“His Grace is summoning Lady Beatrice.”

The soldier’s voice was flat, polite in the way people were polite when refusal wasn’t an option.

Behind him, the maids froze—then exploded into motion like someone had set off a fire alarm.

“Arms up!”

“Quickly, quickly!”

“We’re all going to die—”

Hands grabbed at my nightgown. I was yanked upright like a ragdoll, still processing the fact that I’d apparently been isekai’d by a bad review.

“Wait—what are you—oof!”

Someone shoved a corset against my ribs and started lacing it like they were preparing a thanksgiving turkey.

“You look radiant today, my lady!” a maid chirped while actively trying to rearrange my internal organs.

“Radiant?” I wheezed. “I can taste my own spleen—”

“His Grace will surely be pleased!”

“Yes, of course, very pleased!”

Another maid threw a powder-blue gown over my head. It had approximately seventy-three layers and enough ruffles to clothe a small village.

“Is this a dress or a military fortification?” I asked, muffled by fabric.

No one answered.

Some maids eagerly pushed me toward the door, faces tight with barely concealed panic. Others straight-up vanished. One second they were fluffing my sleeves, the next they’d discovered urgent business behind curtains, under tables, possibly in another dimension.

The ones who remained kept shooting me nervous glances.

“My lady, you look—”

“Stunning!”

“—like you could kill a man!”

“What?”

“I said you look thrilling!”

I squinted at them. “That’s not better.”

Not gonna lie though—going from a corporate drone who had to smile through client tantrums to a villainess everyone was terrified of?

Yeah. I could see the appeal.

Except for the whole dying horribly part.

As we descended the grand staircase, my head throbbed. Then—without warning—memories slammed into my brain like someone had dumped a file cabinet on my head.

Beatrice’s memories.

Birthday parties where she’d gotten three ponies. Three. A father who’d given her literally everything except boundaries. Servants who treated her like a tiny dictator in petticoats.

And recently—a pink-haired girl who’d waltzed in and stolen half the attention.

“Lady Cruelton, are you all right?”

The soldier glanced back, concerned but also clearly thinking please don’t make this difficult.

“Oh, I’m fantastic,” I said. “Just having someone else’s memories uploaded into my brain. Normal Tuesday.”

“My lady?”

“Nothing. Onward to my doom.”

The marble hallway stretched before us, all cold elegance and judgmental dead people in portraits. And then—

“Ah—!”

That sound.

My stomach dropped.

Oh no.

Absolutely not.

There it was. The scene I’d rage-read while eating instant ramen at 2 AM.

A shattered glass on pristine marble. Liquid spreading like an accusation. A girl on her knees, bleeding, shaking with perfectly timed sobs.

And standing in a convenient beam of sunlight—because of course there was a convenient beam of sunlight—

Maryann.

With her bright. Pink. Hair.

I stared. “Is no one going to mention the hair?”

The soldier gave me a confused look.

“The pink hair!” I gestured wildly. “In what world—you know what, never mind.”

Maryann looked like she’d stepped out of an anime. Pink hair in impossible waves. Porcelain skin. Huge doe eyes currently filled with crystalline tears. She wore literal rags—who even owned rags in a duke’s household?—and blood streaked her trembling fingers.

Every inch of her screamed PROTECT ME.

I wanted to gag.

A middle-aged man loomed over her, and I didn’t need Beatrice’s memories to know who he was.

Duke Alaric Cruelton.

The father.

Oh boy.

His expression darkened the second he saw me, like I’d personally murdered his favorite horse.

“Your Grace,” the soldier said quickly, smart enough to step aside. “Lady Beatrice has arrived.”

Maryann was still on the floor. Still bleeding. Still shaking.

Then—

“I’ve had enough of this, Beatrice!” He pointed at me like I was a war criminal. “Why do you keep bullying your sister? Why do you refuse to listen to me?”

DING!

NEW CHARACTER UNLOCKED:

Name: Duke Alaric Cruelton

Title: Duke of Blackthorne, Lord Marshal, Supreme Commander, Probably Has More Titles

Relationship: Your Father

Threat Level: High

Note: Currently believes you’re a monster. Good luck!

Oh great. Fantastic. Love that for me.

I blinked at the Duke, following his pointed finger then glanced behind me.

No one there.

“Are you speaking to me?” I asked slowly.

The collective gasp was insane. Servants clutched their chests. One maid made the sign of the cross. Another straight-up fainted into a potted plant.

Duke Alaric’s face went burgundy. “Who else would I be addressing? There’s only one person in this household cruel enough to orchestrate such— such wickedness!”

The hall went dead silent.

Only Maryann’s delicate sniffles filled the air.

“I—”

“It’s only been two months since I brought your sister home, and look at her!” He gestured dramatically at Maryann. “Look at how bruised she is! I understood you were spoiled, being an only child, but I will not tolerate this cruelty any longer!”

I stared at him. At Maryann, who was doing her best wounded-bird impression. Back at him.

“Okay, real talk?” I said. “I was literally unconscious until ten minutes ago. So unless I’ve developed sleepwalking superpowers, I don’t see how I’m responsible for—” I waved vaguely at the chaos, “—this.”

DING!

SYSTEM WARNING:

OUT OF CHARACTER DETECTED

Beatrice Cruelton would NEVER talk back to her father in public. She’s a Daddy’s girl who maintains perfect behavior in front of him.

Suggested Action: Cry prettily and blame the servants.

“Oh, so now you give me tips?” I muttered.

Duke Alaric’s jaw clenched. “What was that?”

“I said—lovely weather we’re having!”

His eye actually twitched. “Bring in those maids. Now.”

Two servants scurried forward, dragging two sobbing girls whose wails immediately tripled in volume when they saw me.

“AHH!” Maryann screamed at that exact moment, flinging herself at Duke Alaric’s legs like he was a life raft.

I raised an eyebrow. Did she do that in the novel? I couldn’t remember. Early chapters all blurred together.

“Lady Cruelton, please save us!” one maid sobbed.

“Mistress, we only followed your orders!” the other wailed. “Don’t let them punish us!”

I recognized them from Beatrice’s memories. Samantha and Sienna. The loyal minions who’d done Beatrice’s dirty work. Spilled tea on Maryann. Spread rumors. Generally made her life miserable.

And now they were being fed to the wolves.

Every eye in the hall locked onto me.

“Well, Beatrice?” Duke Alaric’s voice could have frozen hell. “Do you know these maids?”

“Mistress, please!” Samantha reached toward me, tears running.

“We did everything you asked!” Sienna’s hands shook.

I looked at them. Then at Maryann, still clinging to the Duke’s legs.

And I saw it.

Just for a second.

Her lips curved up. A tiny smirk.

Then it vanished, replaced by trembling innocence.

My eye twitched.

Oh, you clever little—

A laugh burst out of me. Couldn’t help it.

“Beatrice?” Duke Alaric looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. “What is funny about this?”

“Nothing,” I said, still laughing. “Absolutely nothing. This is just—” I gestured at the whole ridiculous scene, “—peak comedy. The timing. The drama. The convenient sunbeam. It’s chef’s kiss.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“Possibly!” I turned on my heel. “Anyway, I’m out.”

“What?”

“Lady Cruelton!” Rose, the head maid, hurried after me. “Your Grace is calling you!”

“Yeah, I heard him. Still leaving.”

I kept walking, heels clicking on marble.

The original Beatrice died because she kept playing the villain. Kept tormenting Maryann until the plot demanded her removal.

But me? I didn’t have to follow that script.

I could just… leave. Grab some jewels, yeet myself to another continent, open a bookshop. Live my best life far away from this garbage fire of a plot.

“Lady Cruelton, please!” Sienna’s voice cracked behind me. “Don’t leave us!”

“Beatrice Annalise Cruelton, you stop this instant!” Duke Alaric roared.

Even Maryann had stopped crying. Just staring at me, frowning.

I took another step toward the doors.

Freedom. Survival. A life that was actually mine.

One more step.

Something red flashed behind my eyes—hot, sharp, wrong.

DING!

SYSTEM ALERT: CRITICAL OUT OF CHARACTER ACTION DETECTED

WARNING: YOU ARE DEVIATING FROM CORE NARRATIVE PATH

ATTEMPTING TO LEAVE THE SCENE EQUALS STORY COLLAPSE

TURN BACK IMMEDIATELY OR FACE PENALTY

The words blazed across my vision in angry crimson.

“Like I would.” I took another step.

PENALTY: IMMEDIATE PLOT CORRECTION VIA FORCED SYNCHRONIZATION

THIS WILL HURT.

FINAL WARNING: TURN BACK NOW

The pain hit like a truck.

White-hot agony exploded through my skull. Every nerve ending caught fire. My legs buckled.

“Oh—ow—okay, that’s—OW—”

I was falling—

The world tilted. Marble rushed up to meet my face.

“LADY CRUELTON!”

Screams erupted around me, but they sounded far away, muffled.

My vision went fuzzy. Then dark.

The last thing I saw was Maryann’s face.

No tears.

No fear.

Just a small, satisfied smile.

And one thought managed to pierce through the pain.

That conniving little—

Then everything went black.