To Love A Villain
Chapter 146: Bonus Story- Reversed Roles (Not Canon)

Chapter 146: Bonus Story- Reversed Roles (Not Canon)

(In this story, Amber was born with high magical power and Hael grew up a commoner but with a loving family)

>>Amber

I slipped out of the Tower like a criminal using the teleportation spell, so that no one would spot me.

I didn’t want anyone to come to me for a while. I wanted no fanfare. No apprentices stumbling over themselves to greet me with dead-eyed questions.

Just a silence spell and my own two aching feet carrying me around the city.

It was past midnight, and even the stars felt tired. The streets were washed in that pale yellow glow of magic lamps, softened by fog. Somewhere far off, someone was laughing too loudly, and someone else was playing the violin like they hated it.

I kept walking. I didn’t know where I was going, only that I couldn’t stay.

The Tower had pressed its fingers into every corner of my spine. I could still feel them—paperwork waiting on my desk, potions boiling in the lab, the soul-forsaken Mirror waiting for me to finish shaping it into something that could find people their "one true love."

As if that’s how love works. As if that’s how magic works. But it was an order from the king and I couldn’t refuse.

And gods, the princess. Her obsession clung to me like perfume—overripe and suffocating. Every day a letter. Every day a summons to the palace. I was either the world’s most respected mage or its most resented mistress, depending on how lonely she felt.

But whatever the reason, she wanted me there, in front of her. I could smell her obsession with me and it was very tiring.

I let out a sigh

I hadn’t eaten since morning.

It hit me then, the hunger. Sharp and sudden, like magic backlash. My head swam. I leaned against a lamppost and felt the magic in my veins sputter like a dying fire. And then—

Came the smell.

Bread. Roasting meat. Onions browning in butter. Something tangy and fresh.

!?!?

I turned and saw a wooden sign swinging gently above a door wedged between two crooked buildings:

HAEL’S KITCHEN • TAVERN

There was light inside. A glow like hearthlight and honey.

I opened the door. A little brass bell jingled overhead as I stepped in.

The tavern was nearly empty. A couple arguing in a booth. A drunk snoring into his arms by the fire.

No one looked at me. Which was perfectly fine by me. That’s what I wanted.

I drifted toward the counter, the world soft around the edges. My legs moved like they remembered how to walk even when I didn’t. The counter was smooth, old wood. There were bottles behind it—wine, brandy, maybe something stronger.

I sat. My body gave up pretending.

My head hit the counter with a soft thunk. I didn’t care. It was cold and solid and real.

I guess I was just too exhausted and needed a place to rest.

"Rough night?" I heard someone’s voice

I flinched. Just slightly.

I opened one eye and peered across the bar. A man stood behind it, leaning slightly forward, drying a glass with a rag. I couldn’t tell his age or what he looked like because the place where he was standing, a shadow peered over his face. But he had broad shoulders. Strong hands. Silver, just beginning to thread his dark hair.

Hmmm

I would have sat up straight and took a closer look but I had no energy to do so

"Want would you like to drink?" He asked and I noticed he had a really nice voice.

"I don’t want a drink," I muttered into the counter. "I’m—" My throat was dry. "I’m hungry."

As if me informing the man wasn’t enough proof of my hunger, my stomach decided it just had to give him solid proof of it.

And it had to do so violently. It growled loud enough to echo off the shelves behind him.

!!!

My eyes went wide first, then I squeezed my eyes shut in mortification while my face was still on the counter.

HOLY!!!!

SHIT!!!!

Maybe if I focused hard enough, I could teleport directly into the sun.

The man chuckled.

Not a sneer. Not a snort. A warm, low laugh like something cracking open gently. It made it worse and better at the same time.

"I should teleport into the sea," I mumbled, half-sincere.

"Please don’t," he said, voice still laced with amusement. "I just had the floor mopped and the workers left."

I cracked my other eye open, peering at him through strands of my hair. "Is that how you speak to all your customers?" I still couldn’t see his face.

He smiled. It reached his eyes. "Only the ones who show up half-dead and starving in the middle of the night."

He didn’t ask my name. He didn’t ask why I was out this late.

He just asked, "You like soup?"

I blinked. "Yes."

"Good." He nodded, already turning toward the kitchen. "Then you’re going to like me."

And then he was gone, behind a hanging curtain that fluttered with his exit.

I lifted my head slowly. My face still burned from embarrassment.

I should leave and save my dignity! I was about to get up but I then I smelt something

Broth

I paused and sat back down.

It was the scent of real food and my stomach growled again. I looked down at myself and shook my head.

I already embarrassed myself... What could get worse?

I chose to stay

***

The smell reached me first.

A slow, winding warmth—roasted garlic, fresh thyme, something savory simmered so long it tasted like home just from the scent. My body remembered hunger faster than my mind could keep up. My hands twitched on the counter. I straightened just a little.

The curtain parted. I was anxiously waiting for the food but what came along with it was far too unexpected.

He stepped out.

!!

And I forgot how to breathe.

He moved without hurry, carrying a shallow ceramic bowl between both hands, careful and steady like it was sacred. His forearms were dusted with flour, sleeves rolled to the elbows. There was a smudge of something dark on the side of his apron. But that wasn’t what caught me.

It was him.

Silver hair—not the gray of age, but a brushed-steel sheen that caught the tavern light and glinted like moonfire. Thick, a little messy, like he’d run his hands through it a dozen times during the night.

And his eyes—

Gods.

Silver too. Not dull. Not dead. Luminous. Like starlight caught in the calm of still water. Sharp, and gentle, and unflinching.

He wasn’t handsome the way nobles tried to be—polished, performative, cold. No. He was real beauty. Quiet. Alive. Earned. The kind that stole the breath from your lungs because it didn’t try to.

He was effortless, and he was standing right in front of me, holding my lifeline in a bowl.

"Careful," he said, placing it gently on the counter. "It’s hot."

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

My eyes were locked on him like a sigil on a page, and I couldn’t tear them away. My magic pulsed under my skin in strange little bursts—flickers of light that danced along my fingertips. It hadn’t done that. ever.

He slid a spoon beside the bowl, oblivious to the small war happening inside my chest.

I stared at him, shamelessly now. The way his mouth curved—not into a smirk, but something more knowing. The way his lashes were dark and thick, framing those impossible eyes like ink against silver. His presence wasn’t loud. It was anchoring. Like gravity. Like warmth. Like a hearth that would wait for you, no matter how long you were gone.

And me?

My heart was thundering so hard I thought the counter might crack from the echo.

He tilted his head. "You okay?"

I blinked.

The spell broke—but only just. I forced my gaze down to the bowl. Steam rose in lazy spirals, and inside was a rich, golden broth with little dumplings folded with care. Something green floated on top. Parsley, maybe.

I couldn’t remember what food was supposed to look like anymore. All I could see was him.

He didn’t press. Just stepped back, gave me space.

I wrapped my hands around the bowl to ground myself. The warmth seeped into my palms, but it did nothing to steady the tremble under my skin.

The hell is happening to me!??!

I was the Tower Master. I’d stared down spellstorms, outwitted demons, held the magical fate of the realm in one hand while writing reports with the other.

And yet I couldn’t look a cook in the eye without my soul threatening to slide right out of my mouth.

I took a breath.

He leaned back on his heels, arms crossed loosely, waiting. "First bite’s free," he said, grinning.

I stared into my soup like it had the answers.

Maybe it did.

Maybe he did.

And maybe I was already ruined.

But I knew far well, I was coming here every single night from now on

Bonus Story - End

I leave it up to the readers to think about how their story played out in this version