The Villainess Refuses to Follow the Script-Chapter 50

Beatrice had spent the entire day convincing herself she was fine.

She wasn’t!

When she stepped out of the study, leaving Francois behind, the weight of his words pressed against her chest like an iron vice.

"You are not untouchable."

He was right, damn him.

She had spent so much time calculating, anticipating, preparing for things she thought she knew. But last night had been proof of something far more dangerous than a mere deviation in the story.

She was playing a game without knowing all the rules. And that terrified her.

But fear wasn’t something she could afford. Not here. Not in this court that was already waiting for her to stumble

So she did what she did best.

She pretended.

Dinner was unbearable.

The king and queen were absent, leaving Francois to preside over the meal, his presence looming at the head of the table like an unspoken warning. The De Silvas were still guests, and Lady De Silva took it upon herself to gracefully maintain conversation.

Beatrice barely heard a word of it.

She wasn’t the only one distracted.

Gabriel sat directly across from her, and though his expression was perfectly crafted into noble indifference, she could feel his attention on her like an itch beneath her skin.

It made her want to break something.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her silence was its own message. And judging by the slight clench of Gabriel’s jaw whenever she didn’t react to his subtle provocations, he knew it too.

Let him stew in it. She would not be rattled.

Across the table, Lila raised an eyebrow at her. She gave her an innocent smile.

"Lord De Silva." Francois broke the tension in the table.

"Your Highness?" Gabriel glanced up.

Francois set his goblet down with deliberate precision. "I assume your departure has been arranged?"

Gabriel smiled smoothly. "Of course. We leave tomorrow morning."

Beatrice didn’t move, didn’t let even an inch of relief show on her face.

But Francois wasn’t done. He took a slow sip of wine before continuing, tone casual.

"I trust you found your stay... eventful."

Gabriel’s smile flickered for half a second. It was so brief, so well-contained, that most wouldn’t have noticed.

But Beatrice did. And so did Francois.

"It was certainly memorable," Gabriel said, voice even.

Francois hummed. "Good." He set his goblet aside. "I would hate for there to be any... misunderstandings between us."

Beatrice stared at Francois, something unreadable tightening in her chest.

This was a warning.

Not just to Gabriel. To her.

The conversation moved on, the meal continued, but the tension between them remained.

And Beatrice realized something then.

Francois wasn’t just watching her anymore. He was waiting.

By the time Beatrice returned to her chambers, she felt like she had spent the entire evening walking a tightrope.

Lily had already prepared the room for the night, the fire burning low in the hearth. The air was warm, safe, but Beatrice didn’t feel safe at all.

She sat at her vanity, staring at her own reflection.

What the hell was she doing?

Last night had shaken her. Tonight had unsettled her even more. She had spent so much time believing she was one step ahead, but she wasn’t.

Gabriel had proved that. Francois had proved that.

She exhaled sharply, pressing her fingers to her temples.

She needed to clear her head. She needed to think.

Her gaze then flickered to her desk.

The notebook sat there, waiting.

She hesitated for a while, fingers hovering above the cover.

And then a knock interrupted.

Beatrice stiffened.

For a split second, her body froze, her mind flashing back to last night, to a dark hallway, to a voice that had been too close...

She swallowed. Get a grip!

She exhaled, shaking off the tension before standing. "Enter."

The door creaked open.

Not Lily. Not a servant.

Francois.

"Your Highness?" Beatrice blinked.

He didn’t speak immediately. He simply stepped inside, closing the door behind him, his gaze sweeping across the room before settling on her.

"You look like hell," he finally said.

Beatrice let out a breathless, humorless laugh. "Lovely. Add that to the growing list of compliments I’ve received today."

Francois didn’t return the amusement. Instead, he took another step forward.

"You’re not sleeping."

"And you would know this how?" Beatrice tilted her head.

He studied her for a moment before answering, voice softer. "Because I know what people look like when they’re haunted."

The words sent something cold down her spine.

"You do love being dramatic." She looked away.

Francois exhaled sharply. "Beatrice."

She stilled. The way he said her name, low and steady, made her breath catch.

This wasn’t Prince Francois speaking. This was just Francois.

She exhaled deeply, crossing her arms. "Why are you here, my prince?"

"You didn’t react."

Beatrice frowned. "To what?"

"Gabriel," Francois said simply. "You barely looked at him during dinner. You didn’t acknowledge him once."

Beatrice scoffed. "I didn’t realize ignoring someone required explanation."

His gaze sharpened. "It does when it’s you."

"I handled it." Beatrice clenched her jaw.

"You survived it," Francois corrected. "That’s not the same thing."

Beatrice inhaled slowly, forcing herself to stay calm. "What do you want me to say, Your Highness?"

Francois didn’t answer immediately. He just watched her, his blue eyes unreadable.

"You’re not safe," he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Beatrice swallowed. "I never have been."

"That doesn’t mean you should accept it."

Something about the way he said it, so steady, so absolute... made something tighten in her chest.

She hated this.

Hated how close he was standing. Hated that he was right all the time.

"Are you worried about me, Your Highness?" She forced a smirk.

"I’m warning you."

Her smirk faltered.

Francois tilted his head slightly, studying her like he was still trying to figure her out.

"I hope you do handle it, Beatrice," he murmured. "Because if you don’t..."

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

Beatrice clenched her fists, refusing to look away.

"Rest," he said without looking back. "While you still can."

And then he was gone.

Beatrice stood there, staring at the closed door, her heartbeat loud in her ears.

She exhaled slowly, turning back toward her desk.

She reached for her notebook, fingers tightening around the cover.

"You’re not safe."

She already knew that. But hearing it aloud made it feel far too real.

She opened the notebook, ink and parchment waiting for her.

If she wasn’t safe, then at least she would be prepared.

Even if it killed her.