No Longer His Villainess

Chapter 3: A Daughter Again

Eleanor | Forbes Magic Academy Grounds | Late Afternoon

Seven days of forced rest, but now?

I could finally walk again.

Bruises gone, bandages gone, and no limp. I walk head high, chin up, and spine straighter than a palace corridor.

The sun stretched lazily over the academy, casting a golden hour glow on the old bricks and flowers that didn't bloom when I needed them to. It was warm and beautiful. Almost felt like the world was apologizing for throwing me off a cliff, well, APOLOGY NOT ACCEPTED.

I adjusted the ribbon on my cloak and stepped forward with the elegance of a Roséthorne and the poise of someone who had been betrayed and survived it like a queen.

Today, I was going home.

My family's carriage waited outside the gates. It was glossy and black, bearing the proud Roséthorne crest.

It's an ornate heraldic crest. A black shield bears a single, vivid red rose. Above it, a gold crown gleams with crimson accents, while two golden swords rise behind, their hilts etched in fine detail. Roses twine with gold scrollwork along the sides, and a golden banner at the base proudly bears the name ROSÉTHORNE.

Yes, that screamed luxury, I know.

I was ready to leave Forbes Magic Academy, no, to leave Duncan and Charlotte and every memory soaked in bitterness. I was going to the neighboring kingdom of Frostvale, to my uncle's estate, and I would disappear in lace, poetry, and silence.

Heal in luxury. Glow up in peace.

And then fate, because she's a dramatic little witch, sent me one last scene before the credits rolled.

Duncan.

Walking on the opposite side of the courtyard alone, as if the universe just couldn't help herself.

He looked like heartbreak dressed in cashmere and ice. All cold angles and brooding silence. His ash-blonde hair shifted with the wind, and his silver-grey eyes were lost in some thought I would've once begged to understand.

I froze for a breath, not out of longing. Because this was it. MY FINAL TEST.

The old Eleanor? Oh, she would've run to him, clung to his arm, breathed in his indifference like it was the last air in the world. She would've giggled, flicked her hair, and said something ridiculous just to feel his gaze on her.

But that girl?

SHE DIED.

So I didn't smile and didn't slow down.

Instead, I walked with the grace of a villainess in her final act. Every step deliberate and every flick of my hair is a reminder that I had risen, that I no longer chased boys who watched me fall.

Then, he looked up. Our eyes locked.

He froze.

His cold, unreadable expression flickered for the briefest second.

But I passed him. Silently.

Our shoulders didn't touch, but I swear the tension curled in the space between us like fire meeting silk.

I didn't look back, but if I had? I bet I would've seen it.

The tiniest c***k in Duncan Davenford's perfect indifference and oh, how delicious that thought was.

Because this time, I wasn't falling for him.

I was making sure he watched me rise.

Eleanor |Roséthorne Estate | Early Evening

The mansion hadn't changed.

The ivy still curled up the marble columns. The fountain still sang its soft melody by the gates, and the same set of stone lions with a rose guarded the front steps, like no time had passed at all.

But I had changed, and the second the carriage rolled to a stop, I felt the sting behind my eyes. The burn in my throat. The tight, ugly knot in my chest.

I wasn't supposed to cry, that wasn't me.

Eleanor Roséthorne didn't cry.

I was the villainess. The sassy heiress. The girl who could set a ballroom on fire with one sarcastic smile but the second I saw them, Mother in her pearl-blue dress, spine straight, beauty still terrifyingly breathtaking and Father beside her, arms crossed, expression unreadable but his eyes is softer than I ever remembered, I jumped.

Literally.

Off the carriage, onto the stone path. Skipping the entire graceful act I'd rehearsed since I was six.

My boots slapped the ground and I ran.

"Lady Eleanor?!" the footman yelped. One of the maids gasped. Mother's perfectly glossed lips parted in horror but I didn't care.

"Mother!" My voice cracked as I flew into her arms.

The scent of her, jasmine, powder, and soft gardenias, hit me like a memory I didn't know I'd missed until now.

"Sweet stars above," she muttered, arms wrapping around me despite herself. "Eleanor, get a hold of yourself. Your hair is flying like a kite! O-oh my darling, are you crying?"

"Yes," I choked, pressing my face into her shoulder like I used to as a child. "I'm a disaster, aren't I?"

"Well," she sighed, dabbing under my eyes with her silk gloves. "At least you're still fashionable while doing it."

I laughed then I turned to Father. He hadn't moved an inch. His stare could've shattered glass but his jaw clenched. His throat, bobbed.

"F-father" I whispered.

For one horrible second, I thought he'd walk away but instead, he stepped forward and pulled me in.

"I suppose the cliff knocked the sass out of you, hmm?" he grumbled.

"Nope." I sniffed, half-laughing through my tears. "Still got it."

His hand rested on my back. "Good. Would've been a shame if it rattled that sharp tongue of yours loose."

The butlers were all frozen by the entrance. The maids? Wide-eyed. No one had ever seen Eleanor Roséthorne cry, or the Duke of Roséthorne hold his daughter like this. Not even in this very house but in that moment, I wasn't the infamous socialite or the fiancée everyone whispered about in the halls of the academy.

I was just a daughter.

One who had missed her mother's perfume. Her father's gruff love. The walls that used to feel like a cage now felt like home, because in my first life?

I lost them both.

Mother had folded under the weight of the my scandals and took her own life in silence.

Father followed days later. A man made of steel who shattered when his wife disappeared but not this time.

Not if I could stop it.

I wrapped my arms around them tighter.

"I missed you. So much." I breathed.

Mother smoothed my hair. "You look thinner. Are they not feeding you well at that magic-infested academy?"

Father grunted. "Or maybe she's been crying all her meals away. Look at her, sobbing like a child."

"I am your child, you know," I grinned through the mess of tears.

For once, he didn't snap back.

Instead, he looked at me, really looked at me and for a heartbeat, his eyes glistened.

Then he cleared his throat sharply. "Enough of this."

"Yes, yes," Mother said, sniffing and brushing at her own lashes when she thought I wasn't looking. "Let's not traumatize the staff. Eleanor, darling, please don't ruin your dress. It's silk."

"I don't care," I said with a watery laugh.

"And that attitude," Father muttered, turning toward the door, "is what terrifies me most."

He paused, just as the butler opened the doors for us the with a low but stead voice, he said, "Let's get inside. We have a lot to talk about."