Fate Rewritten: The Villainess

Isla had a headache. Not the kind that faded with a cup of tea and a nap, but the kind that lingered after hours of forcing a smile while silently screaming inside. She hadn't expected tea with Prince Louis and Rosaline to be easy, but she also hadn't expected it to feel like she'd been trampled by a herd of very charming elephants.

It had started innocently enough. Rosaline had complimented Isla's gown, Prince Louis had made polite small talk, and Isla had done her best to seem like a perfectly normal, well-adjusted noblewoman who definitely wasn't plotting to derail their love story. But it hadn't taken long for things to go downhill.

"So, Lady Evangeline" Rosaline had said with a smile so sweet it could've given Isla cavities, "how do you spend your days? You must have so many fascinating hobbies. "

"Fascinating?" Isla had repeated, stalling for time. The truth was, she had no idea what Evangeline's hobbies were supposed to be. Scheming? Glaring? Ordering people around? None of those seemed like appropriate answers.

"She's an excellent pianist," Prince Louis had said, his tone clipped. "When she has the time to practice."

Isla had blinked at him, unsure whether that was meant to be a compliment or a subtle dig. "I enjoy music," she said carefully. "And reading. And… embroidery."

Rosaline had clapped her hands together, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, how wonderful! I adore embroidery. Perhaps we could work on something together someday?"

Isla had forced a smile. "I'd like that." She'd meant it as a polite brush-off, but Rosaline's face had lit up with genuine excitement, and Isla couldn't bring herself to backpedal. If nothing else, it was a reminder that Rosaline wasn't just the heroine—she was also a genuinely nice person. Which, frankly, made Isla's life ten times harder.

The rest of the tea had been an exercise in restraint. Rosaline and Prince Louis had shared quiet, meaningful glances while Isla sat there like a decorative vase, trying not to look like she was plotting their demise. She'd laughed at the right moments, complimented the prince's wit, and even managed to choke down a few bites of cake without stabbing her fork into the table. All in all, it had been a success—if success was defined as "not causing an international incident."

But there had been one moment, near the end, that had left Isla rattled.

"Lady Evangeline," Prince Louis had said, his tone formal, "I hope you'll join us at the summer festival next week. It would be…. expected."

Expected. Not "enjoyable" or "pleasant" or even "tolerable." Just "expected." Isla had smiled and nodded, but the words had lingered, sharp and cold. She wasn't a person to him—she was an obligation. A duty. A piece of the political puzzle he had to endure until he could publicly declare his love for Rosaline. And while Isla had no intention of actually marrying the man, the reminder of her precarious position had left her feeling hollow.

---

By the time Isla returned to her chambers, her headache had blossomed into a full-blown existential crisis. She slumped into her chair, her legs tucked beneath her and her head thrown back as she groaned up at the intricately carved ceiling.

"This is fine," she muttered to herself, her voice muffled by the pillow. "You're not panicking. You're just… contemplating the many ways this could all go horribly wrong."

"Lady Evangeline?" Martha's soft voice interrupted her pity party. "Shall I run you a bath or fetch some tea? You look… drained."

Drained was an understatement. Exhausted, defeated, and mildly homicidal sounded more accurate. Still, Isla managed a tired smile. "Tea, please. Lots of it. And maybe some biscuits. Preferably the kind that won't judge me for eating my feelings."

Martha hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Of course, my lady. Right away."

As her maid disappeared, Isla let out another sigh and stared at the ceiling. She couldn't go on like this, floundering through every interaction, constantly on edge. She needed a plan. A real plan. If she was going to survive, she couldn't just react to the plot—she needed to get ahead of it.

Her first priority was obvious: she had to make friends. Real friends. Not the kind who would stab her in the back the moment it suited them, but people who might actually help her change things. Clara had been a promising start—sweet, bubbly, and just naive enough to be trustworthy. If Isla could cement that friendship, it might give her a much-needed ally at court.

Her second priority was trickier. She had to figure out how to navigate Rosaline and Prince Louis without coming across as the jealous, scheming villainess the story expected her to be. The last thing she wanted was to repeat Evangeline's mistakes, but avoiding them entirely might be impossible. After all, Rosaline was the heroine, and the prince was destined to fall for her. Isla couldn't rewrite that part of the story without risking everything spiraling out of control.

And then there was Adrian.

Isla's stomach twisted at the thought of the duke. Their dance at the ball had been… unsettling, to say the least. He was too observant, too calculating. She couldn't shake the feeling that he saw right through her, that he knew she didn't belong in this world. But what was worse—far worse—was the way he seemed interested in her. Not romantically, thank God, but in a way that felt far more dangerous. As if she were a puzzle he intended to solve, piece by piece.

"Well," Isla muttered to herself, "at least I'm not bored."

Martha returned with a tray of tea and biscuits, setting it down on the table beside Isla. The maid hesitated for a moment, wringing her hands before finally speaking. "Lady Clara sent a message for you, my lady."

Isla perked up at that. "Oh? What did she say?"

"She invited you to join her for a stroll in the gardens tomorrow morning," Martha said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "She seemed quite eager to spend time with you."

Isla couldn't help but smile. Clara's enthusiasm was infectious, and the thought of having a real friend—even one as chatty and carefree as Clara—was a welcome relief. "Tell her I'd be delighted to join her," Isla said. "And Martha? Thank you."

Martha's cheeks flushed pink as she curtsied. "You're most welcome, my lady."

---

The next morning, Isla met Clara in the gardens, where the early sunlight bathed the flowers in a soft golden glow. Clara was already waiting for her, a parasol in hand and a wide-brimmed hat perched atop her auburn curls. She waved enthusiastically as Isla approached.

"Lady Evangeline! Oh, I'm so glad you came! Isn't it a beautiful morning?"

"It is," Isla agreed, smiling as she joined Clara. "Thank you for inviting me. I could use some fresh air after… well, everything."

Clara nodded sympathetically. "Oh, I can only imagine. Tea with the prince and Lady Rosaline must have been so… intense. They're both so lovely, aren't they?"

Lovely wasn't the word Isla would have chosen, but she nodded anyway. "They certainly are"

The two women strolled through the gardens, their conversation light and easy. Clara spoke at length about her favorite flowers, her latest embroidery projects, and the upcoming summer festival. Isla listened, chiming in occasionally with questions or comments, but mostly letting Clara steer the conversation. It was a welcome change from the constant tension of court life.

As they rounded a corner near the rose bushes, Clara lowered her voice conspiratorially. "You know, Lady Evangeline, I've always thought you were misunderstood."

Isla blinked, caught off guard. "Misunderstood?"

"Yes" Clara said earnestly. "People say all sorts of things about you, but I've never believed them. I think you're just… well, different. And that's not a bad thing, you know."

Isla stared at Clara for a moment, her heart swelling with an unexpected sense of gratitude. She hadn't realized how much she'd needed to hear something like that, even if it wasn't entirely true. "Thank you, Clara," she said softly. "That means a lot."

Clara beamed. "Of course! And if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm always here."

Isla smiled, but before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted them.

"Lady Evangeline, Lady Clara."

Isla turned to see Duke Adrian Blackthorn approaching, his dark coat immaculate and his expression as unreadable as ever. Her stomach sank. Of course he'd show up now, just when she was starting to feel comfortable.

"Your Grace," Clara said, curtsying. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Indeed," Adrian said, his gaze flickering to Isla. "I hadn't expected to find such charming company in the gardens this morning."

Isla forced a smile, though her pulse quickened. "Your Grace. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Adrian's lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. "I was merely taking a walk when I happened upon you. I hope I'm not intruding."

"Not at all!" Clara said brightly. "In fact, you're just in time. Lady Evangeline and I were discussing the summer festival. Will you be attending, Your Grace?"

Adrian's gaze didn't leave Isla as he replied. "I wouldn't miss it."

Clara seemed oblivious to the tension between them, but Isla felt it like a weight pressing down on her chest. Adrian's presence was unsettling, his every word and gesture calculated. She couldn't shake the feeling that he was testing her, trying to see how she would react.

"Well," Clara said, breaking the silence. "I must say, I'm looking forward to the festival. It's always such a lively event. Don't you think so, Lady Evangeline?"

Isla blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. "Oh, yes. Absolutely. "

Adrian's smile widened ever so slightly, and Isla felt a chill run down her spine. She didn't trust him—not for a second. But she couldn't afford to let him see that. If he was playing a game, she had to play it better.

---

Later that evening, Isla sat at her desk, scribbling furiously in a notebook she'd found in one of the drawers. It wasn't much—just a simple leather-bound journal—but it was enough for her purposes. She needed a way to organize her thoughts, to keep track of her goals and strategies. If she was going to change the plot, she couldn't afford to rely on memory alone.

Her first entry was a list of priorities:

1. Befriend Clara. (Progress: Good! Keep it up.)

2. Avoid antagonizing Rosaline. (Progress: Work in progress…)

3. Find a way to steer Prince Louis away from Rosaline without looking suspicious. (Progress: TBD.)

4. Figure out what Adrian is up to. (Progress: Nonexistent. Ugh.)

5. Stay alive. (Progress: So far, so good.)

Her second entry was a list of potential allies and enemies. Clara was at the top of the 'allies'column, followed by Martha (because who didn't love a loyal maid?). Adrian's name was scrawled in big, bold letters at the top of the 'enemies' column, followed by a question mark. She wasn't entirely sure where he stood yet, but she wasn't taking any chances.

As she finished writing, Isla leaned back in her chair and stared at the page. It wasn't much, but it was a start. For the first time since waking up in this world, she felt like she had a semblance of control. If she could stick to her plan, maybe—just maybe—she could survive this story.

And if not… well, at least she'd go down swinging.