They Called Me the Villain Who Deserved to Be Gutted for the Heroine Chapter 2

With my arm looped through Asher’s, I stepped into the grand ballroom. The first thing I saw was a woman’s back, her spine a perfect, elegant line in a shimmering gown.

Every eye in the room was on her.

“I thought Chloe was a showstopper,” someone whispered nearby.

“She is, but compared to Seraphina Hayes, she just… fades.”

“I’ve never seen anyone wear a dress like that. Pure old Hollywood.”

They were all captivated. And just like that, I was the drab “before” photo to her radiant “after.”

A bitter sound escaped my lips, a quiet hiss of displeasure.

The woman turned, and as her face came into view, the text appeared again, sharp and clear:

【THE MALE AND FEMALE LEADS ARE ABOUT TO DRINK SPIKED WINE, LEADING TO A NIGHT OF PASSION.】

【FROM THIS NIGHT ON, HE WILL BE ADDICTED TO HER, NEVER TOUCHING THE TOXIC SIDE PIECE AGAIN.】

So, this Seraphina was the heroine. Asher’s soulmate.

I couldn’t lose this job. Not the fifty grand a month, not the surprise six-figure bonuses he’d drop whenever the mood struck.

I had to change the script.

Seraphina moved toward us with an air of refined grace, lifting two glasses of red wine from a passing waiter’s tray.

“Mr. Blackwood, hello.” Her voice was like honeyed silk. “I’m Seraphina Hayes, the director of Crimson Dusk. I can’t thank you enough for investing in my film. I’d like to propose a toast.”

Those were the glasses. The spiked ones.

They couldn’t drink them.

“I’ll drink for him,” I said, stepping forward and taking the second glass.

Then, feigning a stumble on the hem of my gown, I lurched forward, crashing into Seraphina.

Both glasses tumbled from our hands, shattering on the marble floor.

There. Mission accomplished.

But somehow, Seraphina lost her footing. For someone who looked so delicate, she was surprisingly strong. She grabbed onto my arm as she fell, pulling me down with her. I saw her hand heading straight for a shard of glass. In a split second, I shoved her sideways.

My own left hand landed squarely on the broken glass. A sharp, searing pain shot up my arm. Blood, dark and slick, began to well from a deep gash in my palm.

My expression, my posture, the way the tears welled in my eyes—it was all a carefully choreographed performance. I looked up, my voice trembling with manufactured fragility.

“Seraphina… I don’t understand. We’ve never even met. Why would you push me onto broken glass?”

She was speechless, her mouth opening and closing like a frightened rabbit. “I didn’t… It was you! You fell on purpose!”

I angled my head just so, looking up at Asher with the most beautiful, tragic expression I could muster.

But his eyes were like chips of ice. He was angry. Angrier than I had ever seen him.

A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. Had he fallen for her already? After a single glance?

I held up my bleeding hand for him to see.

“Asher… it hurts.”

He strode forward and scooped me into his arms.

Seraphina reached out, grabbing his sleeve. “Mr. Blackwood, you can see what she did, can’t you?”

He didn’t even break his stride. Her hand fell away. He ignored her completely, his long legs carrying us swiftly toward a private lounge.

Over his shoulder, I shot her a triumphant little smirk.

Seraphina just stood there, utterly lost.

A doctor arrived with a medical kit and began cleaning my wound. Asher, a man who rarely showed emotion, was radiating a silent fury. When he got like this, you knew someone was about to pay, dearly.

“You’re not getting your allowance next month.”

Fifty thousand dollars. My world tilted on its axis.

“Why?!”

“So you’ll learn your lesson.” His voice was low and dangerous. “If you didn’t want me drinking with her, you could have just said so. You didn’t need to hurt yourself.”

Of course, he’d seen right through me. He was a survivor of brutal family wars, a man who’d clawed his way to the top. My little theatrics were child’s play to him.

But if Seraphina had drunk that wine, the script would have taken over. They would have ended up in bed together, one way or another.

A wounded hand in exchange for derailing their first night?

Worth it.

My throat felt raw as I launched into my most pathetic, wheedling plea. “Asher, please~~ How about just twenty thousand?~~”

He didn’t bother to answer, just turned and walked out.

I scrambled to follow him. I couldn’t let him out of my sight, not with the heroine lurking.

But I had underestimated the power of the story.

The wine had been spiked by Marco Ricci, an underworld princeling and the story’s obsessive, dangerous secondary love interest. He was trying to force Seraphina into his bed.

In the main hall, Marco was threatening her, demanding she leave with him. But Seraphina had a spine of steel. She smashed a wine bottle over his head.

Then she ran straight to Asher, pulling an antique pocket watch from her purse. “Mr. Blackwood, do you remember this? Seven years ago, you were badly injured. I was the one who saved you.”

She held out the watch. “You left this with me. You said I could ask for one favor, anything at all.” She took a deep breath. “Mr. Blackwood, I need to stay at Blackwood Manor.”

I was about to protest.

“Fine,” Asher said.

With that one word, he was publicly declaring her under his protection.

Marco, clutching his bleeding head, could only watch in fury. He couldn’t touch someone Asher Blackwood had decided to shield.

New text popped into my vision:

【THE HEROINE MOVES INTO THE MANOR. THE TOXIC SIDE PIECE USES EVERY TRICK IN THE BOOK TO HARM HER, BUT THE HEROINE CLEVERLY THWARTS THEM ALL.】

【ASHER FINDS HIMSELF FALLING FOR SERAPHINA DURING THEIR TIME TOGETHER.】

My hand clenched into a fist, sending a fresh wave of pain through my palm. Blood seeped through the white gauze.

Fine. Let the games begin.