Chapter 1: The Villainess Upgrade I Never Asked For

Isha Smith had problems.

Plenty of them, in fact. But her most dangerous addiction—the one that made her lose sleep, skip meals, and occasionally question her life choices—was not caffeine, social media, or even online shopping. No. It was novels. Specifically, the dark, deliciously forbidden kind. The ones so spicy they made pearl-clutching aunties faint and respectable book clubs dissolve into whispered scandals.

Isha lived for those books. She devoured them like forbidden fruit, savouring every possessive growl, every morally grey anti-hero, and every scene that would have gotten her banned from polite society.

So when Chains of Forbidden Love exploded onto the shelves accompanied by the wildest rumours she had ever heard, Isha was equal parts sceptical and intrigued. The rumours claimed that anyone who read the book would find themselves trapped inside it—living the nightmare life of the villainess, only to meet a gruesome end at the hands of the second male lead.

At first, she laughed it off. “Please. People will say anything for clicks.”

But the rumours refused to die. They multiplied. Trending hashtags flooded Instagram and YouTube: #CursedBook, #SwallowedByTheNovel, #VillainessNightmare. Video after video featured terrified readers describing how they had been “sucked into the pages” and forced to experience the villainess’s tragic fate firsthand.

Isha scrolled past yet another dramatic confession and snorted. “Swallowed inside the book? What is this, some kind of literary python? Get a grip, people.”

She was convinced it was all a clever marketing stunt by the author. Or mass hysteria. Or both. But when even the government stepped in and banned the novel, her curiosity sharpened into something almost painful.

And everyone knows what they say about curiosity and cats.

That same evening, Isha practically body-slammed the last remaining copy off the bookstore counter, ignoring the cashier’s horrified gasp. She clutched the book to her chest like a thief escaping with stolen treasure and sprinted home, heart pounding with the thrill of doing something deliciously reckless.

The moment she cracked open the first page, she was gone—hooked, sunk, completely lost.

The female lead, Seraphina Lysandra, was the textbook definition of fragile innocence: a nineteen-year-old orphan with an angel’s face, wide doe eyes, and a personality so sweet it could cause tooth decay. She had been adopted by the mother of two dangerously attractive brothers—Damian and Vincent Veyrault—and naturally found herself caught in the middle of their icy, borderline-obsessive rivalry for her heart.

Classic love-triangle nonsense.

But no self-respecting dark romance could survive without its villainess. Enter Valeria Duclair: wealthy heiress, ruthless CEO of a luxury fashion empire, stunningly beautiful, politically powerful, and engaged to Vincent through a cold, calculated business marriage. Consumed by jealousy, Valeria schemed and plotted against the innocent Seraphina with every underhanded trick in the book. In the end, she crossed one line too many and was brutally killed by Vincent himself.

And then—because the author clearly possessed zero mercy—Seraphina declared she loved both brothers equally and married them. At the same time.

Isha slammed the book shut and scoffed so hard her throat hurt.

“Seriously? This is the big twist? The villainess had money, power, beauty, a loving family—everything—and she still chose to chase a man who didn’t even want her? Girl, buy a yacht, sip champagne, and stop humiliating yourself in public!”

She flopped back onto her bed with dramatic flair, arms spread like a starfish.

“Ugh. This is exactly why I say men are walking red flags wrapped in expensive suits. And if the female lead was going to end up with both brothers, why on earth wasn’t this marketed as reverse harem? False advertising at its finest!”

Her head throbbed, but she couldn’t deny the truth: she had both loved and hated the book in equal, ferocious measure. Especially the spicy chapters. Those had been a solid, scorching ten out of ten.

Remembering the ridiculous rumours, Isha sat up, eyes wide with mock anticipation. She waited. One minute. Two. Five. Fifteen.

Nothing.

She glanced at the clock. Past midnight.

“Great,” she groaned, rolling her eyes. “Even Cinderella’s magic had a curfew. This book couldn’t even deliver on its own curse. What a scam. I should demand a refund.”

With a resigned sigh, she placed the book on her nightstand, pulled the blanket over her head, and fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

But while Isha slept, the book awakened.

Its pages fluttered violently, as though caught in an invisible hurricane. The curtains whipped and snapped like living things. A pale, eerie blue light leaked from between the covers, growing brighter with every passing second. A soft, distorted voice slithered into the room, dripping with malicious amusement:

y̸̼̳̟̻̾͘o̶̡̜̞͔̹͕͇̒̑̓̎͒͌͋̆ù̶͔̥̩̗̜̠̻̾͜ ̴̢̟̘̜̖͙͒̏͋̽t̶̻̂h̸̥̼͔͈̀̿̈̈́͑͝ḯ̷̧̖͕̪̪̮̀̌̍͋͝͠n̵̺̳͇͗̍k̷̨̤̟̾̓̂͌ ̴̡̹̝̪̖͈̇̒̇̒͗ͅt̸̹̤̂ͅh̵̛͖̫̮̮̪͖̱̔̄̂͐̎͝e̷̢̧̲̬̺̪͂̉͊̃͋̇ ̸̧̗̫͙̝͈̣̰̀̽̋̅̓͝͝v̵̺̔̐̓̋̄̈͆̚i̷͖̺͂̅̽̚l̴̳̏l̵̲̦̯͇̂͛̚͜a̸̛̗̲̙͍̭̗͈͛́̍͊̊͒̕i̵̯̐̾n̶̡̛̝̼̈́̓͝ͅę̸͓̳͖̝̀̈́ͅs̶̫̏̓̇͘͝͠s̴͔͖͙̙̤̲͆͐͗͜͠ ̴̺͍͕͙͍̺̎͛͌̀i̷̥͒̀̽͝s̵͙̞̣͍̹̏ ̷̛̟͖̅͌͌̾̽̎͝s̷͉͑̂t̸̫̮͓̩̺̦̽͆ṷ̷͈̞̞̬̰̳͊̇̽̑̐͑́͠p̸͖̰̓̚͝ḯ̵͔̳͊ḍ̴̮̟̝͇̼̥̓̂͐̎ ̴̡̡̣̙̻̗̈́̈́̐̈́ț̴̢̡̬̜̟͑̔̀̽̆̚o̴̡̞̹͓͇͛͛̈̆ ̸̧̖̤̤̎̅̃̒̏̅͠l̷͔͗̎̽ò̷̡̢̜͔̙͆̏͂͑v̴͎̐̅̋̾̉ě̴̼͔͚͗͝.̷͚̬̗̳̦̆̉̀͌̌̃́.̴͇̬̼͉̭̌̀̈̔̎.̷̖͗̄̇̾̓͠.̶̢̠͈̫̤̰̬̌̇͛́͜ ̶̡̡̹̭͚͍͙͇̈́̈́̓́͠l̷̢͕̎̏͜͝e̷͇̖̭̓͆͜t̴̡͚̜̮͓͒̀̋̕'̴͙̈́̿̀̉͗̕ŝ̷͚͚̦̲̞̼͎̏̍͆̌ ̷͓̈̍̀s̴̨͇̱̻̤̮͑̈́̉̓̅̊̌̕ḛ̸̊͆͌̐è̸̡̥̱̮̥͎͇͌͂̇͑̕.̷̗̈͂͆̎.̶̞̉̊̈͆̑͊͆͘ẖ̶̢̢̨͎̫͖̗̈́͆̀̈͘o̴̧̦̭͚̝̻͉͒͒̽́͝w̸̛̮͎̳̄́̄́̒͌̚ ̶͚̞̭̲͋͐͛̓̌͂̃̚w̵̳̣̰̩̟̠̓́͋i̶̜̝̔̑̌́̕͝l̴̳̙͉̺͆͑̀͆̀̓͝l̵̛̗̝͆̋͆̑͒ ̸̛̼̓͐̈́̓̀̕y̵̨̆̉͂͋́̊̆͝o̶̢͍̟͎͓͚̥̠͊̅͋̈́̎u̴̦̲̦͗̾̂̀͛̀͛̾ ̶̖͑̔́ŗ̸͕͎͚̖̘̘̆͜e̵̤̖̍a̴͙̼̬̦̭̖̩̓̑̀̋͜c̷̨̭̻̟̭͓͕̼̄t̶͔͂̇̑͊̄͒̂̚ ̸̖̟̦̯͔̜̝͇͌͛͋̂ḯ̴̧̞̺̥̭͓n̵̛͇̟̗͚̗̹͂̏͛̒̔͝ ̷̖̫͕̞͐̏͜h̵̡̫̰̭̰̫̍̐̽͝ę̶̻̲̣̥̻̍̀̈̐̍̕͜r̶͖̪̝͍̫͗̂͗̊̕ ̸̥̺̣̲̟̭̳̱̔̾̂̒̇p̷͐̋ͅĺ̷̺̠̲̭͉̦̻͊͋͆̏͘͘ͅā̵̡̡͇̅͆̇̃͝c̸̫͚͇͔͉͐̋̈̃̿̄ͅe̵͇̟̋͋̀̃͒̊̕̚.̵̥͕̀͐.̵̧̺̗͓̯̦͖͉̈́͆̋͛̒.̶̢̢̬̬͓̱̖̞̐.̴̱̖̩̱͊̐.̷͖̱̝̏́̑̐́̉͘.̸̧̧̢̨̜̮͆̒̒̿̎̓̔

The wind roared louder, knocking over her pen holder. The clack of metal on the floor jolted Isha awake-just in time to hear glitchy, distorted words echoing in her head:

N̵̥͆̀̀̿̆̈͂͒ȏ̸̺̟̎t̵̨̩̗̗̝̉̀̿͗ ̷̨̰̤͙̂̒̐ȅ̶̯͕̺̩̱͗͜v̵̥͂͗́̾̈͘e̶̛̲̍̑̒̈́̏͘ͅr̶̩̫̰̣̮̐́̈́̑́̐̈̈́ȳ̸̙̥̤̥̙̘̼͖͗͑̑ö̵̱́̂ņ̵̨͍̗͕͍͎̤͑̊̋́́͝ȩ̶̗̱̮͔̱̅̒̎̔ ̶̮̲̥̬͈̝͓̫̈́̀͋̈́̏̕w̵̬̌̆̎ẽ̵̮̹͚́r̵̨̩̰̥̲̲̭̓͒̽̔e̷̘̗͍̊̿̿͘ ̵̡̹̳͕̣̜̞̟̏a̴̧̠̿̿͛̄b̴̨̨̤̳̮̤̈̍͗͜l̴͇̙̄͗̍͂͒͒͑̌e̶̬̐̈́̈̐ ̸̮̰̬̣̬̈́t̴̮͇̠͔͚̱̫̰́͊̏ó̷̟̺̾̊̊ ̴̩͎̭̉̆͆̅̂̅̓s̴̰̭̠̾̐̉̏̉̏̓̀u̸̧̢̞͇͑̅͗̓ȑ̵̲͇͖̺̟̻̈́͑̌̿́̿͘ṽ̸͍i̸̼͈̍̌̄̊͝v̶͖̲̎̽̂̀̈́̕ͅè̷̡̲͖͖̳͐̋̏͊́ ̴̛̖̲̇́̎̌̃͒͆į̸̖͚̗͌̿̏̓̈́̽̕͠n̸̨̰͎͔̺̦̙̟͋ ̵̥̻͒̒̈́̏͐̕ḣ̶̛̺̇̀̀̽͝͝è̶̡̗͉͚̪r̵̼̰̪̭̹͝ ̷̨̠͖̯͇̽p̸̨̡̿̾͌͗̑͝l̶̞̓̿ä̶͈̤̭͚́́͊̆͝c̷̭̠̲̱̟͓̋́̉͒̕ͅe̶͕͚̤̦͇̜̋͛͝,̶̘̲̳̲̩̞̐ ̸̳̖͉͍̙̻̾̓͐̃͠l̵̢͆͛͂̌e̸̢̛͈̩̣̳͌̂̈̓̚̕̚t̵̳͎͖̫͌̃̈̉͋ͅ'̷͖̭̭̹͎̮͋́͑̃̄͜ͅs̴̯̤̰̗̯̞͆̀̓͂̕ ̶̭͇̓̌̈̂̀͆͠s̵͓̗͙̖̲̆̐̓̌͑͊̕e̵̟̘͙̗̐͐͊̍̀̀͌̚ȅ̸͔̔ ̴̡̢̬̞̜͚̞̂̀̽͝ͅi̸͔͓̪̠̻̬̽̓͗͌f̷̙̺̈ ̷̨̡̛̩̣͍̲͙̖̌̔̅͋͐͠y̷̡̯̳͖̣̬͛̍͆̃̎̌͝o̷̥͓͇̯̱̹̐͂̈́̏̏͆̇͜u̴̬̘̿͛͘͘͠ ̵̧̰̠͗̑̌̽͘c̸̟͚̫̲͉̥̖͂͆̉a̶̹̼͛̈̎n̶̤͙̞̠͛ ̵̩̤̘̗̃̾̆̓͑̀͘c̷̘̮̗̗͍̼̝̀́̾̊̃͌̚͝h̸̞̮͙̠̎̉̈́ấ̸̞̱n̶̫̲̣̫͎̟͉͆́͒g̸̯̾̄͊̀̋̕̕ẽ̵̡͔̣͖̟͎͓̅́͂̒̕ ̷̮̯̂̂͛h̷̡̙̰̦͌́͂̕͜e̷̟̱͐r̷̘͚͍̭͉̩͙̓̉̍̀͜ ̵̮̯͓͇̰̹͛f̴̨̩͉̔̃̃̇̈́ͅã̴͙̦̼̍̇̋̌̐̚t̷̲͇̳̓̆́̌̓͘é̴̲̻̠͓̳̣͎̩͑

An evil laugh filled the room.

Isha blinked blearily at the glowing book. “Okay… so they weren’t lying after all. Or maybe someone is pulling the world’s most elaborate, expensive prank. And—wait. Why does that laugh sound exactly like Kira?!”

Before she could move, the pale glow surged, wrapping around her like the world's glitchiest electric blanket.

Before she could scramble away, the pale blue light surged forward, wrapping around her like a malfunctioning electric blanket from hell.

“Universe!” she shrieked, half terrified, half indignant. “This is so rude! I didn’t even do anyth—AAAAHHH!”

And then—nothing but darkness.

The first thing Isha felt when consciousness returned was a brutal, stabbing pain in her skull, as if someone had used her brain as a pincushion. Her hair was a wild mess, sticking out in every direction, and her body was tangled in layers of cool, luxurious silk sheets that smelled faintly of roses and expensive perfume.

She sat up slowly, groaning.

The room was enormous. Opulent beyond reason. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, heavy velvet curtains framed tall windows, and every piece of furniture looked like it belonged in a billionaire’s fever dream. Gold trim. Marble. Silk. It was like waking up inside a Pinterest board titled “Old Money Aesthetic.”

Then she looked down.

A silky, blood-red gown clung to her body like a second skin.

Isha’s jaw dropped. “Oh. No. No, no, no, no!”

She scrambled out of bed and stumbled toward the full-length mirror. The reflection that stared back at her was both breathtakingly beautiful and utterly terrifying in its familiarity.

Valeria Duclair.

Isha’s stomach plummeted. She clutched her chest, feeling the rapid, frantic beat of a heart that was no longer entirely hers.

“I dug my own grave the second I bought that cursed book,” she whispered, voice cracking with dawning horror. “Even after I knew it sucked readers inside and turned them into the villainess!”

She sank to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest and rocking back and forth like a child who had broken her favourite toy.

“It’s because I made fun of the book, isn’t it? The universe is petty and vindictive and now it wants me to learn a lesson the hard way.”

After a long moment, she stumbled back to her feet, pointed an accusatory finger at the ceiling, and declared with all the drama she could muster:

“Fine! Lesson accepted! But I am not scheming against an innocent, angel-faced cinnamon roll. I refuse! …Unless she turns out to be secretly evil from that one webtoon that I read. Then all bets are off.”

A sharp knock on the door made her jump nearly out of her skin.

Heart hammering, Isha straightened her spine, drawing on every reincarnation manhwa, Wattpad story, and anime trope she had ever consumed for strength."Okay."

Step one: figure out exactly which point in the plot I’ve landed in.

Step two: act like the real Valeria, or they’ll think I’ve lost my mind and ship me off to the nearest asylum. And I refuse to live out 'Wednesday Addams’ therapy arc.

She arranged herself elegantly on the edge of the bed, the red gown pooling around her like spilled wine, her posture ruler-straight and imperious.

“Come in.”

The door opened. A trembling young maid entered, carrying a soft pastel-pink gown that looked like it had escaped from a Disney princess movie.

Suppressing the urge to sigh at the girl’s obvious terror, Isha asked in a cool, perfectly aristocratic tone, “And what, pray tell, is this dress for?”

The maid nearly dropped the garment. “F-for you, my lady… for your engagement ceremony today. With Lord Veyrault.”

Isha’s eyes widened in pure panic.

Oh no.

Not this day.

The cursed engagement scene.

The exact moment Valeria publicly slapped Seraphina, turned both brothers against her, and set her doom clock ticking irreversibly toward a painful death.

Colour drained from her face.

“I’m doomed,” she whispered.

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To Be Continued

A/N :

Thank you so much for reading! Please remember to comment and rate-it keeps me motivated! ❤️

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