I was just a side character, so why are you crying?

Chapter 1: The Gourmet Last Supper

The first thing I realized when I opened my eyes was that the ceiling was way too expensive.

Back in my world—the one with student loans and a depressing lack of magic—my ceiling had a water stain that looked vaguely like a crying cat. This ceiling, however, featured a hand-painted fresco of golden cherubs holding grapes.

"Oh, no," I whispered, my voice sounding suspiciously like silk and bells. "Not the cherubs."

I sat up, the silk sheets sliding off my skin. My skin, which was currently glowing with the kind of health that only comes from never having eaten a Cup O’ Noodles in your entire life. I scrambled out of the bed and lunged for the full-length gold-leaf mirror in the corner.

There she was. Genevieve Blackwood.

The violet eyes, the hair the color of midnight, and that slightly dazed expression that said, 'I have no idea what’s going on, but I look fantastic.'

In the drama Crown of Thorns, Genevieve was the ultimate "Disposable Best Friend." Her entire personality was being rich and dying in Episode 15 to give the Crown Prince a reason to finally go to war. She was a plot device. A human emotional-support animal. A glorified extra.

I, Mikaela, a woman who had once spent three hours arguing with a vending machine over a bag of Cheetos, was now a woman destined to be a tragic flashback.

"My Lady! You're awake!"

A girl who looked exactly like a 'Tilly' burst into the room.

"Tilly," I said, testing the name.

"Yes, My Lady? Is something wrong? You’re looking at your hands like they’ve grown extra fingers."

"Tilly, tell me. What is the date?"

"It’s the fourteenth of the Sun Month, My Lady. The day of the Royal Garden Gala!"

I felt a cold shiver go down my spine. The Sun Month. The Gala. That was the day the Crown Prince, Julian Valerius, was supposed to publicly announce his undying love for the Saintess, Liana. It was also the day Genevieve gets publicly humiliated by accidentally spilling red wine on the Saintess’s white dress.

Normally, Genevieve would spend the next three chapters crying in her room.

"Tilly," I said, my brain whirring. "Is the kitchen still serving the imported chocolate truffles from the Southern Isles?"

Tilly blinked, confused. "Um, yes? But you said you were going to fast today so your corset would fit—"

"Forget the corset," I snapped, throwing on a velvet robe. "If I’m going to be a side character in a tragedy, I am at least going to be a well-fed one. Bring me the truffles. All of them. And the wine. But don't give the wine to me—just keep it away from anyone wearing white."

The Royal Gala was exactly as annoying as it was in the drama.

Hundreds of nobles stood around smelling like old perfume and entitlement. I stood in the corner, tucked behind a very large potted fern, happily shoving a truffle into my mouth. This was the life. No lines to memorize, no hero to pine over. Just me and the catering.

"Genevieve?"

I choked. A piece of dark chocolate went down the wrong way.

Standing there was Julian Valerius. He looked like he had been sculpted out of marble and bad intentions. Golden hair, eyes like emeralds, and a jawline that could probably cut glass. In the drama, I was supposed to be hopelessly, pathetically in love with him.

I coughed, wiped a smudge of chocolate off my lip with my thumb, and gave him a thumbs-up. "Hey, Prince. Great party. The shrimp is a bit salty, but the vibe is 10/10."

Julian froze. His brow furrowed in a way that was actually quite attractive, though I wasn't about to tell him that. "The 'vibe'? And why are you hiding behind a plant? Usually, you’re... attached to my arm by this point in the evening."

"Oh, right. The clinging." I took another bite of my truffle. "Yeah, I’m retiring from that. High stress, low ROI. You should go find Liana. She’s by the fountain looking like she’s about to have a very photogenic cry."

Julian didn't move. He stared at me like I had suddenly grown a second head. "You're... telling me to go to her?"

"I mean, that's the plot, isn't it?" I muttered, mostly to myself. I checked my invisible watch. "You’ve got about five minutes before the romantic music starts playing. Go on. Shoo."

I turned back to the buffet table, searching for the mini-quiches. I didn't notice the way Julian’s emerald eyes darkened. I didn't notice the way he stepped closer to the fern instead of walking away.

"Genevieve," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "What exactly are you playing at?"

"I'm playing 'The Girl Who Wants a Quiche,'" I replied honestly. "Look, Julian, you’re the lead. I’m the side character. We’ve had a good run, but I’ve got things to do. Dying, eventually. It’s a whole schedule."

I patted his expensive silk shoulder and walked away, humming a tune from my world.

I was going to live my best, most delicious life for the next few months. Then, I’d fake my death, grab a bag of gold, and find a nice cottage where no one used the word 'Your Highness.'

It was a foolproof plan.

Except for the fact that, behind me, the Crown Prince wasn't looking at the Saintess at all. He was looking at the girl with the chocolate smudge on her face like he’d just seen a ghost—or a miracle.