The Villainess Chose Naps Over Death Flags

Chapter 1

The Worst Contract I Ever Signed

Twenty-eight years old. Six-figure salary. A corner cubicle with a view of other cubicles. Carol had achieved the American Dream, and it was killing her.

Carol smiled despite herself, picturing her roommate sprawled on their secondhand couch, their cat Meow Meow sitting on her keyboard and their dog Coco sleeping at her feet.

Lanna worked from home as a graphic designer but spent most of her time gaming.

She'd probably been yelling at her computer screen about some fantasy game while Carol crunched numbers in corporate purgatory.

"Almost done," Carol typed back, which was a lie. She had another three hours of work, minimum. "Promise I'll take a day off this weekend." That was also a lie. She'd been saying that for six years.

She had money in the bank—more than she'd ever dreamed of growing up. Money for vacations she never took, restaurants she never visited, a life she never lived. The rat race had her by the throat, and she'd forgotten how to stop running.

Carol saved her work, shut down her computer, and gathered her things with the mechanical precision of someone who'd done this a thousand times before. The office was a graveyard of empty desks and flickering fluorescent lights. She was always the last one here. Always.

The elevator ride down felt longer than usual. Twenty-three floors of wondering if this was all there was—work, sleep, work, sleep, die at her desk with an unfinished spreadsheet as her epitaph.

The night air hit her face when she stepped outside. Cold. Sharp. October in the city, where the buildings blocked out the stars and the streetlights drowned everything else. Carol's heels clicked against the pavement as she walked toward the parking garage, her laptop bag heavy on her shoulder.

She made it exactly fifteen steps before the world tilted.

Oh, Carol thought distantly as her knees buckled. So this is happening.

Her vision blurred. Her chest felt too tight, like someone had wrapped her ribs in steel bands and was slowly tightening them. The pavement rushed up to meet her face, and Carol had just enough time to think, Of all the ways to go, death by quarterly report is so lame—

Everything went black.

Her last conscious thought, crystal clear despite the darkness closing in: Lanna, please take good care of Meow Meow and Coco.

◆◆◆

Carol woke up to the smell of lavender and the distinct impression that she was sitting on a cloud.

Because she was.

She was sitting on an actual cloud.

"What the—" Carol looked down at herself. No more pencil skirt and blazer. She was wearing a simple white dress that looked like something from a Renaissance painting. Her laptop bag was gone. Her heels were gone. Her crushing sense of existential dread was... actually, that was still there.

"Hello, Carol Reed."

Carol's head snapped up.

Sitting on the cloud across from her was a cat.

Not just any cat—a pristine white cat with enormous golden eyes and wings. Actual, honest-to-god feathered wings that glowed with soft light.

Carol stared. The cat stared back.

"Oh," Carol said slowly. "A talking cat." She paused, her brain apparently deciding that the most important thing in this moment was not the fact that she was dead, but that there was an adorable creature in front of her. "You're so cute. Can I pet you?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"NO." The cat's tail lashed. She cleared her throat with obvious irritation. "Anyway—"

"I'm dead?" Carol asked cautiously, finally catching up to reality. "I died, and now I'm... hallucinating before my brain shuts down for good?"

"You're not hallucinating," the cat said cheerfully. "But you are dead. Congratulations!" She paused. "Well, actually, working yourself to death at twenty-eight is pretty sad. But!" The cat's tail swished with obvious delight. "You've been approved for reincarnation!"

Carol blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Reincarnation," the cat repeated, sounding pleased with herself.

"I'm Mercy, your assigned caseworker. The celestial council reviewed your file—boring life, no major sins, two pets who vouched for your character—and decided you deserve a second chance.

" She paused. "Well, technically Coco said you were 'the best human ever,' and Meow Meow said you were 'acceptable. ' But that's high praise from a cat."

"Meow Meow... vouched for me?"

"Oh yes. Very touching testimonial. Lots of purring involved." Mercy's whiskers twitched. "So, Carol Reed, before we discuss your options—what kind of lifestyle would you want if you could have anything?"

Carol blinked. "What kind of lifestyle?"

"Yes. If you could live exactly how you wanted, what would that look like?"

Carol didn't even have to think about it. "I want to nap whenever I want. Eat whatever I want—especially desserts. And shop to my heart's content without feeling guilty about it."

Mercy's eyes gleamed. "No ambitions? No grand adventures? No desire to save the world?"

"I just spent six years saving quarterly reports," Carol said flatly. "I want comfort. I want rest. I want to enjoy the money I earn instead of just staring at my bank account while I'm too exhausted to spend it."

"Fascinating." Mercy's tail swished with obvious delight.

"Well then! You have three options. Option one: standard reincarnation.

Reborn as a baby on Earth, no memories, the whole tedious process.

Option two: transmigration into an established life with all your memories intact.

Option three: you can just pass through the pearly gates to heaven.

Nice, peaceful, eternal rest and all that. "

Carol's brain was struggling to keep up. "Wait, so I could just... go to heaven?"

"Yep! Totally valid choice. Most people pick that one." Mercy's tail swished. "Buuuut option two is more fun and interesting."

Carol narrowed her eyes. "Fun for who, exactly?"

"For you, of course!" Mercy said, a little too innocently. "You spent your entire previous life working yourself to death. Don't you want a vacation?"

"A vacation," Carol repeated slowly.

"A lifestyle vacation," Mercy corrected, her whiskers twitching with amusement. "New world, new body, new opportunities! Magic! Adventure! No quarterly reports! And—" she paused dramatically, "—the potential for all those naps, desserts, and shopping you just mentioned."

Carol felt something stir in her chest. Something that might have been hope, if hope hadn't been beaten out of her by fourteen-hour workdays.

"What's the catch?" she asked.

"Well, there's a teensy bit of work involved first," Mercy said, waving a paw dismissively. "Just some light problem-solving, nothing major. Then—unlimited vacation time! All you need to do is sign the contract, and you're all set. Easy peasy."

A scroll materialized in the air, floating down to rest on the cloud between them. It was covered in dense, tiny script that went on for what looked like pages and pages.

Carol looked at the contract.

Carol looked at Mercy.

Mercy's smile widened.

Carol thought about the last six years of her life reading contracts, financial statements, compliance documents, and legal disclaimers until her eyes bled.

Carol sighed. I'm dead and I'm still forced to read documents.

"Where do I sign?" Carol asked.

The cat's grin was nothing short of delighted. "Bottom of page thirty."

She quickly skimmed through the pages, her eyes glazing over the dense text without really absorbing any of it, found the signature line, and scrawled her name with the celestial quill that appeared in her hand.

"Excellent choice!" Mercy purred, and the scroll vanished in a puff of golden sparkles. "Welcome to your new life, Carol Reed. Or should I say—Caroline Holloway Vanthorn, Duchess of the Frostmarch!"

"Wait, what—"

The cloud beneath Carol started to dissolve, and her body began to shimmer with the same golden light.

"Oh, one more thing!" Mercy called out, her smile turning mischievous. "Good luck! You'll need it!"

"Wait—" Carol felt herself falling, dissolving, being pulled into somewhere else. "What do you mean? WHAT DO YOU MEAN—"

Mercy's laughter followed her into the darkness.

"You should have read the contract!"