Chapter 24
Beneath the Gray Ducal estate was a hidden staircase—one known only to Whisler, the former duke and duchess, and a handful of knights.
Today, Whisler unlocked the iron gate and stepped down. Boom. The heavy door shut behind him, plunging everything into darkness.
With practiced ease, Whisler stretched out his hand. A dull, flickering orb rose into his palm, buzzing faintly like static. The light was dim, but enough to see by.
As he walked down the long corridor, a metallic clank echoed—chains being pulled and shaken violently.
At the end of the hallway, Whisler lifted the glowing orb.
“The day isn’t far when even this curse will be transferred to you. Then, I’ll finally have another chance.”
His eyes twisted with fury as he stared at the beast before him.
“Herace Gray.”
The wolf was enormous—twice Whisler’s size—breathing in deep, ragged bursts. Its form was monstrous, part-man, part-beast. But Whisler did not flinch.
Instead, he looked arrogant. Defiant.
“You returned for Philena, didn’t you?”
The wolf growled low, gripping the iron bars but not thrashing. Fierce, yet strangely restrained.
“Today, Philena asked me to take a break from our relationship.”
“……”
“What are you doing to that pure girl?”
At the wolf’s growl, Whisler barked out a bitter laugh.
“What? You’re saying you liked her first? And I’m supposed to believe the words of an animal like you?”
He sneered, shadow falling across his face.
“If you hadn’t come back, everything would’ve gone the way I wanted. I spread those rumors about Philena to keep her within my reach until I reclaimed the power I deserved. But you—!”
He steadied his breath, eyes flashing.
“No. Not ‘you.’ You. Beast. Don’t you dare try to claim Philena.”
His tone shifted into a mocking lilt.
“Philena should only have me at her side. Then she’ll have no choice but to change how she feels about me. She’ll realize loving me is inevitable.”
Suddenly, the wolf leapt, slamming into the bars with such force it seemed they might collapse.
CRASH! A purple aura flared to life, sealing the prison with glowing runes. The wolf raged, but could not break free.
“Look at yourself. Look at your reputation. Know your place.”
Whisler smirked.
“Philena will realize it soon enough. She’ll wake up and see that she’ll be happier with me. That I’m far more attractive than you’ll ever be.”
He shrugged lightly.
“I was the one who spent her childhood with her. I was the one by her side as an adult. In the end, she’s mine.”
The orb in his hand dimmed briefly. The wolf howled, reaching toward the bars with fur-covered claws—only to be struck back by a fresh surge of dark energy.
“…Soon, I’ll say farewell to this cursed power as well. And then I’ll never have to look at you again.”
* * *
“That should do it.”
I closed my latest novel and finished jotting down my notes. Beside my research lay the letter I planned to send Herace in two days.
Tomorrow would mark the end of the one-week break he’d asked for. Just the thought of talking with him again lifted my mood.
Stretching, I wandered to the window. The bright moonlight caught my eye.
“A full moon tonight. Which means in a few days, it’ll wane to a half-moon.”
I preferred the half-moon. There was something prettier about the tilted curve than a perfectly round circle.
“I never used to care about things like this.”
Back then, days, weather, seasons—it was all meaningless. My life had been nothing but eating, sleeping, surviving, aging.
Things were different now. Better.
“Tomorrow’s paper will be worth investing in. How many gold coins should I set aside?”
Anyone who thought the buzz would fade just because it was me and Whisler alone this time was mistaken. The drama was just as juicy.
“Whisler has never once been the ‘weaker’ side in a relationship.”
He’d always held the upper hand.
“I still don’t get why he’s acting like this now.”
Not that I cared. Whisler wasn’t important to me anymore.
That night, I tucked myself into bed early. Wrapped in warmth, the future didn’t seem so worrying anymore.
The day of the new Saintess’s first prophecy was drawing near.
* * *
The prophecy day wasn’t like the Saintess selection ceremony—it had no set date.
The temple would prepare only when the Saintess began showing signs of receiving divine power. For most, that meant sudden changes to their bodies: hair, eyes, even nails shifting color.
It was said the process could be painful, though honestly, the novel’s author had probably been too lazy to flesh out the details.
Whatever the case, that was her problem. I had my own to prepare for.
If the Saintess selection day was for the Saintess, the prophecy day was for the Empire. Which meant it had to be celebrated with the most extravagant display possible.
The old me would’ve groaned at the hassle. But now I had a goal—and that gave me motivation.
I’ll go out flawless and steal the spotlight. To shed the villainess image, I need to captivate people with appearances too. My outfits are already becoming the talk of society.
Especially with today’s paper adding fuel to the fire. The front page featured Whisler and me. And while there was still slander, I could tell it had softened.
The journalist’s disguise had held up. That had been the masterstroke. A little goodwill went a long way. I hadn’t even planned that far, but somehow my instincts had paid off.
Every day, I was getting sharper. Smarter. Brilliant enough to stand at Herace’s side, even as his equally “crazy” partner.
“Miss, the attention you’re getting is amazing!”
Clara beamed as we made our way to the designer’s shop.
“People aren’t calling you a villainess anymore—they’re curious about who you really are. Oh my!”
I nodded. It was true. Soon, Herace and I would capitalize on this momentum with more social appearances.
“It feels like I’m the heroine’s loyal maid.”
I’d told Clara about the major public events—like asking Whisler for a break. She’d been with me too long to hide everything. And unlike me, as a noblewoman, I couldn’t always act alone however I pleased.
Clara’s insights often helped, anyway.
“If you’re the heroine, and Duke Gray is the male lead… then who’s the villainess? Is there one?”
“…Marquis Gass?”
Whisler certainly was the villain between Herace and me. The only problem was getting others to believe it.
“Come on, Miss. He might be an obstacle, but he’s not a villainess—or even the villain.”
Her words struck like a nail hammered in.
She was right. To make the story more entertaining, there had to be some other obstacle besides Whisler. A true antagonist.
If not a villain, then a villainess.
And I knew exactly who came to mind.
Mille. The heroine of the original novel. And the Saintess of this nation.
