Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? - Chapter 2

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 2
2. Being a Villainess Has Its Perks
After the traffic accident, consciousness returned to me following a long darkness, and I blinked vacantly as I surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings.
My body lay sprawled across a canopy bed with white curtains—a bed so enormous that seven grown adults could sleep comfortably upon it.
Where on earth was I?
I stared at the curtains, where serpents and roses were delicately embroidered in gold thread, seized by an inexplicable unease, when the memory of the motorcycle accident just before I lost consciousness flooded back. I jolted upright in bed.
I distinctly remembered the sensation of bones shattering and muscles tearing, yet here I was, completely unharmed. As I ran my hands over my body—which bore not even a trace of soreness—my fingers caught upon something unexpected: a pair of large breasts.
“What… what is this…?”
Bewildered, I looked down at my body, then scrambled out of bed and rushed toward the mirror.
“Gasp.”
A sharp intake of breath escaped me involuntarily.
The mirror reflected not the face I saw every day, but that of a strikingly beautiful woman with sharp, commanding features. Her lustrous violet hair and crimson eyes were particularly striking.
‘She’s beautiful…’
I stood mesmerized by the woman’s beauty for a moment before snapping back to reality and began slapping my cheeks repeatedly.
Slap! Slap! Slap!
The beautiful woman’s pale cheeks in the mirror flushed an embarrassingly vivid red, but there was nothing I could do about it. I had to wake from this nightmare.
“Ow—it hurts.”
But why wasn’t I waking up? Had I lost my mind?
The sensations were far too vivid to be a dream, when a sharp, piercing sound suddenly assaulted my eardrums.
I turned toward the source of the noise to find a porcelain bowl rolling across the floor, and a woman dressed as a Western maid cowering in terror.
The moment our eyes met, the woman lowered her head and bowed deeply.
“I beg your pardon! I, I—I saw nothing, my lady. I have committed an unforgivable sin. Please, I implore your mercy. Lady Deborah.”
Deborah? The name felt strangely familiar.
A flash of recognition suddenly pierced through my mind. I remembered exactly where I had encountered that name.
It was the name of the villainess from ‘Swallowing Black Thorns,’ that adult fantasy novel I had spent cash on before the serialization was abruptly discontinued.
Deborah was a hardcore villainess created by the author to torment the female protagonist, and I recalled that curses directed at Deborah consistently ranked among the top comments on ‘Swallowing Black Thorns.’
Though it defied all logic, I could find no other explanation for this situation. The stinging sensation in my cheeks was too real to be a dream, my vision too vivid, and my hair and eyes matched exactly the colors described in the novel for Deborah.
As I was processing what had happened to me, a sharp-eyed middle-aged man entered the room.
“What is all this commotion now?”
The moment I met his icy silver gaze, fragmented memories from Deborah’s past surfaced in my consciousness.
The man before me was Georgius Simour, Deborah’s father. He was counted among the top five geniuses of the long-established Simour Family, renowned as a high-ranking archmage.
Duke Simour possessed a lean, agile frame unusual for his middle age, and his temperament was as cold as his appearance. The only person he had ever opened his heart to was his wife, Marien Simour, but after she died giving birth to his youngest son, Enrique, he had reverted to his former icy nature.
“What a pathetic wretch.”
Duke Simour looked down at me with eyes filled with contempt, as though I were garbage. He despised Deborah, who constantly updated her list of misdeeds, for she brought shame upon a family that prided itself on honor.
“As if a hunger strike weren’t enough, now you resort to self-harm?”
He seized my flushed cheeks in a tight grip.
“That face, which resembles your mother’s, was the only thing worth looking at.”
“…”
“All this over some jewel. You are a disgrace to the Simour Family.”
According to the fragmented memories surfacing in my mind, Deborah had apparently thrown a tantrum demanding a pink diamond necklace—the only one in the entire Empire—and had begun a hunger strike several days ago.
Duke Simour seemed to have misunderstood, believing I had staged not only a hunger strike but also a self-harm performance.
“There are limits to how much I can overlook, even for my daughter. This is truly your final warning. Behave yourself and stay out of trouble for a while!”
Duke Simour ground his teeth, his eyes turning glacial. He released my face as though discarding something repugnant, then strode from the room with commanding strides.
I gazed blankly at his retreating figure until he vanished, then exhaled deeply.
What kind of father was so devastatingly handsome… or rather, so terrifying?
The genuine murderous intent he had radiated left my body trembling.
As I dragged my quivering legs toward the bed, I nearly screamed—the maid who had been prostrating herself in apology crawled toward me with desperate persistence, begging forgiveness in a flat, submissive position.
“I’m so sorry! I was wrong. Please forgive me just this once.”
Suddenly, the maid began striking her forehead against the floor with such force that blood threatened to spill. The reality of inhabiting the body of a villainess in some depraved novel—where human rights were meaningless—struck me with bone-deep clarity.
“…Alright, I understand. You may leave.”
My voice emerged strained with tension. The maid, who had cried gratitude repeatedly, quickly swept up the scattered porridge bowl and fled as though escaping. The moment she disappeared, a wave of exhaustion crashed over me, and I slid down to sit on the floor.
‘This is insane.’
I had spent my entire life as a pushover and died at the young age of twenty-four, only to be reincarnated into this character of all people.
‘Why her?’
There were countless other characters to choose from—why did it have to be her?
I swallowed my despair and buried my aching face in my hands, then sprawled across the bed and closed my eyes.
Hoping that when I woke, this would all prove to be a dream.
* * *
When I opened my eyes the next morning, I was still Deborah, the incorrigible villainess.
‘…Though, it seems better than I expected?’
It had been ten days since I transmigrated into Deborah, and I was adapting to this place far better than anticipated. I had assumed living as a character with the worst reputation—an amalgamation of every conceivable negative trait—would be unbearable, yet it didn’t seem to be.
‘There’s nothing to adapt to. Everything is already perfectly arranged.’
I would sprawl lazily in my plush, spacious bed until late morning, and whenever hunger struck, a single ring of the bell summoned servants who immediately brought breakfast.
“Delicious…”
I murmured absently while savoring a pastry that melted delicately on my tongue. Hearing my words, a servant bolted away and returned with a basket containing various types of bread.
‘Incredible. Look at how well-disciplined they are.’
Even the smallest mutter resulted in my desires being fulfilled instantly. To avoid triggering Deborah’s volatile temperament, they moved with the precision of a well-trained military unit.
‘Well, that’s infinitely better than disobedience.’
I nodded to myself, picked up a round roll, and spread a generous amount of raspberry jam across it. Since I loved bread, the cuisine here suited my palate quite well.
“Young Miss, would you like more?”
“No, leave.”
Uncomfortable with being watched while eating, I mimicked Deborah’s manner of speech from fragmented memories and dismissed the attendant.
The figs arranged beautifully on the plate were fresh, and the mushroom soup was remarkably savory. After finishing my delightful breakfast, the servants poured fragrant tea into my cup. I had never visited a five-star hotel, but I imagined this was what room service would be like in such a place.
I lifted the antique-style teacup and gazed out the window, where birds sang their morning chorus.
Such a leisurely, unhurried morning…
I had never experienced such luxurious tranquility in my twenty-four years of life. My childhood home’s mornings were absolute chaos. With a cramped apartment and three siblings, mornings were always pandemonium.
Only my younger brother had his own room; I shared with my older sister, who had no concept of sleeping in. She would flip on every fluorescent light and blow-dry her hair before I even woke. The roar of the relentless hair dryer drove me to madness every single morning. And since I was naturally nocturnal, it was even more unbearable.
“Yoon Do-hee, should I wear this?”
Clothes I had carefully purchased online would be casually commandeered by my sister.
“You wear my clothes all the time anyway.”
My sister had a habit of making a show of generosity whenever she handed down clothes with stretched necklines or sizes that didn’t fit—essentially discarding them to me. But given my naturally accommodating disposition, I could never bring myself to be angry. Instead, I simply accepted it as the way things were and moved on.
“Sister, I’m in a rush. Let me use the bathroom first.”
After being forcibly roused by my diligent sister, I’d walk toward the only bathroom in our home, only to have my younger brother materialize like a ghost and cut in front of me. That infuriating wretch had left the toilet area in such a deplorable state that I’d spend the entire morning scrubbing it clean.
Accustomed to chaotic, scattered mornings, I found myself in such a tranquil moment that it felt as though I’d arrived at a five-star hotel for a vacation.
“For the time being, don’t cause any more trouble. Reflect on your actions!”
Recalling Duke Simour’s stern warning, I let out a hollow laugh. If this was what confinement meant, I would have gladly chosen to be confined for the rest of my life.
‘How peaceful my body feels—my mind has grown equally serene.’
I set aside my worries about the future and gazed out the window at the fine snow drifting and falling beyond the glass.
Once my meal had been fully digested, servants arrived with water for washing and began preparing me. After I was fitted with a petticoat and corset, a procession of attendants entered in single file, each carrying an exquisite dress.
‘Ah, that’s right—Deborah placed a custom dress order at the dressmaker’s last month.’
From the fragments of memory, Deborah was extraordinarily fond of shopping and frequently ventured into the bustling districts to purchase expensive garments and jewelry. One of her pastimes was adorning herself in the latest fashionable jewels and gowns, flaunting her wealth and beauty for all to see.
Though I was supposed to be under confinement and unable to leave the estate, the servants had seamlessly transformed my chamber into a luxury department store’s VIP lounge. Deborah’s status was truly in a class of its own.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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