The Villainess Is Done Trying Novel Novels & Stories

I'm already the crazy villain in the book who's got men wrapped around my finger. First, I snatched Jake from Jasmine, basically, that's what people thought, then I somehow stole the attention of the hockey captain, snatched him from Isabella and now I was back with Jake?! Remind me about it, the villain doesn't fit, they'd spill trash about how I was a slut, maybe. And Cullen was saying otherwise? “And what makes you think that won't happen?” I tilted my head, brows squinted as I asked. “Debunk the news?” Ava shrugged.

Unpredictability could be dangerous. She turned back to the bleak garden, the weight of the castle, the title, the terrible fate, pressing down on her. She was Vivian Ashworth, the villainess. Prince Alexander arrived tomorrow. Her brother was plotting. The heroine was nearby. And she had no idea what schemes were already in play.

Long milky blonde hair with a pair of red-violet eyes that can drown you into a bottomless pit, reddish lips, and a milky white complexion. This is not me! Clearly not Nina Facelo! And like a flashback. My whole life before I came here, started flowing. From school, going to a nearby bookstore to buy the most awaited book that my friends recommended to me. And I, trying to be a hero and ended up dying in a dark alley on the second street. Illuminating Darkness! That's the title! That's the book that I want to read! I didn't sleep peacefully instead I died young! And to add salt to the wounds. I am now in the body of the most wicked Dame in the Kingdom! The suspected villainess of the famous

Inside, Caelen’s hand rests on her shoulder, warm and heavy and real. The notebook is open to the last page she wrote—the one where she left him standing at the edge of the crater, no ending in sight. On the paper, new words are appearing, written in ink that looks like it has been there all along: She had thought villains were born. She did not know they were made—made of love and loss and words we are too afraid to say out loud. Now she has to choose: write a new ending, or let both worlds burn with the one she left unfinished.

“You’ve been in love with him your whole life! How can you say you’ve given up on him?” “You even put in all that effort to get into his uni, staying up into the night every night to prepare for your exams and interview! You are telling me you suddenly gave up on him after getting in?” “What – he just doesn’t do it for me anymore!” I exclaimed. It was frustrating that I could not blurt out the fact that this was a book and that the last thing I wanted was to continue on the path of an evil villainess that ends up doomed. No one would believe me because even I found it hard to believe myself!

His head jerked back as he felt Sikandar’s energy enter him. Then he saw a brown-skinned girl with blonde hair and spectacles typing something on a laptop. Her green eyes were red, and tissues were littered around her. When he went closer to the laptop, he was shocked by what he read. “Write a dramatic and thrilling finale for the story where the villain wins despite all of the hero's efforts. But the victory should be pyrrhic with the villain not only destroying half of Asadistan like he planned but also causing the extinction of the whole world. As soon as you finish, publish it using my account.”

It was clear everyone had been fixated on Marcel, but at his declaration, all focus was on Celia. All her life, she was the girl with the weakest presence in a room. The one no one noticed, and when they did, she was viewed with pity or disgust. Now she was the mate of a werewolf who killed their Alpha. A werewolf who dominated other packs. A villain, undoubtedly. Hadn’t things just become worse for her? “Move,” Marcel instructed Sheeva, but she didn’t obey. “Move,” he said again, his eyes glowing this time. Sheeva trembled, doing her best to fight against the intimidation that came with Marcel’s unbelievable power.

What was a book like this doing in his mother's collection? Hesitantly, he read on. It was an erotica, but unlike any he’d skimmed before. This one was relentless, visceral. It followed two main characters: a cruel, hedonistic prince and a cunning commoner who clawed her way to power by becoming his fiancée. The narrative was a twisted dance, first painting her as the ambitious heroine, then pivoting to dissect the prince’s depravities with a clinical, almost sympathetic eye. Just as it dared you to understand him, it revealed the commoner’s ultimate betrayal, transforming her into the story's true villainess.

I am going to die without anyone caring about what happened to me. ‘Who am I kidding? The villainess will never get a good ending… No matter what. Someone like me can’t have one. It will always end the same for me. Always going to have a bad ending. Even if… Even if I wanted a different one this time… I wanted things to be different…’

The coarse coral-weave robe of a province I do not recognize, the kind that has not been worn in any kingdom for at least four hundred years. She is sad. The whole of her is sad. The sadness is not new; it is settled, the way a stain is settled in old cloth. "My name is Vessa." "The third host." "You read fast for a young one. Yes." She moves toward me — not by swimming, by appearing closer the way memories appear closer — and she sits, cross-tailed, in the silt at the edge of the seventh cairn. Her hands rest in her lap. The pearl in my chest is uneasy with her in a way it was not uneasy with Morrigwen, and after a second I understand why. The pearl is afraid of Vessa specifically. Vessa su