The Villainess's Unwritten Fate

Prologue

Prologue: A Second Chance

Lyra Etheridge had always believed in second chances—but only for others. As a psychologist, she had spent years guiding her clients toward self-improvement, helping them break free from the weight of their pasts. She never imagined she would need a second chance herself—much less in a world she thought only existed in fiction.

It was supposed to be just another night. Lyra slumped on her couch, the glow of her phone screen illuminating the darkened room. She had been scrolling through the latest chapter of a popular web novel she'd been reading— The Crown's Flower, a story about love, betrayal, and the downfall of a villainess named Aris Devereux. Lyra barely skimmed the lines, her eyelids heavy with sleep. Just one more chapter, she thought. But then, everything went dark.

At first, she assumed she had fallen asleep, but the sensation was different— too cold, too disorienting. She felt a sharp pain in her chest, followed by a suffocating emptiness, as though her lungs were collapsing. The world around her flickered and blurred. Her body felt like it was being torn apart. Was this a dream? A nightmare?

Lyra gasped, her eyes snapping open, her breath ragged. But the familiar sight of her apartment was gone. The soft, pale light filtering through a massive window revealed an unfamiliar setting—a lush, grand garden, filled with roses, and a towering mansion beyond it. The air smelled faintly of earth and flowers. But it wasn't just the setting that was foreign. Her body felt.... Wrong.

Panicking, Lyra glanced down at her hands—delicate, pale fingers adorned with rings that weren't hers. The gown she wore flowed around her like water, the fabric rich and heavy. She stumbled forward, her legs unsteady beneath her, catching her reflection in the window. A face stared back at her—a face that wasn't her own. Long, golden hair framed her unfamiliar features. The heavy weight of unfamiliarity in her chest confirmed it. Her hands shook as she reached up, touching her face, her hair—longer, softer. No, this wasn't her body. Her heart pounded as the realisation settled in.

She wasn't Lyra Etheridge anymore.

A terrifying, surreal memory struck her: Aris Devereux. The villainess from the novel. Lyra had been reading about her moments before her mind went blank. But, now, somehow, she was Aris Devereux.

Was this reincarnation? Had she....died? She couldn't remember the exact moment, but something had clearly gone wrong. Her body had given out— hadn't it?

She was trapped in a body that wasn't hers, in a world she knew all too well, one with a preordained story that ended in her character's ruin.

But she wasn't Aris. Not really. And she refused to live out Aris's doomed fate.

Lyra straightened her spine, determination hardening within her. This world might not be hers, but she wouldn't let it control her. She had a second chance—one she never expected. And this time, she would write her own story.