tones, careful glances in her direction.

"Did you hear?"

"Prince Francois had to step in—"

"Lady Beatrice, causing trouble again—"

Beatrice clenched her jaw.

She had expected this. She knew how the court worked, how quickly rumors turned into daggers aimed at the back. But after last night, after everything, she wasn’t in the mood to play their games.

She kept walking, ignoring the stares, the whispers, the sideways glances.

"Ah, Lady Beatrice," a smooth voice interrupted her thoughts.

She turned.

Gabriel De Silva stood at the end of the corridor, arms crossed, lips curled into that same easy, practiced smile.

Beatrice’s pulse spiked.

Her body reacted before her mind could, every muscle tensing. She had spent hours convincing herself she wouldn’t be rattled by him, wouldn’t let him see that he had shaken her.

But now, standing here, watching that knowing smirk creep across his face...

Her fingers twitched at her sides.

Gabriel bowed slightly, his voice dripping with mockery. "I trust you slept well?"

Beatrice inhaled slowly. Control. Do not give him the satisfaction.

She offered a neutral smile. "Quite well, actually." She tilted her head. "Though I do appreciate the concern, my lord."

"Of course. It’s only natural to worry about a lady’s well-being after an eventful evening." Gabriel’s smirk deepened.

Beatrice wanted to slap him. Instead, she shrugged, her smile sharpening.

"Oh, but there was nothing eventful about it at all," she said smoothly. "Just a gentleman ensuring my safe passage." She met his gaze head-on. "Surely, you wouldn’t want it to be misinterpreted otherwise, would you?"

Gabriel’s expression didn’t shift, but something in his eyes flickered.

Beatrice didn’t wait for a response. She stepped past him, her head held high, ignoring the lingering heat of his gaze on her back.

But as she walked away, she knew.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

By midday, Beatrice was exhausted.

It wasn’t just the lingering unease from Gabriel. It was everything. The rumors, the speculation, the way the court seemed eager to shove her back into the role of villainess.

And then, of course...

"You’re frowning," Francois said as she entered the study.

Beatrice groaned. "Do you ever greet people with something pleasant?"

Francois didn’t answer. He was seated at his usual spot near the window, documents spread before him. His gaze flickered over her, sharp and assessing.

Beatrice ignored the scrutiny, dropping into the seat across from him. "Did I miss anything important?"

"Just the usual," he said. "A few trade agreements. A minor border dispute. The court tearing itself apart with gossip about you."

Beatrice exhaled through her nose. "Lovely."

Francois didn’t respond right away. Instead, he leaned back slightly, studying her like he was waiting for something.

"You look tired."

Beatrice let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Oh, wonderful. Another compliment."

Francois didn’t look amused. "Beatrice."

She met his gaze.

Silence stretched between them for a moment.

"Do you understand what would have happened," he said, voice low, "if I hadn’t arrived when I did last night?"

Her stomach twisted imagining the what-ifs.

She forced a smirk. "And here I thought you enjoyed playing hero."

"This isn’t a joke." Francois’ expression darkened.

She tensed on her seat. He had never used that tone with her before. Not like this.

She opened her mouth, to deflect, to say anything, but Francois wasn’t done.

"You are not untouchable," he said. "You can pretend this is all just court politics, but it’s not. You know that."

Beatrice swallowed.

"You need to be careful," Francois said. "Because if anything happens to you, Beatrice—"

He stopped, and her pulse thrummed.

For the first time, he looked uncertain. Like there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t.

Beatrice exhaled, forcing herself to ease back into her chair. "I can handle myself, Your Highness."

Francois watched her for a long moment.

Then finally, he sighed. "I hope that’s true."

That night, Beatrice sat in her chambers, staring at her notebook, the pages filled with words that suddenly felt like lies.

She had spent so much time believing she knew this world, believing she understood its rules.

But she didn’t. Not really.

And if she wasn’t careful, she was going to learn that the hard way.