I Married The Villian Who Was Destined To Destroy Me

“Eveline Ashford, you have been found guilty of treason, conspiracy against the Crown, and the deaths of innocent people in the northern settlement. By order of the King, you are hereby sentenced to death.”

“No! I didn't betray the Crown!” Eveline struggled against the guards. “I was trying to expose the people responsible for the massacre!”

But nobody listened.

The royal court had already reached its decision. Nobles watched from beneath the palace balcony, some whispering while others looked at her with disgust.

Eveline searched their faces until she found him.

Duke Adrian Blackwood.

He stood beside the execution platform in his black military uniform. His expression as cold as the winter that had claimed hundreds of lives in the northern settlement.

He was her husband. The man she once believed would protect her.

“Adrian, please believe me! You know I wouldn't betray you.”

His jaw tightened. “I trusted you once, Eveline. That was my mistake.”

Her heart broke. “But the letters were forged! Someone is hiding what happened in the north. Investigate, and you'll discover the truth!”

Adrian looked away. “Take her away.”

“No! Adrian!”

The guards dragged her toward the executioner. Eveline fought desperately, but their strength overwhelmed her. She fell to her knees, her dress scraping against the stone.

“Please! I'm innocent!”

The executioner raised his sword. Eveline's final sight was her husband's cold face. Then the blade fell.

Elena Vale stared at the page in disbelief.

“No. No, no, no!”

She flipped through the novel, searching for a detail she might have missed. Surely there had to be a hidden witness, a secret letter, or something that explained why Eveline Ashford had been executed without a proper investigation.

But the more Elena read, the angrier she became.

The evidence consisted mainly of suspicious letters, testimonies from royal servants, and documents connecting Eveline to the northern settlement. Nobody had verified the handwriting or questioned why the evidence appeared so conveniently after she began investigating the massacre.

Even Adrian, the supposedly intelligent Duke of Blackwood, had accepted everything.

“What kind of duke are you?” Elena demanded, glaring at the book. “You command an entire army, but you can't investigate a few suspicious letters?”

She tossed the novel onto her bed.

The Crown of Ashes contained nearly eight hundred pages, and she had spent three nights reading it. The political intrigue was fascinating, and the romance had kept her turning pages long after midnight.

But Eveline's ending was ridiculous.

The novel portrayed her as an ambitious noblewoman who married Adrian for power before betraying him and conspiring against the kingdom. Yet the details of her supposed wickedness never quite added up.

Eveline had secretly visited the northern settlement and discovered evidence of corruption involving royal officials. She had also argued with Adrian about his military operations.

Somehow, those actions became proof that she was a traitor. And the person who benefited most from her downfall was Princess Rosaline, the original female lead.

Elena rubbed her forehead. “I'm sorry, Eveline. You deserved a better author.”

She closed the book, stretched, and prepared to sleep.

Unfortunately, a sudden headache interrupted her plans.

“Ouch!” She pressed both hands against her temples as the room began to tilt.

“What is happening?”

A sharp pain shot through her head. The book slipped from her fingers, and she reached for the bed, but her knees gave way.

The last thing she heard was her body hitting the floor, then everything went black.

When Elena opened her eyes, she found herself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling decorated with intricate carvings. A crystal chandelier hung overhead, and heavy curtains framed tall windows. Across the room stood a fireplace beneath a portrait of a stern-looking man.

Elena blinked. “Did I die and wake up in a luxury hotel?”

She tried to sit up and noticed the unfamiliar dress covering her body.

“Why am I wearing this?”

The room contained antique wardrobes, an elaborate dressing table, and a writing desk covered with papers. Everything looked as though it belonged in a historical drama.

Elena stumbled toward the mirror only to see a beautiful young woman staring back at her. Long dark hair fell over pale shoulders, and her naturally pink lips looked almost unreal.

Then she noticed the eyes. The same eyes she had seen in the character illustration for The Crown of Ashes.

Her stomach dropped. “No way.”

She touched her cheek and the woman in the mirror did the same.

“That is Eveline Ashford.”

She knew that face. She had spent hours looking at it while reading the novel. Somehow, she had entered the body of the woman whose execution had made her furious less than an hour earlier.

Elena sank onto the bed. “Okay. Maybe I'm dreaming.”

She pinched her arm. “Ow!”

“Fine. Maybe it's just a realistic nightmare.”

She pinched herself again. “Ow! I get it!”

She covered her face. She had read enough novels to recognize the situation. An unfamiliar body, a strange room, and a sudden collapse could only mean one thing.

She had transmigrated.

And not into the heroine, a wealthy princess, or an insignificant maid who could avoid trouble by serving tea.

She had become Eveline Ashford, the condemned villainess.

“The woman who gets executed by her own husband.” Elena lowered her hands. “Of all the characters in that book, why her?”

Panic threatened to overwhelm her, but she forced herself to think. If she had entered the novel, she needed to find out when she had arrived.

She rushed to the writing desk and examined the scattered papers. Most contained unfamiliar names and financial records, but one letter bore a date.

It was three days before Eveline's wedding to Adrian Blackwood.

Elena froze.

Three days.

She had three days before marrying the man who would eventually order her execution.

“Oh, I'm finished.”

She paced around the room. Adrian was a powerful duke with a reputation for ruthlessness. His loyalty to the Crown had helped ensure Eveline's accusations were dismissed.

According to the novel, Eveline began investigating the northern massacre after their marriage. Adrian believed she was gathering information to undermine him, and their relationship deteriorated until the evidence against her became impossible to ignore.

At least, that was the official version.

Elena stopped pacing. What if the story had concealed something?

She remembered the suspicious letters, the convenient testimonies, and how every accusation appeared just as Eveline approached the truth.

She became sure that there was more to the massacre than the novel had revealed and if she wanted to survive, she needed to discover what it was.

A knock interrupted her thoughts. “Lady Eveline?”

Elena straightened. “Yes?”

A young maid entered carrying a silver tray. “Forgive me for disturbing you, my lady. His Grace has sent word regarding the wedding arrangements.”

Elena's heart began to pound. “His Grace?”

“Duke Adrian Blackwood. He requests that you meet him in the library tomorrow morning to discuss matters concerning your marriage.”

Elena swallowed. “What matters?”

“I wasn't told, my lady.”

“Very well. You may leave.”

The maid curtsied and departed. Elena collapsed onto the bed.

Tomorrow morning, she would meet Adrian, the man who would eventually believe she was a traitor and watch her die.

“Please let this be a dream.” She begged but the unfamiliar room remained unchanged.

There was no waking up, or returning to her old life. There was only a fictional world where everyone believed Eveline was wicked, and the person who should have protected her was her greatest obstacle.

Elena sat up. “Fine.”

If Eveline had been too trusting, Elena would be careful. If she had failed to expose the conspiracy, Elena would find the evidence herself. And if Adrian Blackwood tried to kill her, she would make sure he regretted it.

Then she remembered something.

In the novel, Eveline had received a mysterious letter shortly before the northern massacre. It warned her not to investigate the royal accounts.

Elena had dismissed it as an insignificant detail. Now, she wasn't so sure.

She returned to the writing desk and searched through the papers until she discovered a folded letter hidden beneath several documents.

Her fingers trembled as she opened it.There were only two sentences.

“If you wish to know who ordered the massacre in the north, stop trusting the Crown.”

Beneath the message was another warning. “And whatever you do, do not let Duke Blackwood discover what you know.”

Elena stared at the words, her heart racing.

Tomorrow, she would face Adrian, and now she had a terrible question.

Was she about to marry the man who would kill her, or the only man who could help her uncover the truth?