Chapter 1

The whip tip whistled as it struck the boy's taut back once more, leaving a fresh, swollen red welt.

Lucien groaned, his body twitching slightly from the excruciating pain, yet he gritted his teeth and refused to beg for mercy. His deep purple eyes rose from the gaps in his disheveled black hair, filled not with tears, but with a deep, almost tangible hatred, like a flame burning beneath ice, piercing straight at the elegant young woman standing before him.

Serena Wilde, the only daughter of the Imperial Duke, was dressed in an elaborate and exquisite lace dress, its pristine whiteness jarringly contrasting with the dark and damp dungeon. In her hand, a jewel-encrusted short whip was stained with dark red blood. She seemed to revel in the sense of superiority that came from wielding such suffering, gently lifting the boy's grime-covered and sweat-drenched chin with the cold handle, forcing him to raise his head and reveal his handsome face, undeniably striking even in his disheveled state.

"Tsk, still that same expression." Serena's red lips curled slightly, her voice sweet and crisp, carrying a naive cruelty. "Refusing to back down? Lucien, you're nothing but a pathetic nobody living under someone else's roof now, do you still think you're that high and mighty Crown Prince?"

She admired the sudden surge of humiliation and anger in his eyes caused by the word "down on his luck," and was preparing to say something even more cutting to crush his last remaining self-esteem.

Just then, a completely unfamiliar, complex and chaotic flood of memories rushed into her mind like a burst dam!

It doesn't belong to Serena Wilde, but to another soul, another time and space, a memory about a novel called "Embracing the Fallen Prince".

In the book, she is Serena, the arrogant and vicious daughter of Duke Wilder. The boy before her, whom she humiliates, whips, and tramples into the mud, is the future Emperor Lucien, who will ascend the throne and become one of the most awe-inspiring rulers in the history of the empire, stepping over countless corpses, including the entire Wilder family.

And she, Serena Wilde, the minor villain who inflicted the most humiliation on the male protagonist during his early days of hardship, will be the first to be dealt with in the middle of the story, after the male protagonist has initially gained power. She will be hanged in an extremely tragic manner from the beam of the most magnificent gate of her own castle, and her body will be left exposed for three days as a warning to others.

The last image in my memory is of her wearing a gorgeous dress, her neck tightly bound by a rough rope, swaying helplessly in the air, with countless indifferent, even gleeful, gazes below.

"Ho—"

Serena gasped sharply, her face instantly turning deathly pale, even whiter than the expensive lace she wore. A wave of overwhelming fear gripped her heart like an icy hand, almost stopping her breath.

The whip in her hand became scorching hot, and what was on it was not Lucien's blood, but clearly her own death warrant to the gallows!

She stiffly lowered her head, looking at her hands, clad in snow-white velvet gloves, gripping the whip handle. These were the same hands that had just been so enthusiastically inflicting pain.

Where her gaze fell, Lucien was watching her sudden loss of composure and her pale face. His deep purple eyes held no concern, only a barely perceptible, cold mockery and inquiry, and a deeper, undisguised declaration—"I will kill you sooner or later."

It's over.

She's dead.

Is it too late to kneel down and lick his boots now? You'll probably only die a faster and more humiliating death!

In a split second, the instinct for survival overcame the stiffness brought on by fear. Serena abruptly released her grip.

Clang—

The expensive, blood-stained gemstone whip fell abruptly onto the dirty stone ground.

Lucien's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, and his wariness deepened.

Serena forced herself to ignore her wildly pounding heart and trembling legs. She took a deep breath and tried to force a smile, but her facial muscles were stiff, and the smile probably looked worse than a grimace. She tried to make her trembling voice sound as sincere as possible.

"Your...Your Highness," her voice trembled uncontrollably, "What if...what if I told you that this is actually...a special kind of training to hone willpower?"

The dungeon was deathly silent.

The only sounds were the occasional crackling of burning torches and the faint dripping of water in the distance.

Lucien remained silent. He maintained his half-kneeling posture, his back straight, showing no sign of hunching despite his numerous wounds. He looked at her, his deep purple eyes like the most unfathomable, icy pools, devoid of any emotion, belief, mockery, or even hatred, leaving only a pure, cold scrutiny.

He was watching what seemed like an utterly absurd farce.

Serena, on the other hand, is the clumsy clown on stage who can't even deliver her lines properly.

Cold sweat instantly soaked the back of her dress. Serena felt her blood freezing under that gaze. She knew the excuse was utterly ridiculous; even a three-year-old wouldn't believe it. A sadist who took pleasure in tormenting her, enjoying her pain and humiliation, suddenly talking about "special training"? It was utterly absurd.

However, she can't deviate from the original character design all at once! It must be a gradual process, finding a reasonable reason for the transformation that aligns with the "Serena Wilde" character. According to the original setting, if she's considered a heretic or a witch, her fate will be worse than hanging. Moreover, a sudden personality change, from extreme evil to extreme good, will only make the suspicious future emperor more wary, suspecting she has some deeper conspiracy.

Fear made her mind race. She suddenly remembered a line from the original story: Duke Wilde, her father, though spoiling his daughter, seemed to harbor a subtle, lingering affection and guilt towards the royal family, especially towards the late Queen…

Got it!

Serena forced down the trembling in her throat, trying to change her expression from the distorted "sincerity" of before to one that was more in line with her "persona," carrying a hint of impatience and arrogance, yet also seemingly mixed with a strange emotion.

She slightly raised her chin, her gaze sweeping over Lucien's battered back before quickly averting it, as if the sight was somewhat jarring. She cleared her throat, her voice still carrying a touch of natural arrogance, but the ruthlessness and excitement had vanished: "Hmph!" She let out her usual disdainful nasal sound, but her tone softened slightly, "...How boring. I thought His Highness the Crown Prince would be quite tough, but he's nothing special. He can't even withstand this little 'trial,' what a waste... what a waste that my father still occasionally mentions the late Empress's heroic deeds."

She deliberately mentioned "father" and "the late empress," her tone ambiguous, carrying an awkward sense of "I was just mentioning it casually" and "I don't care." Then, without waiting for Lucien's reaction, as if she had lost all interest, she waved her hand irritably and said to the guards standing beside her with their heads bowed, equally bewildered by their mistress's sudden change:

"Enough! Just looking at him annoys me! Take him away and find... find a doctor to take a look at him. Don't let him actually die here, or he'll just ruin my place!"

She turned away from Lucien, hiding the panic and pallor on her face that she couldn't fully control. Her skirt brushed against the ground, leaving a few stains, but she didn't care.

"What are you all standing there for?!" she snapped at the guard, her voice rising as she reverted to her usual spoiled young lady demeanor, as if her momentary lapse in composure and strange words had never happened.

The guards immediately responded and stepped forward to take Lucien away.

As she turned to leave the dungeon, Serena glanced at it quickly out of the corner of her eye.

Lucien had been lifted up by the guards. His head was lowered, and his black hair obscured his expression, making it impossible to tell what he was thinking. But his taut jawline and his straight spine, even in his weakness, silently proclaimed that the humiliation and hatred had not dissipated in the slightest.

Serena's heart sank.

She knew this was only the first step—clumsy, awkward, and full of flaws. The future emperor would never lower his guard because of this insignificant "goodwill," which might even be interpreted as a new round of mockery.

But at least, the whip stopped.

At least, he got the opportunity to receive treatment.

Lifting her elaborate skirt, she hurried up the dungeon steps almost as if fleeing, leaving the cold and the stench of blood behind. The sunlight outside was blinding, but she felt no warmth whatsoever.

Because she had to live.

To survive under the future Emperor Lucien.