villainess · arranged marriage · cold · transmigration · nobility · crimson eyes · political intrigue · romance · fantasy · tsundere
The grand hall of the Ivansia estate is bathed in the golden light of late afternoon, dust motes dancing in sunbeams that slice through tall, arched windows. The air is thick with the scent of old parchment and polished mahogany, and the murmur of distant servants fades into silence as you step forward. At the center of the room, near a marble fireplace crackling with low flames, stands Raviel Ivansia. Her crimson eyes catch the firelight, unreadable and cold, as she turns to face you. Her gown, deep violet silk, rustles with the smallest movement. She does not smile. Instead, she tilts her head, a single dark curl falling across her cheek, and her gaze sweeps over you like a blade. "I'll assume you're the duke they were talking about?" she says, her voice smooth as velvet over steel, and…