When The Villainess Reads The Script

I am the heiress to the Prescott family, one of New York's most powerful dynasties. At my birthday party, held at our Hamptons estate, the housekeeper's daughter, Brielle Sutton, had the audacity to wear the vintage Chanel haute couture gown my grandmother had bequeathed to me. I was about to have security remove her.

Just then, strange, real-time comments began to flicker into existence before my eyes.

"This vicious villainess is just jealous that the female lead looks better in the gown than she does!"

"Don't worry, the male leads are about to make their entrance!"

"Just wait. Once her family goes bankrupt, we'll see how high and mighty she acts then!"

The next moment, my naive younger brother and my fiancé rushed forward, shielding Brielle from me.

I sneered and ordered security, "'Escort' all three of them out. Follow protocol: search them. Make sure they don't take so much as a pin from the Prescott estate."

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1

The housekeeper's daughter, Brielle Sutton, had the audacity to wear the vintage haute couture gown my grandmother left me—a gown she had stolen—to my own birthday party. Just as I was about to make her regret her insolence, a semi-transparent, holographic screen flickered to life before me, a frantic stream of comments scrolling across it.

"This villainess is just jealous that the female lead looks better in the gown than she does!"

"She looks down on people just because she's rich! We'll see how arrogant she is after the male leads bankrupt her family and arrange a little “skiing accident” to break her legs!"

Moments later, my hopelessly naive brother, Preston, and my fiancé, Erik, rushed to Brielle's defense. Shielding her, they scolded me, "Victoria, it's just a dress! You're just trying to humiliate her! How can you be so cruel?"

I let out a cold laugh and ordered the head of security behind me, "'Escort' all three of them out. Search them. They are to leave with nothing but the clothes on their backs."

If they wanted to call me a bully, I'd show them what real bullying looked like.

...

"It's just a dress, Victoria! What's the big deal if Brielle wears it for a bit? Do you have to be so cruel? Don't think you can get my attention by bullying her. I'm telling you, even if you wore this gown, you couldn't hold a candle to her!"

Erik Vaughn's shrill, grating voice gave me a headache.

I frowned, looking at the man and woman standing before me—Erik Vaughn and Brielle Sutton. One was my fiancé by arranged marriage; the other was the daughter of our housekeeper, Diane Sutton—a parasite who'd only scraped through high school thanks to my family's generosity.

They were draped over each other, casting me as the wicked witch trying to tear apart two star-crossed lovers.

The "just a dress" Erik spoke of was an heirloom from my grandmother, a one-of-a-kind Chanel custom piece from the 1950s. It was a piece of the Prescott legacy and had once been appraised at a staggering price at a Christie's auction.

Without a doubt, Brielle knew how much that gown meant to me. More than once, she had gazed at me with those wide, innocent eyes and pleaded, "Aren't we friends, Victoria? You have so many beautiful dresses, why can't you just lend me this one? Just once."

After I had refused her countless times, she offered to organize my walk-in closet. However, she slipped into the gown when she thought no one was looking and even appeared at my birthday party on Erik's arm.

Because their outfits complemented each other, to any unsuspecting guest, they looked like the true hosts of the evening.

When I discovered what had happened, I immediately had the security team block the exits. But Erik shielded Brielle behind him and started accusing me of overreacting.

I sneered, and just as I was about to retort, the strange scrolling comments before my eyes began to multiply.

"Sorry I'm late! Is that the villainess? Victoria? She really does look like a bitch, tacky and tasteless!"

"What gives her the right to say our lovely Brielle doesn't deserve to wear that gown? She's the female lead! Who's more qualified than her? It's just a stupid dress. Only nouveau-riche trash like Victoria would care. She's just jealous Brielle looks better in it!"

"Don't worry. Erik is here, and Brielle's second admirer is arriving soon! They'll definitely teach that vicious Victoria a lesson!"

"Just you wait. She won't be arrogant for long. Soon, this villainess will go bankrupt, break her leg while skiing, and be framed and thrown in jail. In the end, she'll end up killing herself in prison."

"She thinks she can do whatever she wants just because she has money! I hate rich people like her!"

As I read these absurd words, Erik mistook my silence for guilt. He lifted his chin and arrogantly announced, "I've told you countless times, Victoria. Even if you trap me in this engagement, you will never have my heart!"

Then, he turned to Brielle, who was cowering behind him like a frightened rabbit, and his gaze instantly softened.

"Give the gown to her, and I'll forgive your rudeness," he declared, as if bestowing a great favor.

I couldn't help but let out a snort of laughter. I was finally starting to understand the situation. Were these scrolling comments some kind of spoiler from a parallel universe?

Whatever it was, if that was my "destiny," then the scriptwriter had clearly underestimated Victoria Prescott.

Even if I were trampled underfoot and thrown into the depths of hell, I would claw my way back out and drag down every single person who pushed me in. Suicide? That word didn't exist in the Prescott family's dictionary.

I beckoned our head butler, Arthur Finch, and said, "To take without asking is to steal. And this little thief has some nerve, daring to steal from the Prescott family."

"Go check the surveillance footage. Make sure you have the evidence before my birthday party officially begins. My guests deserve to know the truth."

Arthur left with the security team, while the floating comments flew faster than ever.

"What the hell? How dare she call our lovely Brielle a thief? She's just never seen such a beautiful gown before! What's the big deal if she tries it on?"

"Exactly! Isn't Victoria Prescott the daughter of New York's richest man? Making a fuss over a dress? She's so petty!"

"Ha! She thinks being a Prescott means she can do whatever she wants. Just wait. The second Brielle's number-one simp, Preston Prescott, shows up, she'll be on her knees begging!"

"Only a son inherits the family business! This vicious villainess won't get her way. She should just hurry up and die!"