Villain of Fate: The Tyrant System

Chapter 160: Beneath Velvet Poison

Beneath Velvet Poison

Pearl, Starlight Tower.

The presidential suite on the top floor—was soaked in amber light and quiet decadence.

Crystal lamps shimmered above imported carpets. A city of neon stretched beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass, Woodland’s midnight skyline glittering like cold jewels scattered across black silk.

At the center of that luxurious silence, Lucas sat alone beside the window, gently swirling a glass of red wine.

The wine moved in slow crimson circles.

So did his thoughts.

His face still had a hint of pallor, but his body had recovered quite a bit.

Recovered... but not forgotten.

His blue eyes narrowed.

That punch.

That impossible punch.

Even now, when his fingers tightened around the stem of the glass, phantom pain stirred in his chest.

The injury from that punch a few days ago was indeed severe, leaving him with lingering fear.

Fear.

The word irritated him.

Lucas did not like admitting such emotions even to himself.

Yet every time he remembered Julian D’Aurelius’ final strike—that absurd Chaotic Punch that had torn through his defenses and rattled his organs—his nerves tightened.

It had not merely hurt.

It had shaken certainty.

"How..." he muttered to himself, voice barely above a whisper. "How does a wastrel keep pulling monsters out of thin air?"

He drank.

The wine burned pleasantly.

But not enough to erase memory.

Then a syrupy voice drifted across the room.

"Lucas, I heard you’re good at medicine. My shoulder feels uncomfortable, could you give me a massage?"

At this moment, a woman sitting across from him coquettishly called out.

Lucas turned.

And nearly lost his appetite.

The woman wasn’t exactly a beauty, but she was at least humanoid.

Her body was layered with fat, resembling a Michelin tire person.

Jewelry gleamed on nearly every finger. Gold bracelets clinked when she moved. Perfume heavy enough to suffocate a horse lingered in the room.

This was President Thalia, owner of Starlight Group.

Just hearing her name would easily make one think she was a stunning beauty.

Unfortunately, the difference between her name and her appearance was too great.

Still—power had its own form of attractiveness.

And Lucas admired utility.

"Alright."

A trace of disgust flashed in Lucas’s eyes, but he hid it well.

His smile returned in a breath.

Warm.

Cultured.

Almost tender.

He rose and walked behind her.

His hands settled onto her shoulders.

He began kneading.

And instantly regretted existing.

He felt like he was squeezing a piece of breathing fat.

The greasy sensation from his fingertips made him want to vomit.

But his face remained serene.

Even elegant.

His voice lowered gently.

"Does the pressure feel right?"

Thalia gave a shiver.

"Oh... that’s nice... a bit harder."

Lucas increased the force.

Inside, his soul screamed.

If it weren’t for needing to use this woman, he wouldn’t bother getting close to her.

That was the difference.

The biggest difference between him and Obsidan King Evan was that he wouldn’t hold himself aloof like Evan.

Pride was expensive.

Adaptability made kings.

For the sake of advantage, he would even flirt with a seventy-year-old woman with a facial tumor.

That was survival.

That was ambition.

That was why he believed he would win.

Thalia half-turned and placed her plump hand over his.

"Your hands are magic, Lucas."

Her voice dripped honey.

"Whatever you ask of me... mm... I’ll do."

Suppressing the urge to vomit, Lucas asked casually, as if discussing weather,

"Is everything arranged for today?"

Thalia smiled, eyes narrowing.

"All set, Lucas, don’t worry. Whatever you like, I’ll give it to you."

Her fingers caressed Lucas’s hand tenderly.

Lucas resisted the instinct to wrench away.

Instead, he leaned slightly closer.

"Even Bianca De Dominicis?" he asked softly.

Thalia chuckled.

"Especially her."

Lucas nodded, feeling a bit better.

Now the true game surfaced.

This was not seduction.

It was a hunt.

Last time, he planned to gain favor with Charlotte Bonds, but unexpectedly, it backfired.

He remembered Charlotte’s fierce teal eyes.

Remembered Julian appearing.

Remembered humiliation.

His jaw tightened.

This time, he simply adjusted his target to Bianca De Dominicis.

A more strategic move.

More profitable.

And far more dangerous.

"She’s proud," Thalia said, sipping wine. "Proud women fall hardest when drugged with trust."

Lucas’s lips curled faintly.

"Careful," he murmured. "I prefer willing surrender over crude force."

Thalia laughed.

"You men always lie prettily."

He ignored it.

Because Bianca was not merely a woman.

She was close to the D’Aurelius household.

Close to Julian.

Close to power.

If she could become his woman, it would be a great help.

And unlike Evan—who conquered women through heroics and fate—Lucas preferred infiltration.

Slow corruption.

Dependency.

Then ownership.

He continued massaging.

Thalia practically melted into the sofa.

"Lucas," she purred, "once this works... stay in Woodland longer."

He lowered his voice with crafted warmth.

"If destiny permits."

Inside:

(Endure.)

(Just endure until the prey enters the snare.)

He glanced toward the table.

There rested two wine bottles prepared for the afternoon meeting.

One ordinary.

One altered.

His eyes lingered.

Cold.

Calculating.

Yet somewhere beneath that calculation lingered another thought.

Julian.

Again.

Would he interfere?

Would fate twist once more?

His fingers paused unconsciously.

Thalia noticed.

"What happened?"

Lucas smiled again.

"Thinking."

"About me?"

"About success."

That answer pleased her.

She laughed so hard her bracelets rattled.

Outside the glass, thunder rolled faintly over Woodland.

Rain threatened.

The city lights shimmered beneath gathering clouds.

Storm before intrigue.

Very fitting.

Lucas moved back around to face her.

He lifted his wine.

"To our cooperation."

Thalia lifted hers.

"To our future."

Glasses touched.

A small crystal sound.

Like a blade being drawn.

Lucas drank.

And smiled.

But behind that smile, venom breathed.

He had already lost one opening in Valemont.

He would not lose another.

Julian had wounded him.

Humiliated him.

Forced him to adapt.

Fine.

Then he would strike through what Julian valued.

Not through fists.

Through people.

Through hearts.

Through desire.

He looked at the two prepared wine bottles again.

His blue eyes hardened.

"Julian..." he whispered inwardly.

"Let’s see if your luck protects you forever."

Thalia leaned closer again.

"My shoulder still aches."

Lucas resumed kneading.

Feeling once more like he was pressing animated lard.

But he smiled as though touching silk.

Because ambition often wore perfume.

And sometimes... smelled like grease.

This time, he simply adjusted his target to Bianca De Dominicis.