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The last line didn't make sense.
Rosy stared at her phone screen, her brows furrowed as she reread the final paragraph of The Sunshine for what felt like the hundredth time.
«"And just like that, Isle Blackwell disappeared… as if she had never existed."»
"…That's it?" she whispered, her voice laced with disbelief.
Her grip tightened around her phone.
"That's how it ends?"
No explanation. No justice. No closure.
Just—gone.
Rosy let out a frustrated sigh, tossing her phone onto the bed beside her. The ceiling above her seemed unusually dull tonight, as if even it was disappointed.
"How is she the villain?" she muttered, turning onto her side. "She literally got framed for everything."
The fragile heroine? Fake.
The prince? Blind and arrogant.
The so-called loyal general? A coward hiding behind loyalty.
And Isle?
She never begged. Never cried. Never tried to prove herself innocent.
She just… accepted it.
That's what made Rosy the angriest.
"Why didn't you fight back?" she whispered softly, almost like she was speaking to Isle herself. "Why did you let them write your ending like that…?"
Silence answered her.
Rosy closed her eyes, exhaustion finally creeping in. The screen of her phone dimmed, the last sentence still lingering in her mind like an unfinished thought.
She disappeared…
---
A sharp pain shot through her head.
Rosy's eyes snapped open.
"What the—?"
Her body felt… heavy.
No—wrong.
Not heavy.
Different.
She sat up abruptly, her breath hitching as unfamiliar surroundings came into view.
This wasn't her room.
The walls were tall, decorated with intricate carvings. Heavy velvet curtains framed enormous windows, and the bed beneath her was far too large—far too luxurious.
"…Where am I?"
Her voice.
It wasn't hers.
Rosy froze.
Slowly, almost mechanically, she lifted her hand into view.
Slender fingers. Pale skin. Elegant… but not hers.
Her heartbeat quickened.
"No… no, no, no—"
She stumbled out of bed, her legs slightly unsteady, and rushed toward the mirror across the room.
And then—
She saw her.
Pitch black hair cascading like liquid darkness.
Sharp, mesmerizing purple eyes staring back at her with an intensity that didn't belong to someone normal.
A face so striking it almost felt unreal.
Rosy's breath hitched.
"…Isle Blackwell."
The name slipped from her lips unconsciously.
Her stomach dropped.
"No way…"
Her mind raced, piecing everything together with terrifying clarity.
The room.
The body.
The name.
"This is a joke… right?" she laughed nervously, but the sound came out hollow.
She reached up, touching her face.
The reflection mimicked her perfectly.
"This isn't happening…"
But it was.
She wasn't Rosy anymore.
She was—
LILIET ISLE BLACKWELL.
The villainess who was supposed to disappear.
---
A sudden knock echoed through the room.
"Grand Duke."
Rosy flinched.
The voice was firm, respectful—but distant.
"Your presence is required in the main hall."
Grand Duke.
Right.
Isle wasn't just any noble.
She was the empire's only female warrior to hold that title.
Rosy swallowed.
"Y-Yes…" she replied instinctively, her voice steadier than she felt.
Footsteps retreated.
Silence returned.
Rosy turned back to the mirror, her reflection staring at her like a stranger wearing someone else's face.
"…Okay."
She took a deep breath.
"Think."
She remembered the story.
This was the beginning phase—before Isle was completely ruined.
Before the betrayal.
Before the accusations.
Before the disappearance.
Which meant—
"I still have time."
Her fingers curled slightly.
Time to what?
Clear her name?
Avoid the plot?
Run away?
Rosy stared into those sharp purple eyes again.
Something about them felt… wrong.
Not weak. Not scared.
Cold.
Unyielding.
"…No."
Her lips slowly curved into a faint, unfamiliar smile.
"If I try to act good, they'll still destroy me."
Because the story wasn't about truth.
It was about perception.
And in that story—
Isle was already guilty.
No matter what she did.
"So what's the point…?" she murmured.
Why struggle to prove innocence…
…when no one was willing to believe it?
A strange calm settled over her.
Different from Rosy's usual self.
Colder.
Sharper.
More… dangerous.
"If I'm going to be the villain anyway…"
Her gaze darkened.
"…then I might as well become one properly."
---
The grand hall was filled with people.
Nobles. Officials. Knights.
All eyes turned the moment she entered.
And in those eyes—
Discomfort.
Suspicion.
Dislike.
Rosy felt it instantly.
Ah.
So it starts already.
She walked forward, her posture straight, her expression unreadable.
Every step echoed through the hall, deliberate and controlled.
Even though inside—
Her heart was pounding.
At the center stood the crown prince.
Blond hair. Perfect features.
And an expression that screamed arrogance.
He looked at her like she was something unpleasant.
"So you decided to show up," he said lazily.
Rosy didn't respond immediately.
She remembered him.
The foolish prince.
The one who believed every lie told about her.
"…Your Highness," she said finally, her tone calm.
Not warm. Not submissive.
Just enough respect.
His brows furrowed slightly, clearly not expecting that.
"State your report," he ordered.
Report?
Right—Isle was a warrior.
Rosy quickly gathered what she remembered.
"…The northern border remains stable," she said, her voice steady despite the slight uncertainty in her mind. "No immediate threats detected."
A murmur spread across the hall.
The prince narrowed his eyes.
"You seem… different today."
Danger.
Rosy's instincts screamed.
But instead of panicking—
She tilted her head slightly.
"Is that a problem, Your Highness?"
A pause.
The atmosphere shifted.
That wasn't how Isle used to speak.
Too direct.
Too calm.
Too… confident.
The prince's expression darkened.
"Watch your tone."
And there it was.
Authority. Ego. Fragile pride.
Rosy almost wanted to laugh.
So easy.
So predictable.
"…Of course," she replied, lowering her gaze just enough to appear compliant.
But inside—
She had already understood something important.
This world wasn't dangerous because of power.
It was dangerous because of people.
And people…
…were easy to manipulate.
---
As the meeting ended, whispers followed her.
"They say she's dangerous…"
"She doesn't act like a noble lady…"
"She shouldn't even hold that title…"
Rosy walked past them without reacting.
But she heard everything.
Every word.
Every judgment.
So this is how it feels…
To be hated before even doing anything.
Her fingers clenched slightly.
"…Interesting."
---
"Isle."
The voice stopped her.
Deep. Smooth.
Dangerously calm.
Rosy turned.
And for a moment—
Time seemed to freeze.
He stood there like he didn't belong to this world.
Dark hair. Sharp features.
Eyes that held something unreadable… something unsettling.
Beautiful.
But not in a safe way.
In a way that felt like standing too close to a cliff.
"…Who…?"
The question barely left her lips.
Because something inside her—
Something not entirely Rosy—
Recognized him.
Her heartbeat quickened.
Not from fear.
Not from surprise.
But from something deeper.
Something instinctive.
The man took a step closer.
Slow. Measured.
As if he already owned the space between them.
"…So you finally decided to stop pretending."
His voice was almost a whisper.
But it carried weight.
Rosy's breath caught.
"What…?"
He leaned slightly closer.
And for the first time—
She felt it.
That overwhelming presence.
Danger.
Possession.
Curiosity.
All mixed into one.
His lips curved faintly.
"Tell me, Isle…"
A pause.
His gaze locked onto hers.
"…do you remember me now?"
---
Rosy's mind went blank.
Because the answer—
Should have been no.
But for some reason…
Her heart didn't agree.
---
Something is wrong.
Very wrong.
And for the first time since waking up—
Rosy realized:
This story…
…was never as simple as she thought.
---
End of Chapter 1