I woke with a start, something warm and sticky under my cheek. I groaned as I shifted. The sharp pain of glass crunching beneath my face snapped all sleep away. I found myself lying in broken glass, tiny shards bit into my cheek, and the liquid I was lying in was a combination of my blood and whatever the hell used to be in the teacup I was now using as a pillow.

I pushed up on one elbow, glass crunching beneath my palm. A sudden wave of nausea hit me as the floor tilted like I was on a carousel from hell, and for a second, I thought I might pass out again.

No, it's definitely not gonna happen.​

I forced my eyes open, blinking hard against the blur as the room snapped into shape. 

Marble floors, chequered in black and white, stretched beneath me. The walls were made of dark wood that had been polished to a sheen, reflecting the chandeliers that hung high above. Deep red velvet curtains tried to block all the light coming in from the high-arched windows. Something told me I should know this place, but the more I looked at it, at the oil paintings of family portraits hanging from gold leaf frames, at the gaudy vases lined up against the walls that held slightly wilting flowers, the more I felt like I couldn't even afford to kiss the feet of the people who lived here.

I took a deep breath, and the overpowering scent of lavender, overripe fruit and furniture polish assaulted my nose, making me cough. Even the air smelled expensive.

Give me a break; this whole place screams, 'You don't belong here'.​

How did I even get here? I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to think how I ended up here? But nothing, nuddah. 

You've got to be kidding me.​

It wasn't just how I got here. It was everything. Where was I... what were I doing... who the fuck am I?

Panic flooded through me as my breathing grew erratic. Think, dammit. How the hell don't I know who I am?​

"L... Lady Liliane?" a voice snapped me out of my panic, and I suddenly realised I wasn't alone.

I turned to find a girl of no more than fifteen, wearing a maid's outfit, standing behind me, her hands clenching a dented silver tray like it was her last lifeline. Her skin was a creamy white, scattered with freckles that stretched over her nose. Strands of dark brown hair escaped from the bun high on her head like she was going for a dishevelled look while still trying to be professional. Her apron was stained with a dark liquid, probably whatever the hell was in the cup I was now lying in. Her wide, dark eyes stared at the floor just in front of me as if she were terrified to look at me directly. She looked like she expected me to bite.

"Lady Liliane?" she repeated, her voice trembling as she spoke.

Liliane. That name sounds familiar.​

And just like that, the floodgates exploded, and memories surged into my mind. Liliane Viermont, cursed demon girl, the mistake of Duke Viermont, a girl so hated that even the servants who were supposed to be serving her want her dead.

No, no, no... that doesn't sound right.​

Yeah, I knew the name Liliane Viermont, but something about the name and this whole place didn't make sense. It felt like I was forgetting something. I needed something to centre me. I pushed myself to my feet and looked around the room, but I couldn't find anything, so I had to make do with what I already had.

I lifted my hand and slammed a fist into my own cheek hard enough that I practically saw stars explode in my vision. 

The maid gasped, taking a nervous step forward before deciding that it wasn't worth her life to intervene in her master's craziness.

I ignored her panic as spat blood on the marble floor and let my lips curl into a slight smirk. Hurt like hell, but it actually worked. Another person's memories bounced around my mind. A person that told me I wasn't Liliane Viermont.

I tried to sort through new memories that filled my mind. Dad. His body. The trial. The sentence. That arsehole who confessed he did it. Trapping me in this fucking sim. I was Rein Ashlin. And now I was...

No, no, no, no, no... It can't be.​

"Fuck." I turned my attention to the frightened maid. "Who am I?" I asked a question to which I already knew the answer but wanted a different answer.

"Are you okay, my Lady?" the servant asked. "Perhaps I should call the doctor for you."

"Just answer me," I screamed.

The maid flinched, grasping the silver tray even tighter until her knuckles were pure white. "You are Lady Liliane Viermont, my Lady."

I laughed, actually laughed. "Shit, you really know how to screw me, don't you?"

"Beg your pardon, my Lady," the servant said. The look in her eyes told me she was actually questioning my sanity. 

I waved my hand and said, "Ignore all of this."

"But, my Lady. I suggest we call—"

"I said to ignore this," I repeated. Why don't you just do your job and clean this up?" I pointed to the mixture of blood, brown liquid, and a broken teacup that I had been lying in.

"But your wounds," she said. "Please, I don't want to be punished."

I groaned. I had no time to placate some maid in a freaking simulation. "I'm fine. Just take care of this mess." 

I didn't wait for her response; I bolted for the stairs, taking them two at a time and rushing into the third room on the left. I didn't even need to ask for directions. It felt like I had the blueprint of the whole manor downloaded into my memory.

This was her room, well, actually my room now. My breath came out in a shaky exhale, and the scent of sweet vanilla and apples assaulted my nose. This looked just like the sketch I created, perfect for a doll. Pale blue walls with oil paintings of flowers and sunny fields. A four-poster bed took up most of the room, with a bedside table with a ballerina music box atop it. At the far end was a small sofa in front of a fireplace with twin dragons twisting around the mantle. Leaning against the wall opposite the bed was a vanity dresser that was covered in various bottles of perfume and makeup. It was the mirror above the vanity that caught my attention.

I had to see it. I had to confirm whether the nightmare was real.

With shaky legs, I forced myself to move and dropped into the soft velvet chair, but I just stared at the mixture of glass vials and containers. I couldn't bring myself to raise my gaze to the mirror. 

Okay, don't be a coward. Just look.​

Taking a deep breath, I raised my head.

And there she was.

White hair, the colour of pure snow, made the blood-streaked on it stand out even more. My pale skin had a ghostly sheen to it, especially with shards of glass and blood covering one side of my face. I seriously looked like a horror movie villain, and this was even more so with my ruby-red eyes, which had a hard look to them. 

I reached up, and the reflection followed. I brought my hand to my cheek, finding a shard of glass that was lodged deeply in my cheek. Yanking it out, a groan slipped past my lips as pain assaulted my cheek.

They were 100% on the realism, but why did they give me her story?

I let out a laugh, the kind that made people question one's sanity. Well, perhaps I really was insane.

"Liliane Viermont," I screamed at the reflection. "Of all the characters you could have made me..."

Yeah, that arsehole did say that some little genius had created the story they expected me to die in. 

"Why did you put me in my own fucking story?" I slammed my fist into the mirror, shattering it. I looked at the blood dripping from my fist. "You know there's no coming back from this story."

I knew her story well. I'd written this character for the most heinous of heinous monsters, and I guessed they classified me as that monster. Every single path led to her destruction. Every single action led to a beautiful, bloody death. Liliane was the perfect tragedy that the company asked me to write due to falling ratings. So that's how it was. They expected me to become their ratings booster.

Well done, Rein. You are way too sadistic for your own good.​​​​

A chime shattered the silence. It wasn't a chime that echoed around the room, but it felt like it was inside my head, echoing around my skull like a pinball. 

Words materialised in front of my eyes like someone had burned them directly on my retinas. I moved my head left, right, up, and no matter how I moved, the writing remained right bang in the centre of my view.

[WELCOME TO THE VILLAIN REHABILITATION PROGRAM]

IDENTITY CONFIRMED: v.0429

SIMULATION PERSONA: Liliane Viermont

SIMULATION START TIME: 180:00:00

"Are you having fun with this?" I screamed, talking to the techs I knew were definitely watching—and most likely enjoying my suffering.

Of course, I didn't receive an answer. Instead, I received a shock that surged through my body, painting my vision white. It felt like I had stuck my whole hand into a live socket.

I staggered, ankle hitting the chair and the stool, shoulder crashing into the dresser, sending new pain jolting through my body.

"Shit!"

The light vanished, and new words now danced in front of my eyes:

[VILLAIN REHABILITATION INTERFACE: INITIATING SETUP]​

"Congratulations, v.0429. You have been selected for the Villain Rehabilitation Program, an immersive correctional initiative designed to offer high-risk offenders the opportunity to change their way of life," a voice that was hard to identify, whether it was male or female, echoed around my head. "Reflect. Rehabilitate. Reintegrate. This is your chance to rejoin society as a new you or end your life as a spectacle."

Reintegrate my arse. You just want my death to be a spectacle.​

Liliane Viermont was never meant to survive her story.

But I wasn't Liliane Vermont. I was Rein Ashlin, and I sure as hell wasn't going to follow the story like they expected me to.

I was going to survive this story so I could rip those arseholes to bits. 

​"Just wait for me."