The Villainess Refuses To Play

Liam, honey, you need to clear your calendar for this weekend. Youre taking me to that new French place downtown.

I stepped into my husbands office, expecting the usual quiet sanctuary of his workspace. Liam had always been the picture of the ultimate devoted husbandnever a stray glance, always entirely focused on our life together. But today, he was holding the hand of the new intern.

My blood ran hot. I marched toward them, my hand already raising to slap her smug face, when a strange, echoing voice vibrated directly in my mind:

"Go on, slap me! Hit me hard! The live feed said that as long as this toxic villainess slaps me, the male lead will hate her even more!"

"This brainless rich girl is such a clich. A tiny little trick and she already suspects him."

"Keep throwing your tantrums, honey. Im the main character here. Your ending is a psych ward; mine is a walk down the aisle."

My hand froze in midair. I stared into the interns wide, intensely hopeful eyes. Slowing my momentum, I let my hand drop slightly, gently cupping her soft, youthful cheek instead of striking it.

"You have beautiful skin, sweetheart," I murmured, brushing a thumb over her cheekbone. "No wonder my husband likes it so much. He just can't seem to let go of your hand."

Phoebe was visibly stunned.

Her innocent little face faltered, completely unprepared for this twist in the script.

"Why didn't she slap me?!"

"The feed said the villainess would slap me the second she saw us holding hands!"

"If she doesn't hit me, how is he going to feel sorry for me and start hating her?!"

I scoffed internally. "Hit you? In your dreams, sweetie."

Liam let go of her hand, stepping toward me to wrap his arm around my waist.

"Charlotte, honey, don't get the wrong idea. She almost tripped, and I was just catching her."

"Of course I believe you." I looked up at him, flashing my sweetest, most compliant smile. "Actually, Liam, I have a tiny favor to ask."

"What is it?"

"I really like this girl." I slipped my arm through his, adopting the slightly spoiled, demanding tone he was so used to. "I want her transferred to my office as my personal assistant."

I needed to keep her close, right where I could monitor this bizarre internal frequency of hers.

Liam frowned, hesitating. "Shes doing incredibly well in Corporate Strategy. The director specifically requested her for the team."

In my head, Phoebes inner voice cheered:

"The director never said that!"

"The feed was rightthe male lead already has feelings for me. Hes making up excuses to keep me near him!"

"Poor little rich girl doesn't suspect a thing. What an idiot."

The irritation in my chest flared hot and sharp. I pushed Liam away. "What is that supposed to mean? I can't even have one intern?"

"That's not what I meant"

"Then what do you mean?" I demanded, locking eyes with him.

Liam looked momentarily lost, his eyes instinctively darting to Phoebe. She stood behind him, looking like a trembling, defenseless deer. But her mind was throwing a party:

"Yes! Get mad! The feed is spot-onthe more she throws a tantrum, the more sick of her he gets!"

"He looked at me! Hes worried about my feelings! My approval rating is soaring!"

I took a deep, steadying breath, swallowing the urge to physically wipe the smirk off her face. "Liam, I'm going to ask you one last time." I crossed my arms, tilting my chin toward Phoebe. "Yes or no?"

I was Charlotte Davenport. My parents had spent my entire life shielding me from the harshness of the world, and in our five years of marriage, Liam had never denied me a single thing. And now he was hesitating over an intern?

Unacceptable.

Liam looked at me, eventually letting out a quiet sigh. "Of course, Charlotte. Whatever makes you happy."

Phoebes mind practically shrieked with panic:

"What?! He's actually transferring me to her? No! If I'm stuck with her, how am I supposed to secure the male lead?"

"Wait... the feed says it's fine. It says this will actually make him feel guilty, and he'll slowly start to see Charlotte as selfish and unreasonable."

"Yes, exactly! I just need to play the victim. Hell only pity me more!"

Over the next few days, I kept Phoebe under a microscope.

Yet, every morning, her first priority wasn't reporting to me. It was sneaking off to Liams office.

"He praised my reports today! He said they were better than what the senior analysts put out. Teehee. The feed says his affection level went up by one."

At lunchtime, she would "coincidentally" run into him at the cafeteria.

"He asked if I was eating alone and sat with me! He said I have such a great personality, that Im hardworking, unlike some spoiled heiresses who only know how to spend money."

In the afternoon, Liam would stop by my office under the guise of business. Seeing Phoebe typing away at her desk, he would casually murmur, "Don't work too hard, Phoebe. Go home early tonight."

"He cares about me! The feed is rightthe less Charlotte does, the more my hard work shines."

Sitting at my desk, my fingers tightened around the edges of the lifestyle magazine I was holding, slowly crushing the glossy paper.

Technically, Liam hadn't crossed any lines. No touching, no kissing, no inappropriate texts. He probably genuinely believed he was just being a supportive mentor to a promising, hardworking young woman.

But listening to those thoughts day after day made a cold dread settle deep in my stomach.

It came to a head on Tuesday afternoon when I went to drop off some files at his office.

I saw it in his eyes as he looked at her. A subtle shift. Something unfamiliar.

Admiration.

And worsepity.

I decided to test him.

The next morning, Phoebe handed me a brief. The formatting was a disaster, the fonts mismatched and messy. I took the folder, walked straight into Liam's office, and tossed it onto his desk.

"Look at this. This is your 'brilliant' intern? She can't even align a paragraph. How did she pass her screening?"

Liam flipped through the pages, his brow furrowing slightly, but his voice remained gentle. "Charlotte, shes fresh out of college. Theres no need to be so harsh. Formatting is something shell get used to with time."

"He defended me again! The feed says the male lead is officially getting tired of her princess attitude!"

Later, I asked Phoebe to make me a coffee.

When she brought it, it was lukewarm, drowned in milk, and sickly sweet. I took a sip right in front of her and spat it back into the mug.

"What is this? Are you here to work or are you on vacation?"

Phoebes eyes instantly welled with tears. She lowered her head, her voice trembling. "I'm so sorry, Charlotte. I'll make another one right away..."

"Bear with it. The feed says the more she bullies me, the more cruel he'll think she is."

Right on cue, Liam materialized at the door. Seeing her red-rimmed eyes, his frown deepened.

"Charlotte, its just a cup of coffee. Is there any need to raise your voice like that?"

I looked up at him. "She can't even remember how I take my coffee. You call that capable?"

"Shes only been here a week. Give her some time to adjust." Liams voice carried a distinct edge of irritation. "Do you always have to be so..."

He stopped himself, but I knew the word he wanted to say.

"Difficult."

I let out a dry, humorless laugh. Leaning back in my chair, I waved my hand dismissively. "Phoebe, leave us."

Phoebe glanced between Liam and me, then walked out with her head bowed.

Liam pulled up a chair next to mine, his tone softening. "Charlotte, what is going on with you lately?"

"Nothing."

"Youre angry." He reached out, wrapping his fingers tightly around mine, locking our hands together. "Is this still about the other day? I already gave you Phoebe, didn't I?"

I looked at him, searching his eyes. Did he really not see what he was doing, or was he just playing dumb?

"Let me ask you something," I said quietly. "Do you think shes better than me?"

Liam stared at me for a second, then chuckled. "What kind of comparison is that? Youre my wife. Shes just an employee. Im only helping her because she genuinely has potential."

Outside the door, Phoebes triumphant thoughts floated in:

"Hes absolutely comparing them in his head! The feed says his attraction score just ticked up again!"

Ignoring the voice, I kept my eyes locked on his. "Then why don't you take Phoebe to our dinner date this weekend? You two can discuss all that potential over dinner."

Liam sighed, reaching up to pinch my cheek playfully. "Stop talking nonsense. Why would I take her? My weekend belongs entirely to my wife."

A brief spark of warmth flickered in my chest.

But it was instantly snuffed out by the voice outside.

"The rich girl is so incredibly gullible. She believes whatever he says. But the feed already predicted ithes going to use a work emergency as an excuse, and then hes taking me to that food truck court I love instead."

My smile froze.

"No," I told myself. "The voices don't dictate reality. Whatever system she has, it could easily be a delusion."

On Friday afternoon, I did my makeup, put on a new dress, and waited for Liam to finish work.

At 5:30 PM, my phone buzzed.

Liam: "Charlotte, honey, an unexpected client dinner came up. I can't make it tonight. I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

I stared at the screen, the blue light stinging my eyes.

I typed out a long reply, then deleted it.

In the end, I only sent one word: "Okay."

The next day, I was scrolling through social media when I saw Phoebes latest post.

There was no caption. Just a single photo: a smoky street-side taco stand under string lights, and across the table, a man's hands.

On his left ring finger was the band I had spent weeks picking out.

After that weekend, Liam seemed to sense the distance growing between us.

For the next few days, he came home early every night, bringing small gifts and trying to initiate conversation.

On Wednesday night, as we lay in bed, he wrapped his arms around me from behind.

"Charlotte, I have a business trip this weekend. I have to go to Chicago for three days to close a major acquisition. It's crucial for the firm."

I nodded against the pillow. "Okay."

He kissed the back of my neck. "Good girl. I'll bring you back something nice."

The next morning, as I walked toward my desk, I caught Phoebes thoughts before I even opened the door.

"Oh my god! The feed says hes taking me to Santorini!"

"A cliffside villa! The sunset suite! The exact place Charlotte has been begging him to take her for five years!"

"The feed is rightIm his soulmate. That high-maintenance villainess belongs in an institution."

The ceramic mug in my hand nearly slipped from my grip.

Santorini.

The honeymoon we had promised each other when we got married.

For five years, I had brought it up.

He always said he was too busy. "Next year, honey. Let's wait until things settle down."

And now, he was taking her.

My hands shook as I quietly closed my office door.

Around noon, I went down to Liams office.

He was reading through some documents, but he looked up and smiled when I walked in. "Hey. Miss me already?"

I sat opposite him, studying his face.

This was the man I had loved for over a decade.

"Liam," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Do you remember the promise you made me?"

He blinked, then smiled warmly. "Of course. Santorini."

"When are we going?"

"Sweetheart, I am buried in work right now." He stood up, walking over to gently stroke my hair. "As soon as things quiet down, I promise I'll take you, okay?"

"As soon as things quiet down."

The same empty currency hed been throwing at me for years.

I forced a smile and said nothing.

I was tired of waiting.

On Thursday, they left.

I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office, watching his black sedan pull out of the parking garage. I pulled out my phone and texted my closest friend, Piper.

"Find me a divorce lawyer. The absolute best in the city."

Her reply came instantly: "??? Are you insane?"

"Ive never been more clear-headed. Just send me a name."

A long pause. Then:

"Declan Ross. Hes a partner at Ross & Associates, top-tier family law. He was also our high school class president. Remember him?"

I stared at the screen.

Declan.

The tall, quiet boy who used to leave cartons of strawberry milk on my desk during recess.

The next day, I walked into his high-rise office.

He was wearing an impeccably tailored three-piece suit, looking far more refined and grounded than he had in high school. There was a quiet strength to him that was entirely different from Liams flashy confidence.

After listening to my story, Declan didn't offer empty platitudes. He simply leaned forward.

"I'll draft the petition. We'll go after everything youre entitled to." He paused, his gaze softening. "And my services are on the house."

"Declan, I can't let you do that"

"Sophomore year, when those three guys cornered me behind the gym trying to take my lunch money, you swung your skateboard and chased them off. Ive remembered that for ten years." He tilted his head, a faint, nostalgic smile playing on his lips. "Back then, you told me if it wasn't for him, you wouldve chosen me. What about now?"

I couldn't find the words to answer.

The night the draft agreement was finalized, I saw Phoebes feed update on social media.

The blue domes of Santorini, the golden Aegean sunset, the infinity pool hanging over the cliffs.

The final photo was a silhouette of Liam. He was standing on a whitewashed balcony, looking out at the endless blue.

Caption: "Thank you for showing me the most beautiful place in the world."

I stared at the screen for a long, quiet minute.

Then, I pulled up Liam's contact info, attached the draft divorce petition, and sent it.

I added a simple message: "I want a divorce."

Before he could reply, I blocked his number.

I packed a bag and went straight to my parents' house.

Seeing the exhaustion etched into my face, they didn't pry. They simply told me to rest and assured me they had my back.

I retreated to my childhood bedroom. Sitting in the dark, pulling my knees to my chest, memories of Liam flooded my mind like a projector on loop.

Liam at fifteen, waiting for me by the bleachers.

Liam at eighteen, setting off illegal fireworks under my window.

Liam at twenty-two, down on one knee, whispering that I was his entire world.

Liam at twenty-seven, brushing my hair aside, promising wed go to Greece when he wasn't so busy.

Five years of waiting.

Five years of believing him, only for him to take someone else.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

It was a text from Declan: "Are you comfortable with the terms in the draft?"

I replied: "Yes. It's perfect. Thank you, Declan."

Declan: "Always. Would you do me the honor of letting me take you to dinner?"

I thought about it. "Let me treat you instead. To thank you for all of this."

Declan: "Id love that. Honestly, Ive been craving a home-cooked meal. It's been a while since I had one."

Reading his reply, I remembered how his parents had split up during our junior year, leaving him to live alone in a rented studio, often skipping meals before night study.

My heart softened. "Come over to my parents' place tomorrow. I'll have our housekeeper make us something."

The next morning, my mother knocked and slipped into my room. "You look pale, sweetie. Did you sleep at all?"

"I'm fine, Mom." I paused. "Could we add sweet and sour ribs to the lunch menu today?"

"I thought you hated sweet glazes."

"They're for a friend. Hes helping me through a lot, and I wanted to make sure he has something he likes."

She smiled gently. "Of course. I'll tell the kitchen."

Around eleven, the doorbell rang.

I went to open it. Declan stood on the porch, wearing a charcoal-grey crewneck sweater and dark trousers, holding a basket of fresh fruit.

"Thanks for having me."

"Come on in," I said, leading him toward the dining room.

Declan was an effortless conversationalist. Within twenty minutes, he had my parents completely charmed.

Then, the heavy front door swung open.

Liam walked in, looking disheveled and frantic. He took in the scene in the dining room, his expression darkening into something raw and ugly.

"We aren't even divorced yet," his voice cracked, hoarse and trembling, "and youve already brought him into your parents' home?"