Reincarnated as the Villainess’s Unlucky Bodyguard

The world felt wrong.

Liria's breath came in ragged gasps, her vision flickering between the present and something else something dark, twisted, alien.

There had been fire. Heat suffocating her lungs. And a voice that voice.

It still echoed in her mind, distant but impossibly close.

"You are mine now."

The words sent a violent shudder down her spine, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she was aware of her own body again.

But she wasn't standing. She was… being held.

A warmth, solid and grounding, wrapped around her. Strong arms, steady even as she trembled. And a familiar scent—something sharp, like night air before a storm.

Enara.

She was still here.

That realization struck something deep inside Liria, breaking through the haze of pain and confusion.

Slowly, her fingers twitched. Her muscles ached, her entire body felt like it had been pulled apart and forced back together, but she was here. She was real.

And she was not alone.

A sharp inhale from above. The grip around her tightened—just for a moment, as if afraid she would slip away again.

"Liria?"

The voice was softer now. No longer calling out in battle, no longer edged with desperate urgency.

Just Enara.

Liria swallowed, trying to find her voice, but her throat was raw, her lips parched. How long had she been gone?

The last thing she remembered was attacking Enara.

She stiffened.

She had tried to kill her.

Her body locked up, guilt slamming into her chest like a hammer. The realization hit harder than any blade, burning deeper than the flames that had nearly consumed the room.

Enara had fought back. Had been forced to.

And Liria… she had been the enemy.

A fresh wave of nausea rolled through her.

"Stop."

The word was gentle but firm.

Liria barely realized she had been shaking until Enara's hands moved to her shoulders, grounding her with steady pressure.

"You're back," Enara said. "I know that look. Don't do this to yourself."

Liria squeezed her eyes shut. "I—" Her voice cracked. She swallowed. "I tried to—"

"You weren't yourself," Enara interrupted.

"But—"

"Liria."

The weight in that single word made Liria fall silent.

Enara's grip didn't waver. "I don't blame you."

Liria's heart skipped.

How?

How could Enara stand there, still holding onto her, after what she had done? After what she could have done?

"But I hurt you," she rasped.

"You weren't yourself," Enara repeated, quieter this time. Then, softer still, "And I trust you to come back to me."

The words made something in Liria's chest crack open.

She hadn't even realized how tightly she had been holding herself together—how much she had been bracing for rejection, for fear, for anything but this unwavering certainty.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

The fire had died down, leaving the air thick with lingering heat, but all Liria could feel was Enara.

The steady rise and fall of her breathing. The faint pulse against Liria's temple. The warmth of her hands, still resting lightly on her shoulders.

She didn't deserve this.

But gods help her, she wanted to believe in it.

Liria let out a slow, shaky breath. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Enara's fingers curled slightly against her shoulder.

"You don't have to apologize," she said. "Just…" A pause. Then, softer, "Just don't scare me like that again."

Liria swallowed.

She couldn't promise that.

Not when she still didn't know what had happened to her.

But she could promise one thing.

"I'll fight it," she murmured.

Enara's gaze locked onto hers, unreadable for a long moment. Then she nodded.

"Good."

And just like that, the tension in the air shifted.

Liria felt it in the way Enara finally, reluctantly pulled back—just enough to give her space. In the way her hands lingered a fraction longer than necessary before dropping away.

And in the way Enara's eyes softened, just for a moment, before her usual mask of confidence slipped back into place.

Liria exhaled.

Her body still ached. Her mind was still a storm of questions.

But for now, she was here.

And for now, that was enough.

The journey back to the castle was quiet.

Too quiet.

The others—Milara, the royal guards, even Ananara, who usually had too much to say—kept glancing at her when they thought she wasn't looking.

Even Queen Verida and Queen Nyssara, who had come to meet them at the entrance, studied her with sharp, calculating gazes.

Liria wasn't sure if they were expecting an explanation or a confession.

She had neither.

When Verida finally spoke, her voice was as sharp as a blade.

"You've changed."

Not a question. A statement.

Liria met her gaze, forcing herself to stand steady despite the exhaustion pulling at her bones.

"I'm fine," she said simply.

Verida narrowed her eyes.

Nyssara hummed, tilting her head, silver eyes gleaming with something too knowing.

"Are you?" she mused.

Liria held her ground.

Because what else could she do?
Continue your adventure at My Virtual Library Empire

Tell them the truth?

That something inside her had broken open? That she had lost control of herself entirely?

That, for a terrifying moment, she hadn't just been fighting Enara—she had been fighting herself?

No.

She couldn't.

Not yet.

So she did what she had always done best.

She smiled.

"It's been a long night," she said lightly. "I think we could all use some rest."

Enara shot her a look one that clearly said, I know what you're doing.

Liria ignored it.

Verida didn't look convinced.

Nyssara only smiled that strange, knowing smile.

And Liria… Liria kept her secrets.

For now.

The castle halls were quiet at this hour.

Most of the palace had settled into stillness, the lingering embers of torchlight casting long shadows against the dark stone walls. Outside, the sky stretched into an endless abyss, deep indigo flecked with silver, the twin moons hanging like watchful sentinels over the demon capital.

Liria let out a slow breath as she stepped onto one of the balconies overlooking the vast expanse of the royal gardens.

The air was cooler here. Crisp and biting against her overheated skin, still tingling with the remnants of that unfamiliar, unwanted power.

She curled her fingers against the railing, pressing hard enough that the stone bit into her skin.

Even now, she could feel the echo of it—the flickering warmth beneath her ribs, the lingering embers of something vast and hungry.

She didn't know what she had absorbed back in that dungeon.

Didn't know why it had felt so natural and so wrong all at once.

Didn't know why, when she had lost herself, when she had attacked Enara, there had been a voice whispering—

"You are mine."

Liria gritted her teeth.

She wasn't anyone's.

She was herself.

Whatever had happened… whatever had tried to take control of her, she wouldn't let it.

She would fight.

She had to.

"Liria."

The voice was soft, but it still startled her.

She turned sharply, hand already half-raised in instinctive defense, before she realized—

Enara.

The demon princess stood in the doorway leading back inside, bathed in the soft glow of the torchlight behind her.

Her black hair shimmered with faint hints of violet as it caught the light, her midnight-dark eyes watching Liria with quiet intensity.

She had changed out of her torn and battle-worn attire from earlier, now dressed in a deep plum-colored nightgown that brushed against her ankles.

Liria realized, with a pang of something strange and guilt-laced, that she still had faint bruises along her arms.

Bruises Liria had given her.

Liria exhaled slowly.

"You should be sleeping," she murmured, turning her gaze back to the gardens.

There was a brief silence. Then—

"So should you."

Liria huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "Guess we're both bad at listening."

The air between them shifted—something lighter, something easier, despite everything that had happened.

She heard soft footsteps against the stone.

A moment later, Enara was beside her, resting her forearms against the railing, gazing out into the night.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

The silence stretched, not uncomfortable, just there.

Liria wasn't sure how long they stood like that, side by side, before Enara finally spoke again.

"You scared me."

The words weren't accusatory.

They weren't angry.

They were just… quiet.

Honest.

Liria's fingers tightened against the stone.

"I know," she murmured.

"I thought…" Enara trailed off, shaking her head. "I thought I was going to lose you."

Liria swallowed.

That same strange, aching feeling curled in her chest, something too big and too unfamiliar for her to put into words.

"You didn't," she said instead.

Enara turned her head slightly, studying her.

"But I could have," she murmured.

Liria exhaled sharply, leaning forward against the railing. "Yeah. I guess you could have."

A pause. Then—

"Don't do that again."

Liria blinked, glancing at her.

Enara's gaze was steady, unyielding.

"Don't ever do that again," she repeated, softer this time.

Liria opened her mouth—then closed it.

Because what could she say?

She couldn't promise it wouldn't happen again.

She couldn't promise that she wouldn't lose control, that whatever had happened back in that dungeon wouldn't happen again.

But…

"I'll try," she said eventually.

Enara's lips pressed together.

She didn't look entirely satisfied with that answer, but she didn't push, either.

Instead, she let out a small breath, turning her gaze back to the night sky.

The silence stretched again, softer this time.

Comfortable.

And then—

"You were warm."

Liria blinked, caught off guard.

Enara's voice was quieter now, almost hesitant.

"When I caught you," she clarified. "When you finally stopped fighting. You were warm. It reminded me of before."

Liria frowned slightly. "Before?"

Enara hesitated. Then—

"That first night. When you held my hand."

Liria stilled.

She remembered.

The first night she had met Enara—the first night she had comforted her, when Enara had been just a frightened child trying to be strong.

She had taken her hand.

And Enara had held on.

Liria's chest ached.

A slow, careful breath.

Then, before she could overthink it, she reached out—

And took Enara's hand again.

Enara inhaled sharply.

Liria didn't look at her. She just kept her eyes on the horizon, fingers tightening slightly over Enara's own.

Her skin was cooler than Liria's own, but there was warmth where their palms met.

Slow. Steady. Grounding.

Neither of them spoke.

And maybe they didn't need to.

Maybe, for now, this was enough.

A flickering ember in the dark.

Something neither of them wanted to let go of.

And neither of them did.