The Villianess story: A 100 ways to kill your husband Chapter 2: Death is her fate

Talk about things spiraling from bad to worse. The last memory Hazel, now known as Abrielle, possessed was Lucian dropping her off at her apartment building before he drove away.

Her mind felt like mush as she tried to piece together what happened. A sudden realization struck her: she had been shot by an anti-fan. Her luck was truly appalling.

"Your Holiness, is everything alright? You appear rather pale," the maid inquired, her brows furrowed with concern for Abrielle. This day was meant to be significant, a day Abrielle had planned for an age, yet she looked sickly.

Abrielle’s gaze flickered towards the maid, then slowly scanned the room, confirming she was still in this place. Closing her eyes, she began to murmur, "Hazel, wake up from this dream. Your dear Lucian awaits you." Her hand pressed against her head as she spoke.

This had to be a dream; it was the only logical explanation. The maid, mistaking her lady's distress for a severe headache, quickly moved to the nearby desk, intending to pour a glass of water from the porcelain jug.

"My Holiness, perhaps a cup of water would alleviate the headache," the maid offered, attempting to distract Abrielle, who was still grappling with the harshness of reality.

Abrielle’s eyes fluttered open, but her expression remained unchanged. In a fit of rage, she swatted the maid’s hand away, causing water to splash onto her and the glass to shatter on the floor.

"Oh, dear goddess, I am so sorry, my lady. I will clean up this mess immediately," the maid apologized, not harboring any suspicion about Abrielle's behavior, as her lady was prone to tantrums.

As the maid crouched to pick up the broken glass shards, everything slipped from her grasp upon hearing the distinct sound of skin striking skin. A prominent red mark bloomed on her lady's fair skin. Her lady would never inflict harm upon herself.

Abrielle had convinced herself it was a dream, but the stinging sensation on her cheek after slapping herself proved otherwise—she was still present. She raised her hand to strike herself again, but fortunately, the maid intervened just in time.

"Lady Abrielle, what are you doing? You'll mar your face before your wedding. It will require extensive makeup to conceal such marks," the maid exclaimed. The name 'Abrielle' caused the lady to clench her fist. She ceased struggling with the maid, a dawning realization striking her: had she transmigrated into her own novel?

"Let go of my hand," she commanded the maid with newfound authority. The maid, hesitant, released her grip. Abrielle slid off the bed and hurried towards the nearest full-length mirror.

Her eyes met her reflection, and she was utterly speechless. Ginger hair paired with deep blue eyes—a stark contrast to her own auburn hair and dark obsidian eyes. She was, undeniably, Abrielle. But how could this be?

A piercing scream tore from Abrielle’s throat the moment reality violently slapped her. The maid, deeply concerned, wondered if her lady had succumbed to the wedding pressure, unaware that the true reason for Abrielle’s panic was far more complex.

Suddenly, Abrielle was overcome by a blinding headache, forcing her to cease screaming and collapse onto the floor. The maid rushed to her side.

Flash after flash of memories, Abrielle's memories, flooded her mind. She looked at the maid, her voice laced with uncertainty as she asked, "Dorothy?"

Dorothy readily responded, helping Abrielle to her feet. "Yes, my lady. Are you feeling unwell? I shall summon the physician." Dorothy moved to call for assistance, but Abrielle grasped her hand, halting her.

"Please, what is today's date?" she inquired, her hand trembling with apprehension. "Today is the 20th day of the holy month of Terraverde," Dorothy replied. A chasm seemed to open beneath Abrielle’s feet, and she stumbled back several steps.

Dorothy, panicking at the apparent decline in Abrielle's health, bolted from the room to find help, leaving the bewildered young lady behind. "I will fetch the head maid."

The 20th of Terraverde corresponded to September on Earth's calendar. It was the very day Abrielle, the novel's villainess, was set to marry Prince Cedric—a villain whose obsession with the female lead would lead him to murder her. This world's calendar, with its thirteen months mirroring the lunar cycle, was exactly as Hazel had detailed.

"I cannot simply wait here," Abrielle declared, her eyes wide with panic. If the wedding proceeded, her fate would be sealed. Disregarding the fact she was clad only in her nightgown, Abrielle sprinted to her wardrobe, snatched a small pouch brimming with gold coins and a long fur coat, and dashed towards the door.

Abrielle's wedding was occurring prior to the novel's main plotline, meaning she still had a window of opportunity. While she knew little of the estate previously, Abrielle's acquired memories now made her intimately familiar with its layout.

Abrielle cautiously peered out from her chamber, assessing the surroundings for any signs of being discovered. However, she realized that an escape through the hallways would only hasten their pursuit. Deciding against it, she retreated into her room, her gaze landing on the window adjacent to a large tree.

Disregarding the precarious height of her second-floor room, her sole focus was to evade the impending wedding. Securing her pouch to her waist and fastening her fur coat, she made her way towards the window.

As her hands reached for the glass panes to slide them open, a gust of cold autumn air immediately greeted her face. The chill was palpable. The window's considerable height made Abrielle hesitate for a moment, but the sound of approaching footsteps spurred her into action. They were getting closer.

Without further delay, she carefully maneuvered herself out of the window, using the sill to support her weight. Pressing her body flat against the wall, she began to move sideways. Her foot slipped, but her eyes quickly darted downwards.

Abrielle's heart leaped into her throat, but she swiftly regained her balance, pressing herself tighter against the wall. Closing her eyes, she focused on regulating her frantic heartbeat. Her determination to survive burned brightly; she refused to meet her end here.

The door to the room swung open, revealing Dorothy and the head maid, Rukia. "Where is the lady?" Rukia inquired, her brow furrowed. Dorothy, equally perplexed, wondered Abrielle's whereabouts.

"I shall search the room thoroughly," Dorothy suggested. From her precarious position by the window, Abrielle heard every word but remained frozen, daring not to move until they had left the room.

After a complete sweep of the chamber yielded no trace of Abrielle, Dorothy's panic set in. "The lady is missing!" she exclaimed breathlessly.

Rukia's expression shifted from disdain to alarm. Any harm befalling the young lady would have dire consequences for them. "Notify the guards that the holy lady Abrielle has been kidnapped!" Rukia commanded, nearly causing Abrielle to cry out. Since when was she kidnapped?

Rukia and Dorothy exited the room, intent on informing the entire estate of Abrielle's supposed disappearance. Unbeknownst to them, she was still concealed by the window.

Abrielle swallowed hard, realizing the magnitude of the situation. Now, the entire estate would be in an uproar searching for her. Pushing aside her mounting anxieties, her attention returned to the immediate challenge: how to reach the tree branch.

A single misstep could send her plummeting to her death. Clinging to the window lintel with one leg still on the sill, Abrielle strained to reach the branch, but it remained frustratingly out of grasp. Her acrophobia resurfaced, amplifying her fear. This was an terrifying and absurd predicament.

Quickly, she gripped the lintel with both hands to prevent herself from falling completely. The sole option to reach the branch involved a risky jump.

"You can do this, you can do this," she chanted internally before launching herself from the window, aiming for the branch. Yet, she fell short.

'No, you can't do this, and now you're going to die,' her thoughts shrieked as she plummeted, desperately trying to grasp a branch. She fought to suppress any sound, keen on avoiding detection.

Whether by luck or fate, Abrielle managed to latch onto a slender branch, her weight now supported by it. Her eyes widened with relief as she realized she had survived. "Come on, pull yourself up."

Abrielle urged herself to ascend the branch. However, this notorious for her pampered lifestyle, this villainess possessed a frail constitution. Climbing a mere branch felt akin to running a marathon for her indolent body.

After a prolonged and desperate struggle, Abrielle finally managed to hoist herself onto the branch, but her triumph was fleeting.

Snap! The sharp sound of the branch giving way beneath her alerted her, and her heart began to race uncontrollably. Before Abrielle could even formulate a plan, the branch broke, and she fell once more.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she wondered if death in this world would finally send her home, allowing her to go on that date with Lucian.

The wind rushed past her as she descended, her hand clamped over her mouth to stifle her scream. Even in this perilous moment, she was determined not to reveal herself.

Abrielle braced for the impact of her fatal fall, but it never came. Instead, she landed safely in someone's arms. Her eyes fluttered open, revealing the identity of her rescuer. She was immediately captivated by the most stunning pair of gold eyes she had ever beheld, so mesmerizing they literally stole her breath away. Who was this person?

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