Villain of Fate: The Tyrant System-Chapter 43: A Smile Beneath the Trap

A Smile Beneath the Trap

At this moment, a patrol car happened to drive by.

The tires rolled slowly over the asphalt of the quiet residential road in Valemont. The morning sun hung high, pale and indifferent, washing the buildings in sterile light.

Behind the wheel was none other than Manager Avil.

As soon as he drove past, he heard Evan speaking loudly on the phone.

"...three hundred billion..."

Avil’s brows snapped together.

He slammed the brakes.

The patrol car jerked to a stop beside Evan.

The window rolled down with a sharp mechanical whine.

"New guy, are you out of your mind?" Avil barked. "Can’t you go a single day without showing off?"

Evan turned slowly, phone still in hand, eyes dark.

Avil sneered.

"Three hundred billion? The paper in your trash can doesn’t even add up to three hundred billion."

He shoved the door open and stepped out, rubber baton in hand, pointing it straight at Evan’s chest.

"This is your final warning. If I catch you bragging again, I will personally deliver you to a mental hospital, you moron."

His voice echoed between the apartment blocks.

He truly couldn’t stand this newcomer.

Everywhere Evan went, he carried himself like some hidden emperor disguised as a guard.

And those eyes—always watching.

Avil had noticed him sneaking around lately, checking residents’ files.

The suspicion had already rooted itself deep in his gut.

This guy... might be scouting targets.

Evan’s face, which had been faintly smiling seconds ago, hardened.

The warmth vanished.

His fingers tightened around the phone until the plastic creaked.

He glared at Avil, a cold murderous light flickering in his pupils.

He told himself again.

Endure.

The wooing plan wasn’t finished yet.

Not time.

Not yet.

Avil snorted one last time before climbing back into the patrol car.

"Act normal. Or I’ll make sure you regret it."

The car pulled away.

Evan remained standing there, breathing slowly.

His jaw trembled faintly.

Soon.

He would make this man kneel.

—

Meanwhile, inside Bianca De Dominicis’s office at De Dominicis Group in Valemont—

When the Obsidian Wing transferred the funds to Shin cooperation, the notification reached Bianca immediately.

A soft chime echoed through the quiet office.

She didn’t move at first.

She was seated behind her wide glass desk, sunlight spilling across the polished surface. The light caught in the sleek edges of the room—steel, glass, quiet luxury—reflecting the kind of control money couldn’t buy but power could.

Her long red hair cascaded down her shoulders like silk flames. Her crimson eyes glimmered beneath delicate lashes, sharp and calculating.

Today she wore a fitted black business dress, hugging her narrow waist and accentuating her curved hips and full chest with understated elegance. The fabric was simple, refined, deliberate. Power radiated from her—not loud, but absolute.

The screen in front of her flickered again.

Transfer confirmed.

Her lips curved, barely.

"Finally," she murmured, voice smooth and low.

A knock broke the silence.

"Enter," she said without looking up.

The door opened carefully. Lorenzo, her financial director, stepped in with a tablet clutched against his chest. He hesitated—just slightly—before speaking.

"The funds have cleared into Shin cooperation’s primary accounts," he confirmed. "Full amount. No staggered deposits."

Bianca leaned back slowly in her chair. The leather creaked faintly.

"They didn’t question it?"

"They were cautious," Lorenzo admitted. "But greed is louder than suspicion."

A quiet hum escaped her throat—almost amused.

"They took the bait."

Lorenzo shifted his weight. "Are we proceeding immediately?"

Bianca tapped a manicured finger against the glass desk. The sound was soft, rhythmic.

"Not immediately," she corrected. "We let them breathe."

She stood then, heels clicking once against the marble floor as she walked toward the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Valemont’s skyline. The city stretched beneath her like a board mid-game.

"Once the money entered Shin cooperation’s accounts, escape would be nearly impossible."

Lorenzo frowned slightly. "You’re confident the audit division will move fast enough?"

She turned her head just enough for him to see the glint in her eyes.

"I don’t rely on speed," she said calmly. "I rely on inevitability."

He swallowed.

She had already dug into their tax evasion history.

Months of quiet investigation. Shell companies. Inflated expense reports. Offshore laundering disguised as logistics restructuring. They weren’t clever. Just arrogant.

"In Kyoto, tax crimes weren’t jokes."

Three hundred billion might not even cover it.

But that alone wasn’t enough.

She leaned back in her chair, tapping her manicured nails against the armrest.

That investment company...

Assets around five trillion.

Three hundred billion wouldn’t cripple them.

No.

Her revenge was only beginning.

She turned to Lorenzo and said, "You can go now. Wait for my next order."

Lorenzo nodded. "Yes, Madam." He left the cabin quietly.

Bianca stood there for a moment, a faint smile playing on her lips as she picked up her phone.

Her fingers moved lightly across the screen.

"Let’s have dinner. I have a business proposition for you."

—

At D’Aurelius Group headquarters—

Julian D’Aurelius had just arrived at his office.

Black hair perfectly styled. Golden eyes sharp and restless.

He hadn’t even finished sitting down when his phone buzzed.

He read the message.

"Business? If it’s a deal worth billions, I might consider it."

He chuckled.

But then he stopped.

No.

Distance from female leads equals survival.

Simple math.

He had finally been enjoying peaceful rich-young-master life.

He typed.

"No time."

And added a panda head emoji.

He leaned back smugly.

Then his phone buzzed again.

"Really? That’s too bad. I accidentally found some old photos while cleaning my phone yesterday. I wonder what would happen if I posted them on Snapora."

A photo loaded.

Julian’s smile froze.

His golden eyes widened.

Damn.

It was that photo.

Him.

In Bianca’s room.

Holding a delicate black netted piece of fabric near his lips with a shameless grin.

Anyone seeing that would assume he was an underwear thief.

"Damn it, didn’t you delete it? What happened to basic trust between people?"

His fingers moved quickly.

Her reply came instantly.

"Hmm? Want to rephrase that?"

He inhaled sharply.

She sent another message.

"Business is about mutual benefit. Fifty billion-level mutual benefit. You sure you’re busy?"

He stared at the words.

Fifty billion.

Tempting.

Very tempting.

He typed back stiffly, "Photoshop is illegal, you know."

Three dots appeared immediately.

A voice note arrived.

He pressed it.

Her voice flowed through the speaker—low, smooth, teasing.

"Julian, if this goes public, your image as Valemont’s refined young master might suffer. Think carefully."

He closed his eyes.

"Blackmail is also illegal."

"Then report me."

He could almost see her smirk.

He tried one last attempt.

"I’m actually swamped today. Meetings. Strategy review. Existential crisis."

"Cancel them."

"I have a headache."

"I’ll send medicine."

"I’m allergic to red-haired blackmailers."

A pause.

Then another image preview appeared.

He froze.

It was a zoomed-in crop.

His expression clearer.

Even more incriminating.

She added: "I have backups."

He stared at the screen.

Silence stretched.

Finally—

"Where do we meet?"

Her reply came instantly.

"Aqua foodcourt, be good, mua~"

Three dark red lipstick emojis followed.

Julian stared at the screen.

"...Women are terrifying."

He stood up slowly.

Grabbed his coat.

Straightened his cuffs.

As he walked out of his office, he muttered under his breath,

"Survival difficulty level just increased."

His golden eyes shimmered with resignation.

Tears almost welled up.

This villain path was getting harder by the day.