CHAPTER 4: The Villainess’s Gambit

The morning following the ball dawned far too early for Isla. Or Evangeline. Or whoever she was supposed to be now. She groaned, yanking the silk pillow over her head as sunlight pierced through the heavy velvet curtains of her room. Her muscles ached from hours of dancing, her mind was still spinning from her encounter with Duke Adrian Blackthorn, and her spirits felt as crumpled as the sheets tangled around her legs.

"This is fine, " she muttered, her voice muffled by the pillow. "You're not panicking. You're just… contemplating all the ways this could go terribly wrong."

Martha, her ever-watchful maid, bustled into the room with a tray of tea and pastries, blissfully ignoring the lump of despair hidden under the pillow. "Good morning, my lady! The duke has requested your presence at breakfast, and the estate is already buzzing with talk of last night's ball."

Isla peeked out from beneath the pillow, her hair a chaotic mess tumbling into her face. "Buzzing? Why? Did someone trip on their gown? Please tell me someone tripped."

Martha gave her a nervous smile. "Not exactly, my lady. The talk is mostly about you."

"Me?" Isla sat up so quickly her head spun. "What did I do? I didn't even insult anyone! I was on my best behavior!"

"Well…" Martha hesitated, fiddling with the edge of her apron. "People are saying you were… different last night. Polite. Reserved. Even charming."

Isla groaned, flopping back onto the bed. "Great. That means they're suspicious. Wonderful. Fantastic. What's next, pitchforks and torches?"

"Being dubbed a witch and burned at the stake?"

Martha looked genuinely confused by the reference, which only made Isla feel more like an alien in this world. Not for the first time, she wished she could explain to someone—anyone—that she wasn't Lady Evangeline. She was just a clueless woman from the 21st century trying to survive a story where the villainess's life expectancy was shorter than a fruitfly.

But Isla knew she couldn't afford to wallow in the depths of self-pity. If there was one thing she'd learned from Scarlet Promises, it was that Evangeline's downfall wasn't just due to her scheming—it was also because she had no allies. Isla wasn't going to make that mistake. If she wanted to rewrite her fate, she needed friends. And fast.

---

Breakfast was a tense affair. The Duke of Marlowe sat at the head of the table, his expression as cold and intimidating as ever. Isla tried not to shrink under his piercing gaze as she nibbled on some toast.

"You were… satisfactory last night," the duke said, his voice devoid of warmth. "For once, you did not disgrace the Marlowe name."

"Gee, thanks, pops." Isla muttered under her breath, earning a sharp look from the man. She quickly cleared her throat and plastered on a more "Evangeline-appropriate" smile. "I mean, thank you, Father. I live to uphold the family's honor."

The duke's eyes narrowed slightly, as though trying to gauge her sincerity. Isla kept smiling—an act that felt more exhausting than the waltz from the night before.

"Good. You'll need to maintain that composure," he said, taking a sip of his coffee. "The prince has invited you to join him for tea this afternoon. He expects you to be punctual. "

Isla froze. Tea with Prince Louis? The man who was destined to fall in love with Rosaline and utterly destroy Evangeline's world? Isla's instinct was to fake a sudden illness, but she knew that wasn't an option. If she wanted to change the plot, she had to face him sooner or later.

"Of course," she said, her voice as sweet as syrup. " I'll be there."

As the duke returned his focus to his breakfast, Isla's mind began to whirl. If she could steer Prince Louis away from Rosaline—or at least convince him to treat Evangeline with some semblance of respect—it might change the entire trajectory of the story. She just had to figure out how to do it without coming off as desperate or clingy. Easier said than done.

---

After breakfast, Isla decided to take a walk in the gardens to clear her head. The estate's sprawling grounds were as breathtaking as they were intimidating, with perfectly manicured hedges, vibrant flowerbeds, and fountains that sparkled in the sunlight. It was almost enough to make her forget she was trapped in a fictional world where death and disgrace loomed around every corner.

Almost.

As she wandered, Isla's thoughts were interrupted by a cheerful voice calling out to her. "Lady Evangeline! Over here!"

She turned to see a young woman with bright auburn hair and a freckled face waving enthusiastically. Isla blinked, trying to place her. It took a moment before recognition dawned—Lady Clara Whitmore, one of the minor characters in Scarlet Promises. In the novel, Clara was a sweet but somewhat naïve noblewoman who was friends with her brother Thomas. She wasn't a major player in the story, but Isla remembered her as one of the few characters who wasn't outright hostile toward Evangeline.

"Lady Clara," Isla said, offering a tentative smile as the woman approached. "What a pleasant surprise."

Clara beamed, her energy infectious. "I was just admiring the roses when I saw you. You look so… radiant this morning! I'm dying to know your secret."

Isla laughed nervously. "My secret? Oh, you know… lots of sleep and, um, tea."

Clara giggled, looping her arm through Isla's without hesitation. "You're so funny, Lady Evangeline. Honestly, I don't know why people say you're intimidating. You're perfectly lovely. "

Isla blinked in surprise. People thought she was intimidating? Well, that certainly tracked with the Evangeline of the novel, but it was still strange to hear it said aloud.

"Thank you, Lady Clara," Isla said, genuinely touched. "That means a lot."

Clara grinned. "Of course! Oh, we simply must have tea together sometime. Just the two of us. I feel like we're kindred spirits, don't you?"

Isla wasn't sure if she'd go that far, but she nodded anyway. "I'd like that."

As Clara prattled on about the latest gossip—most of which Isla had no context for—she couldn't help but feel a spark of hope. Maybe she could make friends here. Maybe she didn't have to face this world alone.

---

By the time Isla arrived at the prince's tea party that afternoon, she was feeling slightly more optimistic. Clara's warmth had reminded her that not everyone in this world was out to get her. Maybe she could charm Prince Louis, too. Maybe she could convince him that Evangeline wasn't such a bad person after all.

But her optimism quickly waned when she saw who else had been invited to tea.

Rosaline.

The heroine was seated beside Prince Louis, her golden curls practically glowing in the sunlight as she laughed at something he'd said. Isla's stomach sank. It was one thing to know Rosaline would be here—it was another thing entirely to see her in person, radiating the kind of effortless charm that made Isla want to crawl under the table and hide.

"Lady Evangeline," Louis said, standing as she approached. His tone was polite but distant, his expression unreadable. "Thank you for joining us."

"Your Highness," Isla said, curtsying gracefully. "The pleasure is mine. "

She took her seat across from the pair, feeling every bit like the third wheel she'd expected to be. As the tea was poured and the conversation flowed, Isla did her best to participate without drawing too much attention to herself. She laughed at Louis's jokes, complimented Rosaline's gown, and generally tried to avoid saying anything that might paint her as the scheming villainess everyone expected.

But it was exhausting. Every word, every gesture felt like walking a tightrope over a pit of spikes.

And then, just as Isla thought she might actually survive the tea without incident, Rosaline turned to her with a sweet, curious smile.

"Lady Evangeline," she said, her voice as gentle as a summer breeze. "You were so graceful at the ball last night. I couldn't help but admire your dancing."

Isla froze. Was this… a compliment? From Rosaline?!! She didn't trust it for a second.

"Thank you," Isla said cautiously. "That's very kind of you to say."

Rosaline's smile widened. "Perhaps you could teach me sometime. I've always been a bit clumsy, I'm afraid."

Isla forced a laugh. "I'm sure you're exaggerating, Lady Rosaline. You seem perfectly poised to me."

Rosaline blushed, ducking her head modestly. Louis looked at her with an expression so soft it made Isla want to gag. She fought the urge to roll her eyes and instead focused on the plate of pastries in front of her. If she couldn't win Louis's heart, she could at least win the battle for the last éclair.