[Lavinia's Pov]
My life as Lavinia Devereux was going remarkably well.
Suspiciously well.
I mean, for a girl who was originally meant to be ignored, poisoned, banished, and erased from royal history like a particularly inconvenient typo—I was thriving.
From "dustbin princess" to spoiled imperial treasure, from Reina Suzuki, tragic salarywoman, to Lavinia Devereux, heir apparent and national obsession—I had scaled the royal ladder, climbed over fate's script, and kicked emotional trauma in the shins on the way up.
Sure, once upon a time, I'd accepted my fate.
I looked the original plot square in its smug, cruel face and said, "Fine. Kill me gently with poisoned tea; just don't toss me off a balcony or make me die in an ugly dress."
But alas.
The plot?
It was spiraling.
Violently. Chaotically. Hilariously.
