The Side Character Who Stole The Story.

The first thing I felt was softness. Not the lumpy mattress in my dingy apartment, but an absurd, weightless softness that made me feel like I’d sunk into a cloud. I opened my eyes slowly. The ceiling above me wasn’t cracked white plaster. It was an intricate canopy deep velvet, embroidered with gold threads that shimmered faintly under the warm glow of candlelight. I sat up abruptly, and the sheets slipped from my shoulders. Silk. Pure silk, smooth and cool against my skin. “What…?” My voice came out softer than I remembered—higher, sweeter. I glanced down. The hands resting on my lap weren’t mine. They were pale, slender, and delicate, with perfectly manicured nails painted a faint pearl pink. I held them up, staring in disbelief. My hands were supposed to be slightly tanned from all those late-night walks to the convenience store, my fingers a bit calloused from writing. But these? These were aristocratic hands. My gaze darted around the room. The bed was massive, draped in curtains of silver and white. A polished dressing table stood by the window, littered with sparkling jewelry and perfumes in glass bottles shaped like crystal teardrops. Beyond the balcony, I saw manicured gardens bathed in the soft glow of twilight. This wasn’t my home. This wasn’t even my world. My chest tightened, a creeping dread snaking up my spine. I scrambled out of bed and stumbled to the mirror. The girl staring back at me wasn’t me. Long silver hair cascaded down her shoulders, glinting like moonlight. Her eyes were a piercing icy blue, sharp and cold, framed by lashes so long they cast shadows. Her face was breathtaking—delicate yet fierce, the kind of beauty that belonged on the cover of a fantasy novel. But I knew this face. I knew it far too well. “No way…” My breath caught. Because this was Seraphina Valentine. The villainess. The side character. The one who only existed to torment the heroine in The Moon’s Shadowed Bride, the book I binge-read during a sleepless week of exams. The same Seraphina who, after committing one too many petty cruelties, was discarded by everyone and killed mercilessly by her fiancé—the bastard prince. “Oh no,” I whispered. My knees almost buckled. I gripped the edge of the dressing table to steady myself, my mind spinning. This wasn’t a dream. I could feel the cold marble floor under my bare feet. I could smell the faint scent of roses and expensive perfume lingering in the room. This was real. I had transmigrated. And not even into the heroine. No. I had to become the tragic stepping stone for someone else’s happy ending. I pressed a trembling hand to my forehead. Think. Think. In the novel, Seraphina’s downfall began at the royal ball. She publicly humiliated the heroine—calling her a lowborn nobody in front of the entire court. That was the first domino. And then came the engagement. Seraphina’s marriage to the bastard prince was announced that same night. A political trap disguised as an honor. But the bastard prince… he was terrifying. A man who smiled like a predator, who had no interest in Seraphina beyond using her as a pawn. And in the end? He killed her himself. My throat went dry. My reflection stared back at me, pale and shaken. “I’m not dying for someone else’s love story,” I muttered under my breath. “No way. I’ll survive. I’ll just… change the script. Be nice. Stay quiet. Don’t cause trouble. Easy, right?” As if on cue, a soft knock echoed from the door. “Milady?” The voice was quiet, almost hesitant. A maid, “It’s time to prepare for the Royal ball.” My eyes widened. "Royal Ball? So, today is the day where Seraphina will get engaged..." The room felt colder suddenly. My fingers curled into the silk sheets, nails biting into the fabric. I forced a smile I didn’t feel and called back, my voice barely steady. “…I’ll be ready.” But inside, my mind was screaming. Because no matter how much I tried to stay calm, one thought echoed over and over like a curse. I’ve just stolen a villainess’s life… The fiancé of the bastard prince. _