Dylan de Beaumon, the adopted daughter of a Duke, recalls the memories of her past-life after hitting her head. Upon realizing she was a villainess character in a novel, she decides to use her intellectual giftedness to get a good career and run awa...
"Do you think I'll fall in love with you?" Dylan asked him.
A sad smile stretched across her face as she stared at him with those large brown eyes. To her, human emotion was nothing more than a distraction. Emotion was a sign of weakness. Emotion justified peoples' inhumane acts.
The things he felt for her in the heat of the moment would disappear. Nearly everything in nature is temporary—even the universe itself will probably end in some way a long time from now.
He looked at her in silence, barely moving. "Would that be such a bad thing?"
Grinning to herself, Dylan held her chin between her bent forefinger and thumb. "Maybe not," she deliberated, "but it depends on how far you're willing to go."
He reached out and gently touched her lower lip, lightly brushing it with his thumb. "You say those words as if you have something in mind," he said, speaking softly. "What is it that you want? Money? Jewels? If it's the Crown Princess title—it's yours, Dylan."
"How cute," Dylan said, amused at his innocence. What Dylan wanted was far greater than what he offered. What Dylan wanted was evidence she could against her brother.
Her entire life, Dylan was controlled like a puppet by its strings. The Duke used her to resolve his grief from not being able to save his best friend. Her biological father, Marquis Ruenz, used his dying wish to compensate for leaving her and her mother to fend for themselves. As a child, she had learned from their examples—manipulation and selfishness were a part of life.
'This much should be okay. I can use his temporary feelings for my own benefit and then help him get together with Grisa—since he'll fall in love with her anyways.'
"Then," she said after some time, "how about you imprison my brother?"
Dylan was not in the position to overpower her brother. She had no support from other nobles nor did she have access to the materials needed to fabricate evidence that could be used against him. Prince Caspian, however, was next in line to the throne.
He looked at her in surprise. "You want me to arrest your brother and strip him of his noble title?"
"Yes," she said as she reached out and laid her hand along his burning cheek. "Of course, if you can't do this much, then you have no right to ask me to fall in love with you."
If Dylan wanted to run away, then she needed to get rid of Axil—since he had developed some sort of gross obsession with her. She had to play her cards right—and right now, the card she needed was him.
He leaned into the soft hand cupping his cheek, his eyes glazed over with a look of longing. He was completely and utterly infatuated with her.
'Men really are too easy.'
A Crown Prince, who always got everything he wanted so easily, was suddenly faced with several challenges. The once poor commoner turned noble—a girl who took his place and rejected his advances. He felt his lips curling slightly at the thought of such a challenge.
He considered her words for a long moment. "All right," he replied, finally. "I'll do as you ask."
Dylan smiled.
'It feels nice not being the puppet for once.'
***
Dylan had never thought of herself as someone extremely pretty. She was a natural beauty who paid little attention to what she looked like, since her looks were the reason why she was associated with that man.
Rather than inheriting her mother's seductive beauty and sexiness, Dylan had inherited her father's golden hair and big brown eyes. The only thing she had from her mother was her medium springy curls. Despite this, there was a gentle charm to her physical appearance.
It was partly looks, but mainly her intelligence that drew people in. Her mind was addictive. Dylan carried herself elegantly, outwardly demonstrating quietness and dullness. But her eyes. They were always brimming with her inner thoughts. Although they looked empty, if you watched close enough, it was as if she was always calculating.
'I wish I had eyes as expressive as Grisa's.'
"This isn't necessary," Grisa said, her green eyes flickering with anger. "My Lord isn't the one who should be seeking forgiveness."
Morning classes had passed relatively quickly and it was now time for lunch. Dylan frowned, wondering if she would ever get a moment of peace. The cloaked figure in front of her flinched slightly at her expression.
"I told you," Lucas said, "I came to personally apologize to Lady Dylan for my sister's actions." He pushed down his hood. His strawberry blonde hair spilled out.
Grisa clicked her tongue. "Ha, as if we would believe that! You—"
"Gris," Dylan interrupted. "It's okay, I want to speak with Lord Lucas."
She blinked at her. "Really?"
Dylan nodded. There was something she needed from him.
Grisa lowered her head and hissed, "Fine, but if he does anything unpleasant—I won't stay still." She glared at him as she walked away.
"Lord Lucas," Dylan said as soon as Grisa got far enough, "I'm assuming apologizing isn't the only thing you came here for."
He paused, as if he was thinking about what to say. "Who are you?"
Dylan knew this would happen. The way Lucas looked at her wasn't normal. A commoner who resembled his dead father—it was something worth investigating. By now, he probably ran a full background check on her.
Although the Duke tried to erase all traces of the Marquis' affair with her mother, there was one thing he couldn't do—kill all the witnesses. The townspeople often saw the Marquis and her mother together. It was impossible to bury the secret completely.
To lie to him or tell the truth—which one would be more beneficial? A small smile curved her lips. "Why are you asking me when you already know?"
Dangerous. This was dangerous.
Lucas' eyes flashed with hostility. "You knew? You knew that—"
"So what if I knew?" Dylan asked. "What should I have done? Should I have showed up at your doorstep begging for a home? Should I have gone down on my knees and begged for our father's affection?"
"You could have," he said, his voice so coarse she could hardly understand it.
"Would it change anything if I did?" Dylan's words were cold. "Would you see me differently—treat me differently?"
It wasn't that she was looking for a fight. Dylan was fed up with the blood that ran through her veins. She was a product of the Marquis' unfaithfulness and desires. The mere thought made her feel disgusted.
"Our father—"
"Your father," she corrected his words with clenched teeth. "That man is nothing more to me than a dead stranger."
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AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Now that the framework for the academy arc has been laid out, Dylan will start putting her plans into action! I'm excited, how about you?
Dylan starts using her brains in this chapter to get her way! I love it! How about you?
