Three Months Ago
When I woke, the world welcomed me with a strange scent of roses, their fragrance hauntingly sweet.
For a fleeting moment, I questioned the reality of my situation, wondering if the memory of my novel falling helplessly on the carpet of the old bookstore and the gruesome pain I had felt in my chest was just a nightmare.
Except, I can still feel the echo of my stepfather's final strike into my chest making me wonder if I opened my eyes, would I awaken to find myself in the familiar chill of my tiny, dirty room?
There was an ache deep in my bones that felt foreign, as if my body had been swapped while I wasn't awake.
I had a weird feeling that this was not my body.
Cautiously, I forced my tired eyes to open.
Above me was a grand canopy stretched like clouds, the canopy's white velvet cascading in graceful folds that shimmered.
A small trickle of light poured through tall glass windows and the ceiling above was painted with vibrant images of knights with swords clashing with a black dragon, and in the very front leading his team was what appeared to be the Crown Prince, his Holy Sword gleaming bright gold while the imposing Gate was behind the big dragon, spilling all sorts of monsters.
And there I lay—small, thin, and pale—wrapped in a bed of silk so lavish it felt as if I were flying.
My fingers curled weakly against the silken sheets, which caressed my skin with a surreal softness.
This was all wrong.
With an effort that felt monumental, I moved; my limbs, still numb, screamed in protest. My hands shook, a delicate, almost fragile sight. They were paler than milk, unnaturally thin, as if my very essence had been stripped away. My wrists were dotted with faint bruises, and an unusual mark, silvery and thread-like, curved across my skin like a tattoo filled with 5 symbols.
Soulmarks.
The word etched itself in my mind reminding me of my favorite novel in which soulmates existed.
I sat up slowly, the struggle to breathe nearly overwhelming. My chest heaved against nightclothes that were impossibly soft, far too exquisite for a gutter rat like me.
Then, in the mirror opposite the bed, my gaze caught something astonishing..
My eyes.
They were violet.
Not just any violet, but a deep, jewel-like hue, reminiscent of fallen stars.
These dark jeweled eyes were the undeniable mark of the Constello bloodline.
I gasped, a breath caught in my throat, the realization crashing over me like a tidal wave.
This was alarming. I was no longer the insignificant, broken boy left to rot in the slums on Earth. I was in a completely different world.
I was him.
Killian Eiden Constello.
The villain of my favorite novel, "The Sword of the Raging Storm: Kael's Rise."
My heart thundered in panic, a wild beast trapped within its cage.
No. This cannot be real. Could it?
Kael was my favorite character but coming in at a tie, was the misunderstood villain, Eiden Constello.
Eiden was so much like me that it physically hurt reading his scenes and how mistreated he was in his family. Not only that, he was sentenced to death for a crime he did not commit. The injustice was part of the reason why I held off on finishing the novel. I could not dare come to terms that Eiden actually died, and there were still about 20 chapters left of the novel.
I wished to be reborn in this world, but not as the villain! At least I could have been an extra character! Was this my punishment for clinging to that damned book, my sweet escape from the clutches of my wretched life?
Suddenly, some knocked on the door three times.
I flinched at the sound, a jolt of fear sparking through me.
Yet before I could do anything, the door swung open without a hint of invitation.
A man entered the room.
Anyone could tell it was the Duke at first glance.
Tall and imposing, the Duke's broad shoulders draped in garments of black and silver that mirrored the night sky. His shoulders were draped with a thick black winter coat with the finest fur lining the collar.
His dark hair was swept back, forming a shadowy crown that contrasted with the statue-like beauty of his face, sharp and cold, as if carved from a single piece of stone. And his eyes.
Those damn eyes.
Deep violet, like polished gems shimmering with a haunting frost.
The Duke halted three deliberate paces from the bed, his gaze sweeping over me, shattering the silence.
"Awake at last," he said, his voice low and controlled, a chill in the air akin to ice cracking under unbearable weight. "A week of wasting away. I thought you would die in your sleep, useless boy."
Words fled me, leaving only the weight of his presence that filled the room like an oppressive boulder, pressing down on my chest until my breath caught in my throat. I was rendered mute.
The Duke of the North: Arcturus Tiene Constello.
He was one of the few S-class Esper's and the strict ruler of the Northern territories, where winter is all year round. This man's very name sent ripples of fear across the land. He commanded legions to defeat the monsters that spilled from the Gates on the Northern border, and his sons were like devils, lurking in the shadows, following his every command.
This terrifying man was the original villain's father, or my father now.
This whole situation was impossible yet here I was. In the body of the villain.
I clenched the sheets, my hands shaking slightly as I struggled to contain the various degrees of emotions swirling within me.
The Duke's gaze lingered on me, cold and seemingly penetrating. For the briefest moment, something flickered in those icy eyes. Was that hesitation? Or perhaps...sympathy?
"You look like her," the Duke murmured, almost to himself.
My heart lurched.
Her?
I understood whom he meant, my mother, the mysterious dancer from the East who got trapped in an S rank gate: The Gate of Silent Graves.
Her soulmate mark had faded on the Duke's chest but had never entirely vanished. But, she has been missing for 10 years already, basically dead.
So he did remember her.
But in the next breath, the flicker of vulnerability was extinguished.
"Do not disgrace this House further," the Duke said, his voice ice-cold. "You bear the Constello eyes, and that is all that keeps you here."
A shuffle behind the Duke caught my attention.
Two figures stepped into the room, casting shadows that darkened the space.
I recognized them instantly, for they were characters of a novel that I knew by heart. It was two of my four older brothers.
The eldest, Lucien, stood tall and unyielding, a frozen statue brimming with authority. Cold and unsmiling, his hair was a striking silver-blond, nearly white, while his piercing violet eyes that mirrored my own but gleamed with an edge sharper than any sword. He was the perfect first son, an embodiment of strength and discipline.
Beside him, was the second son, Damon, who exuded an air of disdain; a smirk danced upon his lips as if mocking the universe itself. His black hair fell over one eye, concealing a scar that carved down his cheek like a jagged line of history. His gaze swept over me, an implication that I was nothing more but dust beneath his shoe.
"So the runt lives," Damon scoffed, his tone laced with mockery. "A miracle."
Lucien remained silent, his gaze burning into me with the intensity of winter frost.
I swallowed hard.
Their eyes were identical to mine. They held the same violet brilliance but were colder and harder, not at all tired and lifeless like mine, reflecting a life of privilege and power.
This truth brought me great pain as the original villain, Eiden had once walked these halls, and never once had the chance to have respect like his older brothers or be loved.
Eiden was the youngest in this family of wolves yet treated so harshly and abused by even commoner maids, simply because he was born from a dancer turned concubine and not the true Mistress of the Costello Dukedom, the Duchess Vespera, who birthed 4 sons.
And now I stood in his skin, an imposter in a dangerous game.
"Look at him," Damon muttered with a sneer. "Still sickly. Still useless. Why did Father bother calling the Royal Physician for something as minor as poison?"
A chill ran down my spine as I lowered my head, retreating into silence, still, small, and invisible. But, I wanted a future for Eiden. A future that never existed.
The forbidden happy ending that the original villain never got. But for now, I would wear the mask of a broken villain.
The Duke spun on his heel, exhaling a sharp breath. "Damon… He is weak, and just woke up from a coma caused by the mysterious poison," he declared. "But perhaps not beyond salvaging..."
Lucien's gaze was a blade, cutting through the air as he shot his father a defiant glare, his resentment spilling overs him. "Just because he has her face," he spat, a flicker of disgust twisting his features.
A thick silence hung between them, and I could feel their stares piercing my back like barbed wire.
Turning away to escape their scrutinizing gazes, my eyes fell upon a middle-aged woman standing near the door. She regarded me with an icy glare that quickly melted into a smile, sweet as honey but laden with venom.
It was Lady Vespera, the Duchess.
Her observant eyes were like daggers, dissecting my every move. Beneath that honeyed exterior, I sensed a twisted malice lurking, a predatory smile blooming in the shadows like a rose with sharpened thorns.
'So he has awakened. The useless boy has finally come into his own. And those eyes, the very color of the successor. He is a threat to Lucien and Damon,' Vespera fumed internally, her teeth grinding as she fought to maintain her polished facade.
In that moment, realization dawned on me. She must be plotting something sinister.
But so be it. Her scheme had only just begun, and I...
I would endure it.
I bit my tongue, silencing the anger within.
In this House filled with Wolves, I will bear my hidden fangs to rewrite the villain's fate.
I promise to create a happy ending for the villain.
For me who is broken like Eiden and never got a happy ending in my own life in the real world.
And for Eiden, especially so.