I AM NOT THE LOVE INTEREST!

Chapter 3: Chapter 3: Escape Plan, Failed

Chapter 3: Escape Plan, Failed

—CELIA—

I didn’t even realize I was screaming until it was already happening.

Completely loud, uncontrolled, and undignified.

I grabbed my head as I paced in place, panic spilling out faster than I could contain it.

"No, no, no, no, this is not happening, I did not sign up for this, I read one Chapter... to the last Chapter...and now I’m the one getting executed?"

I stopped, breathing hard, staring at nothing.

"This is so unfair," I said. "...I don’t even know what Chapter I’m in."

"AHHHHH!!!"

I screamed again, louder this time, and the doors burst open so suddenly I nearly jumped out of my own skin.

The servants rushed in, their movements quick and alarmed, like they had been waiting for something terrible to happen and I had just confirmed it.

"My lady! Did something happen?!" they asked in unison.

I turned toward them, still catching my breath, while my thoughts came crashing into each other so fast I could barely separate them.

For a moment, I just stared. Words felt optional. Survival felt less so.

"Did something happen?" I repeated weakly. "Define something."

They looked even more worried.

Right. Not helpful.

I dragged a hand down my face and forced myself to stand still. "Nothing happened," I said, trying to sound convincing and failing halfway through. "I just... startled myself."

That was technically not a lie. I had, in fact, startled myself. Multiple times. Repeatedly. With increasing intensity.

The servants exchanged glances but didn’t argue, which I appreciated. I did not have the emotional capacity to explain transmigration before breakfast.

They slowly relaxed, though not completely, and I could feel their eyes lingering on me like I might start screaming again at any second.

Honestly, fair.

I turned away slightly, pretending to collect myself, but really I was trying to keep my thoughts from spiraling again.

Okay.

Think.

If this is real...and it is, because there is no way my brain can afford this level of interior design, then I am inside the novel.

And not as a background character who can quietly exist and avoid plot-related damage.

No.

I am the villainess.

I pressed my lips together.

That is... deeply unfortunate.

Because I remembered exactly how her story went.

I shut my eyes briefly.

"No," I whispered to myself. "We are not doing that."

I opened my eyes again, sharper this time.

Although panic was still there, sitting comfortably in my chest, but something else was pushing through it now.

Determination.

Very shaky, very new determination, but still.

If this is happening, if I am really here, then I am not just going to stand around and wait for the plot to ruin me.

Absolutely not.

I straightened a little, aware that the servants were still watching me closely.

"Please prepare breakfast," I said, doing my best impression of someone who knew what they were doing. "I will be ready shortly."

The butler nodded, relieved that I was speaking in complete sentences again. "Of course, my lady."

They began to leave, though a few of them glanced back like they were not entirely convinced I wouldn’t start screaming again.

Valid concern.

The doors closed.

Silence returned.

I exhaled slowly.

"...Okay," I said.

Now I could panic properly.

I turned and paced the room, slower this time, trying to organize the chaos in my head into something usable.

Step one.

Confirm situation.

Done.

Unfortunate, but done.

Step two.

Avoid death.

Highly important.

Extremely urgent.

Step three...

I stopped walking.

The answer came immediately.

Avoid the male leads.

All of them.

No exceptions.

No accidental encounters.

No dramatic misunderstandings.

Nothing.

Because in the story, every single problem somehow led back to them.

Every confrontation.

Every escalation.

Every step closer to that final scene.

I pointed at absolutely nothing in particular, just to emphasize the seriousness of my decision.

"Yes," I said. "That’s the plan."

Then I paused.

"...That is the only plan."

I let out a slow breath.

If I never crossed paths with them, then maybe I could stay out of the main plot entirely.

Maybe I could exist quietly, behave properly, avoid unnecessary conflicts, and live a long, peaceful life far away from executions and emotionally unstable men.

That sounded reasonable.

Achievable, even.

I nodded to myself.

"I just have to not get involved," I said. "How hard can that be?"

It sounded reasonable. Sensible, even. Avoid the male leads, avoid the plot, avoid death. A clean, simple plan.

But the moment that thought settled in, something in me immediately felt suspicious.

"...That sounded like a setup," I added quietly.

Still, I had no better option, so I committed to it.

Avoid them. Stay out of their way. Live peacefully.

Easy.

Very easy.

- - - - -

It was not easy.

At all.

I was on my way to the dining hall, already regretting every decision that had led me here. The dress alone was a problem. It was heavy, layered, and clearly designed for someone who did not need to walk quickly or think about survival. The heels were even worse. Every step felt like a risk.

"Why do rich people suffer like this voluntarily?" I muttered under my breath as I tried not to trip over fabric that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.

I focused on walking.

I was doing fine.

Until I wasn’t.

I turned a corner and walked straight into someone.

Direct impact.

I stumbled back slightly, barely catching my balance, and instinctively looked up to apologize.

And immediately wished I hadn’t.

I somehow knew that face in memory.

I knew it far too well.

My soul quietly exited my body.

Duke Sebastian Blackwood

The youngest and most successful duke in the kingdom.

The villainess’s fiancé...my fiancé!

My brain stopped working.

A small, silent scream echoed somewhere inside me.

Aaargh.

Of all people.

Of all possible people.

Why him.

My plan had lasted less than thirty minutes.

I straightened instinctively, forcing my body to remember basic etiquette while the rest of me actively panicked.

"G-good morning, Your Grace," I said, managing a curtsy that felt more like a survival reflex than proper form. "What brought you to my father’s estate?"

I internally applauded myself.

That sounded like someone who was not currently reconsidering all her life choices.

Sebastian looked at me with disdain. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com

Not mild irritation nor confusion. Just pure, unfiltered disdain, like I had personally inconvenienced his existence by breathing.

"Weren’t you the one who demanded I always have breakfast with you?" he said flatly.

Ah.

Right.

That.

My smile froze.

Somewhere in my memory, pieces started clicking together.

The engagement.

The very poor decisions made by the original owner of this body.

I slowly straightened from the curtsy, my brain now running at full speed in the worst possible direction.

Crown Prince Damien Ashford.

Duke Sebastian Blackwood.

Sir Matthias Sinclair.

Archmage Ezekiel Rowe.

Just thinking about them was already giving me a headache, and I had managed to run into one of them before I even made it to breakfast.

This was not a good sign.

This was a very bad sign.

I looked back at Sebastian.

The same Sebastian who, in the story, never once liked the villainess.

The same Sebastian who was in love with someone else.

The female lead.

Cynthia.

My... cousin.

My father’s niece.

I closed my eyes briefly.

Of course.

Of course that was the situation.

The villainess knew.

She knew he loved someone else.

And instead of stepping back like a reasonable person, she doubled down and made everything worse.

Which eventually led to...

No.

I stopped that thought immediately.

We are not reaching the execution scene. Not today. Not ever.

I opened my eyes again and forced a polite expression.

"Ah," I said carefully. "That does sound like something I would say."

Sebastian’s gaze did not soften.

If anything, it looked more annoyed.

Reasonable, completely reasonable.

I clasped my hands together lightly, trying to look composed while internally rearranging my entire survival strategy. freeweɓnovel.cѳm

Step one: do not provoke him.

Step two: do not cling to him.

Step three: do not act like the original Aria.

Step four: survive this conversation.

"Shall we proceed to breakfast, then?" I said, as calmly as I could manage.

Because apparently, avoiding the male leads was no longer an option.

And I had just failed my own plan before finishing my first meal of the day.