The Villainess, Who Stole His Heart

Coming back home from an exhausting day at work, Isabella trudged into the house, her body weary and her mind weighed down. She called out a soft "I'm home," but was met with a cold silence. It wasn't surprising; her relationship with her parents had always been strained. They had high expectations of her, ones she could never seem to meet. She wasn't the brilliant overachiever they wanted, nor the perfect daughter they dreamed of.

Her mother's disapproving voice cut through the quiet. "Isabella, how long do you plan to stay in that dead-end job? Don't you have any ambition at all?"

"Mom, I'm doing my best," Isabella replied tiredly, her tone resigned. She knew there was no winning these arguments.

"Your best? Your best isn't enough!" her father added, not even bothering to look up from his newspaper.

The exchange didn't escalate into a full-blown fight, but the sharp words were enough to sting. Isabella excused herself and retreated to her room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. She leaned against it, her chest heavy with unspoken words.

Her room, small but cozy, was her only haven. She flopped onto her bed and reached for the one thing that always brought her comfort: her favorite book. She had read The Saintess's Redemption countless times, but not for the reasons most people would expect. While the world seemed to adore the cunning and righteous saintess, Isabella found her infuriatingly manipulative. Instead, she rooted for the tragic villainess,the misunderstood Princess Isabella,who had a story far too similar to her own.

The villainess was unloved by her parents, overshadowed by the saintess, and ultimately met a cruel fate. When she died from a fire...Isabella couldn't help but sympathize with her. "She deserved better," she whispered to herself, flipping through the pages. The villainess's struggles, her fleeting moments of happiness, her downfall, it all resonated deeply.

That night, she read through nearly the entire book, absorbed in the villainess's story. But just as she reached the final two chapters, her eyelids grew heavy. "I'll finish it tomorrow," she mumbled, clutching the book to her chest. Her last thoughts before sleep claimed her as she thought about how unjust the villainess fate was...and wished the villainess could have at least, had a slightly better fate.

---

Suddenly, desperate shouts jolted her awake.

"Isabella!"

"Miss!"

"Princess!"

Isabella groaned, blinking in confusion. Isabella yes that name did belong to her, but Princess? That title didn't belong to her. As her vision cleared, she found herself surrounded by unfamiliar faces—maids, dressed in elegant uniforms. The room around her wasn't her small bedroom but an elaborately designed living room with intricate carvings and polished floors.

Panic set in as a sharp pain surged through her head, and with it came memories—memories that didn't belong to her. Disjointed images of royal balls, lavish gowns, and a cold, distant family flooded her mind. Wait! These memories… these people…

Before she could make sense of it, three figures rushed toward her: a man and a woman dressed regally, followed closely by a young boy in princely attire. Their faces mirrored worry as they helped her to her feet.

"Isabella, are you alright?" the queen asked gently, her hands cupping her face. "You've been under a lot of stress lately." Looking up, Isabella saw the genuine concern in her mother's eyes. The Queen, Duchess Eleanor Worthington, was a graceful and regal woman in her late thirties, with a sharp intellect and a protective nature. Her golden hair, streaked with a hint of silver, framed her fair face, and her piercing blue eyes were filled with love as she gazed at her daughter.

Her father, King Edward Worthington, a man known for his imposing stature and commanding presence. Despite his reputation as a wise and shrewd ruler, his expression softened when it came to Isabella. He added, "Don't worry about earlier. I know you're upset about us adopting another daughter, but it's our duty to the kingdom. This changes nothing. We only love you, Isabella."

The young boy, her supposed brother, Adrien nodded. "You shouldn't push yourself so hard. Let's talk calmly, okay?"

What… is happening? Isabella's heart raced as she stared at the people in front of her. Their faces, their voices—it all felt eerily familiar. And then it hit her.

No, no, no… this can't be real!

She glanced down at her trembling hands, her mind spinning as fragments of the book she had been reading surfaced in her thoughts. The king, the queen, the prince—all of them looked exactly as described in The Saintess's Redemption. And those memories… they didn't just feel familiar; they felt real.

She gasped, and whispered in a voice only she could hear. "I've transmigrated… into the novel?"

The realization struck like lightning. She wasn't just in the novel; she was in the villainess's body—the Princess Isabella. And if she was right about the timeline, this was three years before the villainess's tragic death, at the very moment her family had been preparing to adopt the saintess.

But something was wrong. This wasn't how the story went. In the book, the villainess's parents barely glanced at her after she feigned fainting when, her parents didn't appeal to her objections of adopting a new daughter. They had coldly brushed her aside and left to adopt the saintess. But now… they were showing concern? They were acting as though they genuinely cared for her?

What the hell is going on?, Why had she transmigrated into the novel and how had she transmigrated into the novel?