The Villainess Refuses to Follow the Script-Chapter 51

Beatrice didn’t sleep.

Not really.

She had dozed off at some point, but it had been restless, her mind looping over Francois’ words like a broken record.

By the time morning arrived, she felt as though she had barely closed her eyes. Still, she forced herself to move, to act normal, to push aside the lingering unease curling in her stomach.

She wouldn’t break.

She couldn’t break.

Lily entered her chambers at the usual hour, bright and chipper as always, balancing a tray of breakfast and fresh tea.

"Good morning, my lady!"

"Is it?" Beatrice groaned, rubbing her temples.

Lily paused, eyeing her carefully. "Did you not sleep well?"

Beatrice forced a smile, reaching for her tea. "I had... a lot on my mind."

Lily frowned but didn’t pry. Instead, she moved to prepare Beatrice’s gown for the day, chattering lightly about the court’s gossip. Beatrice barely listened, until she caught something interesting.

"Lord De Silva and his family departed early this morning," Lily said, fluffing out the skirts of a pale blue gown. "The servants say he barely spoke to anyone before leaving."

Beatrice’s grip tightened around her teacup.

Good.

She forced herself to remain casual. "And what about the rest of court? Any new excitement?"

Lily tilted her head in thought. "Not much, aside from the usual noble politics. Oh, but there was talk about you."

"There always is." Beatrice sighed.

Lily gave her a knowing smile. "Yes, but this time, it was positive."

Beatrice blinked. "...Come again?"

Lily’s grin widened. "Lady De Silva may have left unimpressed, but the rest of court took notice of your performance at dinner. There’s talk of how clever you’ve become. Some even said you held your own better than some of the king’s advisors."

Beatrice set her cup down carefully.

This... hadn’t been mentioned in the novel.

The book had painted her as a joke. An arrogant noblewoman who had been put in her place during the De Silva visit.

But now, the narrative was changing. And more people were noticing.

Beatrice hummed, pretending to examine her nails. "Well, I am rather brilliant."

Lily laughed. "I’m just saying, my lady. It’s different from before."

Her stomach twisted.

She already knew that. She just wasn’t sure if it was a good thing.

By midday, Beatrice found herself in the palace gardens, seeking a moment of solitude.

The crisp autumn air was a welcome relief, clearing some of the fog in her mind. She walked along the stone paths, hands clasped behind her back, gaze flickering over the vibrant flowers and neatly trimmed hedges.

She needed to think.

Francois’ warning still echoed in her head. She had never been safe in this world. The court was a battlefield, and she had been playing this game long before she had even realized it.

Still...

She had let her guard down.

Gabriel had proven that.

She had been so fixated on following the novel’s story that she had ignored the gaps, ignored the moments that hadn’t been written, the details that Johanna had never seen.

And it had nearly cost her.

Never again. She needed to be better.

Beatrice was so lost in thought that she didn’t immediately notice the presence behind her.

She did, however, hear the sound of approaching footsteps.

She turned just as Francois stepped into view, hands folded neatly behind his back, his usual unreadable expression in place.

Of course.

"Are you following me now?"

Francois raised an eyebrow. "You flatter yourself."

Beatrice huffed, crossing her arms. "Then what do you want?"

Francois studied her for a beat, then said, "You seem troubled."

"Really? That’s what gave it away? The quiet brooding or the existential crisis?" Beatrice laughed, short and sharp.

Francois didn’t smile. He didn’t even look amused.

Instead, he said, "You still haven’t asked me why I warned you last night."

Beatrice stiffened.

She had avoided thinking about it.

Carefully, she tilted her head. "I assumed it was your usual habit of prying into my life."

"It wasn’t." Francois held her gaze.

A cold breeze rustled through the garden.

Beatrice inhaled slowly. "Then tell me, Your Highness. Why did you warn me?"

Francois studied her, and for the first time, she thought she saw something beneath his usual mask.

A flicker of something deeper. Something dangerously close to concern.

"Because this is only the beginning."

Her stomach dropped.

"Gabriel De Silva was bold enough to act, knowing the risks. That should concern you." Francois continued, voice steady.

Beatrice inhaled sharply, forcing down the sudden spike of frustration.

"Then what would you have me do, Your Highness? Run? Hide?"

He didn’t answer immediately. He just kept looking at her, like he was trying to figure something out.

"I would have you be careful."

Beatrice swallowed as she looked away from him. She turned her gaze back to the gardens, watching the way the wind rustled through the leaves.

"Noted," she murmured.

Francois sighed, but he didn’t push further.

Not yet.

Instead, he simply said, "Walk with me."

Beatrice frowned. "Excuse me?"

"You need a distraction," Francois said simply, already turning down the path. "And I need fresh air."

Beatrice considered refusing. But then again, when had she ever been good at walking away from trouble?

With a long-suffering sigh, she fell into step beside him.

They walked in silence for a while, the tension between them still thick but... different. And as much as Beatrice hated to admit it, for the first time in days, she didn’t feel like she was drowning.

Not completely, anyway.

They walked in silence at first, the only sounds being the crunch of gravel beneath their boots and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees. The palace gardens were peaceful at this hour, the late morning sun casting dappled light through the leaves.

It should have been calming.

But her mind wouldn’t stop turning.

"You’re thinking too loudly," Francois said beside her.

Beatrice glanced at him, brow furrowing. "Excuse me?"

Francois kept his gaze forward. "You’re frowning. You do that when you’re overthinking."

"Maybe I’m just frowning because I find your company insufferable."

Francois hummed, unconvinced. "Unlikely."

She huffed but didn’t argue. She didn’t have the energy for their usual back-and-forth.

They reached a stone bench tucked beneath a flowering archway. Without waiting for an invitation, Beatrice sat down with an exhausted sigh.

Francois remained standing whiile she leaned back, tilting her head toward the sky.

"I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me how this is only the beginning?"

Francois was quiet for a moment.

"The eastern border has been restless for months," he said. "Now, we have reports of increased movement. Strategic positioning."

She forced herself to sound indifferent. "And what does that have to do with me?"

Francois finally looked at her. "Everything."

Beatrice tensed.

"You’re not just any noblewoman, Beatrice. Your family controls half the kingdom’s trade routes. If war breaks out, alliances will shift. Influence will matter more than ever."

Beatrice exhaled slowly. "And that makes me a target."

Francois nodded.

Beatrice ran a hand down her face. Lovely!

This was exactly the kind of complication she didn’t need. She had spent so much time worrying about how to survive the novel that she hadn’t stopped to consider how deeply she was already entangled in its politics.

She rubbed her temples. "You make everything sound so dramatic."

Francois tilted his head slightly. "Isn’t it?"

"Fine. Let’s say war is coming. What do you want me to do? Flee the palace? Marry some warlord for protection?"

"Don’t be ridiculous." His expression darkened.

Beatrice smirked. "Oh? Was that actual concern I heard?"

Francois exhaled sharply. "If you’re not going to take this seriously—"

"I am taking this seriously," Beatrice cut in. "I just don’t see how knowing about this changes anything for me. What do you expect me to do, Your Highness? Lead an army?"

"I expect you to be prepared."

Beatrice stared back at him.

For all her planning, for all her knowledge of the novel’s events, she had never once considered what came after.

She had spent all this time trying to survive. But if the story was already changing, then survival might not be enough.

She swallowed hard. "You act like I have a choice."

"You always have a choice."

Beatrice clenched her jaw. She didn’t have a response for that.

Francois sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just... promise me something."

"That depends on what you’re asking." Beatrice raised an eyebrow.

Francois gave her a flat look. "Promise me you’ll be careful."

Beatrice opened her mouth. To argue, to deflect, to make a joke.

But the words wouldn’t come.

Because Francois was looking at her like he actually meant it. Like he actually cared.

Beatrice exhaled slowly. "Fine."

He studied her for a moment longer before finally nodding. The tension between them eased, just slightly.

Then, as if remembering himself, Francois straightened. "Good."

Beatrice smirked, trying to reclaim some semblance of control.

"I didn’t say I’d listen. I just said I’d promise."

Francois exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "You truly are impossible."

"And yet, you keep seeking me out. Curious." She beamed at him.

Francois didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he turned, already heading back toward the palace.

"Don’t be late for court."

Beatrice groaned. "Ugh! More politics?"

Francois glanced at her over his shoulder. "More watching."

"Watching what?"

"You’ll see." He smirked faintly, and then he was gone.

Beatrice scowled at his retreating figure, thoroughly unimpressed with his dramatics. The moment he disappeared, her smirk faded.

She traced a finger over the stone bench, lost in thought.

Be prepared.

You’re not safe.

This is only the beginning.

Beatrice inhaled deeply, forcing herself to steady.

If Francois thought she needed to be ready, then she would be. But on her terms.

With a flick of her wrist, she adjusted the folds of her skirt and stood. There was work to be done.

She turned back toward the palace, her footsteps slow and deliberate.

Despite the warm sunlight filtering through the garden, a chill still clung to her.

She could brush off the court’s whispers. She could handle Lady De Silva’s games, Gabriel’s threats, and even Francois’ constant scrutiny. But this? This was something else entirely.

War wasn’t some noblewoman’s scandal to be gossiped about over tea. It was real. And if she wasn’t careful, it would swallow her whole.

Her fingers curled into fists. She refuses to let that happen.

She was not Beatrice Da Ville, a foolish villainess doomed to ruin. She was Bea Elisha Park, a woman who had been thrown into this world with knowledge no one else had.

And she would use it.

She wasn’t some delicate noble waiting to be protected. If fate wanted her to play a part in this war, then fine.

But she would play it on her own terms.

Beatrice exhaled sharply, shaking off the tension in her shoulders.

She picked up her pace, her heels clicking against the stone path as she reentered the palace.

If Francois wanted her to be prepared, then she would be. She would learn. She would gather information.

And the next time someone tried to test her, whether it was Francois, Gabriel, or the kingdom itself...

She wouldn’t just be ready. She would be dangerous.