Pu_yang

In a world where stories are written in blood and roses have venomous thorns, Jack Thorne—a reclusive thirty-year-old who once found solace only in books—awakens as Riven, the ill-fated butler of Evangeline Vossaire, a lethally captivating villainess destined to die betrayed and forgotten. But Jack remembers her story—every plot twist, every enemy, every tragic end—and he’s determined to rewrite it.

Armed with modern knowledge and a heart scarred by loneliness, Jack navigates a gilded world of masquerades, poisoned politics, and whispered threats. Yet the more he unravels Evangeline’s secrets—her buried vulnerability, her razor-sharp wit, the ghosts of her past—the harder it becomes to see her as the monster the novel painted. Torn between survival and the dangerous pull of empathy, Jack must outwit enemies who know his truth: that he’s an outsider with the power to change fate.

But in a realm where trust is a knife and love is a weakness, can a man who hid from life become the one thing a villainess was never meant to have—a reason to hope?

The Thorned Rose of House Vossaire is a sweeping tale of redemption, forbidden chemistry, and the fragile beauty of second chances. Perfect for fans of Bridgerton’s dark allure, The Cruel Prince’s intricate schemes, and the quiet power of The House in the Cerulean Sea. Here, love doesn’t soften edges—it sharpens them.

I fell in love with a villainess

The estate's collapse left a gaping maw in the earth, its edges bristling with fractured roots and splintered stone. Lyra stood at the precipice, staring into the labyrinth below—a sprawling network of tunnels choked with thorns older than House Vossaire itself. The walls pulsed faintly, veins of green light threading through the rock like corrupted arteries. Evangeline lit a torch, its flame casting jagged shadows over carvings etched into the passage: skeletal figures crowned with roses, their hollow eyes following the group as they descended.

"It's a graveyard," Nyra muttered, brushing her fingers over a relief of a woman with Lyra's face, her body split into vines. "Her graveyard."

The air thickened with the scent of decay and cloying sweetness. Somewhere in the dark, Jack's labored breaths echoed, his green-veined hands trembling as he clutched his sword.

The Shadow in the Dark

Jack's corruption had begun to move.

In the flickering torchlight, his shadow stretched unnaturally, clawed fingers skimming the walls. Twice, Evangeline caught it lunging toward Nyra, dissolving only when the flame swung its way.

"It's getting stronger," Evangeline warned, her gold-flecked eye narrowed. "Another hour, and it won't need him to kill us."

Jack leaned against the wall, sweat dripping from his brow. "Then leave me."

Lyra's scar flared. "No."

"You'd die for him?" Nyra snapped. "How noble. How stupid."

A low growl rippled through the tunnel. Jack's shadow peeled from the wall, solidifying into a thorned beast with his face.

The Chamber of Mirrors

They fled deeper, the labyrinth twisting into a cavernous chamber. Nyra froze.

Rows of glass coffins lined the room, each holding a body—Lyra's body. Some rotted, vines bursting from their ribs. Others pristine, their eyes open and glowing green. At the center stood a pedestal, a ledger etched in starlight:

"Vessel 712: Rejected. Voice too weak."

"Vessel 899: Harvested. Eyes incompatible."

"Vessel 1003: Perfected. Awaiting ascension."

Nyra shattered the nearest coffin with her dagger. "You're just another experiment. A failed one."

Lyra touched the glass of Vessel 1003. Its eyes snapped to hers, lips curving into the First Gardener's smile.

"Come home," it whispered.

The Fractured Pact

Evangeline's vision struck without warning—a flash of the cellar rose's roots strangling Jack, Lyra kneeling before the First Gardener's throne, Nyra's sister laughing as green light consumed her. She staggered, blood trickling from her eye.

"The rose…" she panted. "It's not just in the walls. It's in our minds."

Lyra gripped her arm. "Fight it."

"I'm trying," Evangeline snarled. "But it's like holding back the tide. Every lie she tells… it feels true."

The First Gardener's Gift

The labyrinth led them to a grove where the air shimmered with false daylight. At its center grew a rose tree, its branches heavy with pulsing fruit. Each fruit bore a face: Liran, Nyra's sister, villagers from Duskhollow.

"Take a bite," the First Gardener crooned, her voice woven into the wind. "Taste a world without pain."

Lyra raised the star-forged dagger.

"Strike me down, and you strike them too," the First Gardener laughed. "Is your resolve so brittle, little storm?"

Nyra lunged first. The tree screamed.

The Heart of the World

The grove collapsed, dragging them into a chasm where the First Gardener's true form waited—a colossal rose fused with the earth's roots, its petals vast as sails, its thorns dripping venom that burned holes in reality itself.

"You are mine," it thundered. "You have always been mine."

Lyra's scar split open, roots surging toward the heart.

Chapter 32: The Labyrinth of Echoes