With this notion in mind, I instinctively sought out the bathroom to freshen up, indulging in a long-overdue bath. Stepping out of my room, I was greeted by sheer amazement; my new abode exuded grandeur, adorned with an array of paintings, sculptures, and opulent furnishings.

As I descended the spiral staircase, I encountered numerous maids engaged in their cleaning duties. Their heads bowed in reverence as they caught sight of me descending. I acknowledged their gestures with a simple nod, though inwardly, I felt an unfamiliar discomfort. Being the center of attention was foreign to me; living alone in my previous home had never prepared me for this.

Yet, I knew I had to maintain composure, even if a faint unease lingered behind my forced smile.

Passing through a colossal door, I suddenly felt an immense weight settle upon my shoulders, as if the very air around me had grown heavy with expectation. My knees threatened to buckle under the stern gaze of my father, his disapproval palpable.

Mentally bracing myself, I recognized the scene unfolding before me—it mirrored the events meticulously detailed in the novel.

"Enough, dear," came a melodious voice tinged with concern, and the oppressive weight lifted entirely. It was my mother's voice.

"You disappoint me," intoned a deep, emotionless voice, sending shivers down my spine. I found myself drenched in sweat, still reeling from the pressure imposed by my father.

"I can't believe my own blood would be capable of such a shameful act."

"Trash," echoed a new voice, strikingly similar to my mother's, yet dripping with disdain and contempt. I knew it belonged to my twin sister.

Their words hung heavy in the air as I met their gaze, bowing my head in silent acquiescence.

"I'm sorry." The words escaped my lips, laden with resignation. Trapped in a dilemma not of my making, I couldn't shake off the feeling of injustice. Yet, with no immediate escape, I opted for repentance—a tentative step toward repairing the fractured relationship with my newfound family.

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, my unexpected apology catching everyone off guard. A wry smile tugged at my lips as I anticipated their bewilderment. In the novel, Anthony's response would have been a derisive laugh, a string of insults hurled at the princess, and inevitably, another confrontation with his father.

But not this time. Not with me.

"I apologize for my behavior; it was uncalled for," I added, breaking the tension that threatened to suffocate us all. If apologizing for a misdeed I hadn't committed seemed absurd, it was simply a strategic move to salvage my image. After all, who in their right mind would jeopardize their position as heir to the most powerful duchy in the empire?

As an avid consumer of villainous narratives, I relished the prospect of defying fate, of subverting the trope that dictated the villain's inevitable demise. I refused to meet the same tragic end as Anthony; instead, I would rewrite my own destiny, one calculated step at a time.

Three pairs of eyes bore into me, their astonishment palpable. My uncharacteristic response had caught them off guard, leaving them speechless.

"Come on, say something," I muttered internally, the silence becoming increasingly unbearable. "This is getting awkward."

Reflecting on my performance, I nodded with a sense of satisfaction, deeming it a success. Yet, the lingering silence gnawed at my nerves, prompting a frustrated curse to echo within the confines of my mind.

"DAMN IT."