The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across Evelyne Valmont's chamber, dancing along the edges of her ornate mirror. She sat before it, absentmindedly running a brush through her raven-black hair, her violet eyes distant as they traced the reflection of the girl staring back at her.
She had never been one to dwell on uncertainties. The world of nobility had long since taught her that hesitation was weakness, and weakness was a luxury she could not afford. And yet, here she was—unsettled, uncertain, undone by a single conversation with a boy she was supposed to despise.
Arin Devain.
A name she had barely spared a thought for in the past. Just another pawn in the grand game of noble politics, a tool arranged for an advantageous marriage. Nothing more.
Yet, when she had met his gaze that evening, something had felt... off. Different. As if the cold, detached noble she had expected had been replaced by someone else entirely. He was neither indifferent nor hostile. He did not leer at her like other suitors had, nor did he regard her with the wary disgust many nobles did. Instead, he had looked at her as if he truly saw her—not as a villainess, not as the daughter of a house in decline, but as a person.
That was dangerous.
Evelyne set her brush down with a quiet clink and exhaled, closing her eyes. She could not afford to let herself be swayed. She had spent years perfecting her armor, ensuring that no one would ever see past the carefully cultivated mask of indifference. It was her greatest weapon, the only thing keeping her afloat in this treacherous world.
But Arin's words had cracked that armor, even if only slightly.
"I will not let you fall."
She had wanted to laugh at his declaration, to scoff at the absurdity of it. But the conviction in his voice, the certainty in his eyes—those had unsettled her. People did not make promises like that, not to someone like her. Not unless they wanted something in return.
And yet, she could not discern his angle. If it was a ploy, it was one she had never encountered before. If it was genuine... No, she could not allow herself to entertain that thought.
Her fingers clenched around the fabric of her gown as old memories stirred within her.
She had not always been like this. There was a time when she had believed in kindness, in warmth, in the possibility of genuine bonds. That was before she had learned the truth about the world she lived in. Before she had been branded as a villainess.
The whispers had started early—soft, insidious things that wormed their way into the minds of nobles and commoners alike.
"She's too sharp-tongued."
"She doesn't know her place."
"She'll meet a bitter end."
Each word had chipped away at her, carving her into the role they had designed for her. And when she had stopped fighting, when she had embraced the title they had bestowed upon her, the world had finally accepted her.
A villainess.
Someone to be scorned, feared, used as an example of what happened to women who did not conform.
Evelyne inhaled deeply, forcing those thoughts away. That was the past. The present was all that mattered now. And in the present, Arin Devain had become a problem.
She could not understand him. That was what frustrated her the most. He did not act like a nobleman. He did not try to exert dominance over her, nor did he feign meekness in her presence. He challenged her, but not with cruelty—rather, with an unsettling sort of patience, as if he was willing to wait for her to believe in him.
Why? What did he hope to gain?
She needed to be careful. This engagement was not a union of love; it was a transaction, a desperate attempt by her father to keep House Valmont afloat. There was no room for emotions in such arrangements.
And yet...
A part of her could not deny that Arin was different. Not because he had spoken kindly to her, but because he had not treated her like something fragile. He had not looked at her with pity. He had not attempted to placate or flatter her. Instead, he had acknowledged her struggles, had spoken to her with an honesty she had not expected.
Could he really mean it? Could he truly be willing to stand beside her, despite everything?
She shook her head, dispelling the thought before it could take root. No. She could not allow herself to believe in such things. Hope was a dangerous thing for someone like her. It was the quickest way to disappointment, to heartbreak, to ruin.
Evelyne rose from her seat and crossed the room, standing before the large windows overlooking the Valmont estate. The moon hung high above the horizon, casting a silver glow over the gardens below. Somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of laughter echoed from the servants' quarters—a reminder that, despite everything, life still moved forward.
She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling far more exhausted than she had before.
Arin Devain was a puzzle she did not yet have the pieces for. And until she understood him, until she could determine whether he was an ally or another threat, she would have to tread carefully.
No matter what he said, she could not let herself believe in fairy tales.
Because she knew how those stories always ended for the villainess.
With tragedy.
And she refused to play that role ever again.