Villain of Fate: The Tyrant System-Chapter 47: Between Flame and Fate

Between Flame and Fate

Bianca De Dominicis found her eyes fixed on Julian D’Aurence’s striking features. Though she tried to look away, something held her gaze there instead.

Between them, the glow of candles wavered gently, spilling light over his defined face. Gold touched the angles near his cheeks, slipping into his gaze like a quiet secret. The hardness often seen there softened, just slightly, revealing something nearer to openness. Along his jaw ran a thin line of shade, one that lent him an effortless grace he never noticed himself.

Quietly, he made no attempt to appear remarkable.

He just... was.

Her crimson gaze lingered longer than it should have.

Gentle.

Amused.

A little dangerous.

Julian noticed. Of course he noticed. He always noticed when someone was watching him. But instead of reacting, he simply adjusted his sleeve and cut another piece of steak, pretending not to care.

According to this guy’s inner thoughts, the world they were in was a novel.

A scripted stage.

A fixed destiny.

She could still remember the first time she’d overheard those thoughts—his quiet disbelief, the way he questioned everything like a scholar dissecting a corpse.

This world runs on plot progression.

Characters follow roles.

Some people are born to orbit the protagonist.

Bianca had listened.

And then she’d laughed.

She didn’t particularly care whether this reality was ink on a page or flesh and blood. As long as she existed. As long as she could feel, think, choose.

That was enough.

But if the so-called "plot" demanded that she become part of that smiling lunatic Evan’s harem?

Her fingers tightened slightly around her wine glass.

The crystal gave a faint creak beneath her grip.

Julian’s eyes flicked to it. "Careful," he murmured casually. "That glass is more expensive than the wine inside it."

She exhaled slowly, easing her hold. "It would be a shame to break something valuable, wouldn’t it?"

His gaze sharpened slightly, as if he caught the double meaning—but he didn’t press.

Absolutely not.

That man’s smile always looked... wrong. Too rehearsed. Too certain. As if the world owed him devotion. As if every woman should naturally fall into place around him like decorative trophies.

She had seen him once in the academy courtyard, surrounded by admirers. His laughter had been smooth. His posture flawless. His eyes calculating.

Like a king collecting chess pieces.

Damn it.

Only someone with a brain disease would willingly share herself like that.

She wasn’t a prize.

She wasn’t a stepping stone.

And she definitely wasn’t going to smile sweetly while standing in a line.

Her gaze softened again as it returned to Julian.

Now this was different. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

Her little Julian was much cuter.

Even just standing still, he could crush that self-proclaimed Obsidian King in presence alone. There was something steady about him. Not loud. Not flashy. But heavy. Grounded. As if the world bent around him without him asking.

And when he got flustered?

Irresistible.

She leaned her chin into her palm, tilting her head slightly. "You know," she said lightly, swirling the wine in her glass, "if this is all some grand story, you’re terribly bad at playing a background character."

He paused mid-cut.

"Oh?" he replied dryly. "And what exactly am I supposed to be playing?"

"The quiet supporting noble who politely steps aside," she said. "The one who watches the hero collect glory and women."

Julian snorted softly. "Sounds exhausting."

"It does," she agreed. "I’d hate to see you reduced to that."

His golden eyes lifted fully now, studying her.

"And what role do you think you have?" he asked.

She smiled faintly, but there was iron beneath it. "One where I choose."

A small silence settled between them. Not uncomfortable. Just charged.

Julian tapped his fork lightly against the edge of his plate. "You’re thinking about him again," he said, voice calm but perceptive.

"Unfortunately."

"Evan?"

She grimaced slightly. "His smile irritates me."

"That’s a strong reaction."

"It’s a dishonest smile."

Julian considered that, then shrugged faintly. "People like him rely on inevitability. If the world keeps rewarding you, you start believing it owes you."

"And does it?" she asked softly.

His gaze didn’t waver. "Not from me."

The candle flame flickered harder for a moment, as if stirred by something unseen.

Bianca’s lips curved.

Her heart, traitorous thing that it was, beat a little faster.

He wasn’t loud about it. He didn’t make grand declarations. But there was something in the way he said that—steady, grounded, almost bored—that made her chest tighten.

Her fingers relaxed completely around the glass.

She reached for her wine, took a small sip, and watched him over the rim.

He was pretending to be composed again. Calm. Detached.

But there was a faint pink creeping up the back of his ears.

Ah.

She leaned a little closer across the table, lowering her voice just enough to make it intimate.

"You know," she murmured, "if the plot insists on forcing people into neat little boxes..."

Julian swallowed.

"...then perhaps we should start breaking the script."

His fork paused mid-air.

For a brief second, the confident noble façade slipped—and there it was. That flicker of uncertainty. That flash of flustered vulnerability.

Exactly as she liked.

"What are you looking at me for?" Julian suddenly asked, fork halfway to his mouth.

He had felt her stare for a while now.

Being watched so intently by such a beautiful woman made even him uncomfortable.

His ears were faintly red.

Bianca’s lips curved.

"Oh my... you’re blushing? Come, let me see."

"No way." Julian immediately turned his face away.

"Let me see," she insisted lightly, leaning forward just enough for the candlelight to catch in her eyes.

"Just eat your meal properly," he muttered. "Weren’t we supposed to discuss business? What business?"

He couldn’t keep sparring like this forever.

Changing the topic was survival instinct.

Bianca suppressed a laugh.

Fine.

She had teased him enough—for now.

"I’m planning to invest in a project recently," she said calmly, setting her fork down. "But I’m short of three billion. How about you join me?"

"Three billion?" Julian froze for a second.

That wasn’t small change.

With the D’Aurelius household’s assets, three billion in liquid funds was manageable.

But the timing bothered him.

Why now?

He cleared his throat, his posture straightening instinctively.

"Three billion isn’t a small amount. Tell me what project you’re planning to invest in first."

"New thermal power," Bianca replied with a small smile. "Didn’t you think it was promising last time?"

Ah.

That project.

Julian remembered.

He nodded slowly.

"Oh. Alright then. I’ll invest in this project... but you have to agree to two conditions."

Bianca rested her chin lightly on her hand.

"What conditions?"

"First," Julian said seriously, "don’t bother me if there’s nothing important. Men and women should keep a proper distance, you know?"

He felt slightly foolish saying it.

But necessary.

He was not equipped to duel this witch daily.

Bianca nodded enthusiastically.

"Mm-hmm. I actually just used my looks to get your help."

She sounded innocent.

Compliant.

Inside?

She had no intention of keeping that promise.

Today you ignore me.

Tomorrow I’ll come back for you.

Hehe.

Julian snorted softly.

"Second," he continued firmly, extending his hand toward her, "give me your phone. I want to delete all the videos and photos."

The candle flame flickered between them.

Bianca’s brows lifted slightly.

So that was what he truly cared about.

Those embarrassing photos.

The one in her room.

The stolen glance.

The foolish grin.

She tapped her fingers lightly against the table, studying him.

He looked serious.

Determined.

A little anxious beneath it all.

Her heart warmed faintly.

He was always so dramatic inside his head, yet so straightforward when he spoke.

"You’re that afraid?" she asked softly.

"Yes."

No hesitation.

"I value my reputation."

[And my survival.]

She almost laughed.

Instead, she slowly reached for her handbag.

Her fingers paused for half a second.

She imagined—just briefly—what the "plot" wanted.

Evan conquers her.

Evan controls her.

Evan stands above all.

Her eyes cooled.

Over my dead body.

She placed her phone on the table between them.

Screen facing down.

"You can look," she said lightly. "But if you delete everything, I’ll have nothing left to blackmail you with."

Julian looked suspicious.

"You promise there’s no backup?"

"Are you negotiating or confessing?" she teased.

He frowned.

"I’m serious."

"I know."

For a moment, the playful tone faded from her voice.

"Julian," she said quietly, "if I really wanted to ruin you... I wouldn’t need photos."

His gaze lifted to meet hers.

Something unspoken passed between them.

Then she smiled again, breaking the intensity.

"Relax. I’m not your enemy."

Not like him.

Not like Evan.

Julian hesitated, then reached for the phone.

He didn’t notice the way her eyes softened as she watched him.

This foolish, cautious, shameless, strangely principled man.

If this world truly had a script—

She would rewrite it herself.

And no one—

Not fate.

Not Evan.

Not anyone—

Would make her kneel into someone’s harem.

Under the candlelight, the aquarium’s blue glow rippled across their faces.

And for the first time that evening—

The tension between them wasn’t teasing.

It was something quieter.

More dangerous.

Choice.