[People fear me for my red eyes and black hair...not because I may have committed crimes against humanity or anything like that!]

**********

Rays of unwelcomed sunlight streamed through my room roused me from sleep. I pulled my covers over my head and groaned in exasperation. The comfort of my makeshift tent gave me time to contemplate whether last night actually happened or if it the whole thing was an alcohol-fueled fever dream.

A car crashed into the front of my semi-trailer truck the night before the last. And then I woke up to maids aggressively dressing me and prepping me for this boujee party.

I suspected that I had transmigrated to a light novel when I saw a stranger in the mirror during the 3 hours of early morning torture.

I felt like a protagonist until the aggressive wine-splashing woke me up from that delusion.

If only he were here since he was the real expert on this.

My husband, Luis, had a whole list of "must-read" books and comics set aside for me. A year ago, I made the mistake of humoring him by skimming one of those stupid "villainess" books and telling him that it was the best read of the century. One worthy of 20 Pulitzer prizes. A life-changer!

For about four weeks, he gushed non-stop about how excellent second male leads were and that black hair was superior to blonde hair.  He went on and on about how unfair it was that the female leads would end up with the abusive prince instead of the second male lead who was there for the heroine through out the whole story.

I forgot what he said about Dukes of the North. Something about them always being tyrants. I should probablt steer clear of this Darq guy.

Racked with guilt, I decided to keep up the facade and wade through all of the trash he recommended to me

He was just so damn passionate about these romance novels.

After a while, all of the fantasy romance books I've read blended together.  About half of those books opened with someone throwing wine at the female antagonist.

While I didn't know which book this was, I did retain some of Fellanie's memories. However, I had no recollection of ever being villainous. I remembered people calling her that, but Fellanie was a saint in my mind.

Poor thing.

Knock Knock Knock

Forcefully freed from my wandering thoughts, I groggily sat up and swung my legs off the side of the bed. My foot landed on something squishy and warm. 

Something was parked there. 

That something violently grabbed my ankle and pulled me down.

"LET ME GO!!" I shrieked and kicked until my foot was free. 

A man jolted up, lunged at me, and held his hand over my mouth before I could retreat into the refuge of my blankets. I could do nothing but sit still and sweat as my heart raced.

"WHO ARE YOU?" he growled into my ears. His breath sent shivers down my spine, paralyzing me.

The intruder is angry at ME?!

A blonde maid burst through the door and then grimaced at sight. The man released me and sat at the edge of the bed. I had nowhere to go except for back under my sheets. My body curled up from panic and pain.

"Greetings, Your Grace," she respectfully bowed to the man from the door.

He held up his hands in surrender. 

"...I'M SORRY, FEL!! I didn't mean to grab you. It was just a reflex from the battlefield. The doctor told me it was PTSD. I'm not a pervert! It's from a diagnosed condition! Is your foot ok?" His lips trembled, and his face flushed red as he rattled on.

I turned away and pulled the blanket over my head. 

"WHO ARE YOU? Why are you here? What is your problem? Who let you in my room? Why are you so filthy?" The duvet muffled my onslaught question.

He used this opportunity to tug at the blanket until it slipped off my head. 

He quickly combed his hair with his clumsy fingers. 

My hair was black before I transmigrated, though it never looked as good as this guy's hair. I used to covet my husband's ruby red hair. Luis would always play with my hair and tell me he wished he had black hair, so I never dyed my hair.

His eyes met mine as he leaned towards me and my cheeks burned from the sudden closeness. His red eyes contrasted with his fair skin; the 5 o'clock shadow on his face from missing his morning shave gave him a deliberately unkempt manly appearance.

A contradicting fresh scent mixed with sweat overwhelmed my senses and I tried to push him away. It's unfair how he could smell so pleasant after kidnapping me and running a marathon right after a bombing.

I'm pretty sure the guy hasn't bathed yet.

A small scar on his right eyebrow reminded me that the ball celebrated his return from the war.

Oh no.

I know who this is.

His messy black hair and unchanged suit lead me to believe that he spent the night sleeping on my carpet.

"How are you feeling, Fel?" he asked.

"I'm alright, Your Grace," I curtly replied while crossing my arms in discontent.

"Your Grace? Why so formal? Just call me Darq like you used to." He whined while he fiddled with a few strands of my hair. 

What are you, a cat?

Fellanie and the Duke must have been close friends, close enough to be on a first-name basis in this old-fashioned world. I had her technical knowledge of this world, but most personal memories were absent. 

Why? Why can't I remember our history?

The Duke grabbed a handful of my pomegranate red hair; he sniffed and kissed my hair. Red strands of my hair stuck to his stubbles like it was velcro.

EWW, WHY IS HE EATING MY HAIR!?

Was this a romantic gesture or an eccentric invasion of personal space?

I looked over to my maid for help; her aqua blue eyes met mine, and she just nodded and stood by the door. I rapidly blinked SOS at her. She ignored me; icy disdain rolled off her face and pierced what little hope I had left. No one in their right mind would stand up to a Duke.

"Are your eyes ok?" He further invaded my personal space by shoving his face into mine, and I reflexively turned away. "I don't see an eyelash or anything in your eyes." His whispers tickled my ears, and I felt my cheeks heat up from embarrassment.

When did I say anything about eyelashes? And stop breathing on me. It feels weird!

"Hahaha...I'm ok! You don't need to stay. I'll be getting breakfast now," I said as I slowly turned back to him. 

I remained polite only because of his status.

Please get the hell out of my boudoir, you freak. 

"Ack! What now?!" I yelped as Darq picked me up and held me under his unwashed armpit. 

Darq acted like a man that's picked up potato sacks, put them down, and then repeated that activity a few million times. Maybe a few gazillion times. 

"Can you politely fuu...screw off, Your Grace?" I choked out while under his arm. I wanted to use a different verb, but I needed to remain civil.

"I'm 'fraid not. Not until a doctor medically clears you. And not until more guards arrive. Sorry. Oh! Do you guys keep a wheelchair around?" he asked while look around the room.

He was confident that the barrel-roll yesterday twisted my ankles and disregarded my protest and multiple refusals to let him inspect my ankles.

"Don't touch my feet. You frea—I mean, Your Grace." I kicked him anytime he got near my lower half. 

[Yup, definitely need to stay away from this schlep before he gets me killed.]

The second prince must have instructed him to watch me and keep me from running away. Darq was exceptionally dedicated to his craft and took surveillance to a new level.