"You are late, Damien."
Damien's gaze met his father's without hesitation.
Dominic Elford. A man who had built an empire from the ground up, whose name commanded respect across continents. CEO of Elford Enterprises—a multinational conglomerate so vast that its reach extended into nearly every industry imaginable.
And yet, despite his influence, despite his power, despite the cold, intimidating aura he exuded—Damien did not flinch.
The man was in his early fifties, yet time had barely touched him. His sharp, chiseled features, his neatly styled dark hair, streaked only slightly with silver, and his piercing steel-gray eyes made him look as if he had stepped out of a tailored advertisement for success itself.
He was dressed impeccably, of course—an inky black suit that spoke of quiet wealth, a watch on his wrist worth more than most people's yearly salaries, and the ever-present air of supremacy that surrounded him like a mantle.
Once, Damien would have shrunk under that gaze. Would have scrambled to prove himself, to find some scrap of approval in his father's expression.
Now?
Now, he only smirked.
'Testing me, old man? As if I care.'
Dominic's eyes narrowed slightly, displeased by the blatant lack of apology.
"Have you forgotten how to read a clock?" his father asked, voice smooth but edged with ice. "Or have you simply stopped pretending to have any respect for this family?"
A perfectly crafted insult. Sharp enough to cut, subtle enough to be disguised as a simple question.
Damien didn't take the bait.
Instead, he pulled back the chair at his designated spot—far enough from Dominic to be a clear afterthought but close enough that ignoring him completely would have been improper.
Before he could sit, another voice joined the conversation.
"Father, you give him too much credit. Reading a clock assumes a certain level of intelligence."
Adeline.
His lovely older sister.
Damien turned his head, taking in the woman seated just a few spots down the table.
Adeline Elford, the golden child, the heir apparent, the one who could do no wrong. Where Dominic saw Damien as a disappointment, he saw Adeline as the future—the perfect successor, the one who had been groomed since birth to inherit it all.
She was undeniably beautiful, with sleek, dark brown hair that fell effortlessly past her shoulders, icy blue eyes that mirrored their father's, and a posture that screamed both refinement and superiority.
Dressed in an elegant deep blue evening gown, she radiated control. Even the way she lifted her wine glass to her lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip, was an act of calculated grace.
'Still playing the part of the perfect daughter, I see. How exhausting that must be.'
Damien's gaze lingered on Adeline for a moment longer, his smirk deepening as something sharp glinted in his eyes.
Ah, yes.
Adeline Elford—his ever-so-perfect older sister. The pride of the family. The golden heir. The one who had spent years ensuring that Damien remained in her shadow, always beneath her, always second place.
But that wasn't all, was it?
She was more than just a sibling standing in his way.
She was one of the reasons Damien would fall in the future.
One of the betrayers.
'In Shackles of Fate, you were just as much of a snake as Celia. No—worse. Because you never had to pretend to love me. You never had to trick me. You simply chose to destroy me.'
Damien had spent hours watching that scripted downfall unfold. He had seen the moment Adeline turned her back on him, the moment she had cast her lot with the man who took everything from him.
And in this world?
This world where he controlled the pieces, where he could dictate his own story?
She would never get that chance again.
His gaze turned colder, just for a fraction of a second—enough that Adeline must have seen it. Because her smirk faltered ever so slightly, as if she had expected him to react as he always had.
Timid. Defensive. Powerless.
But instead—
He chuckled.
A low, amused sound, rich with mockery.
And then, he spoke.
"Ah, Adeline," he drawled, tilting his head as if he were speaking to a particularly slow-witted child. "You've always had such a way with words. It's almost admirable."
His smirk widened.
"For a bitch."
The table fell into silence.
Adeline's wine glass stilled just before it reached her lips.
Vivienne gasped softly, her hand instinctively reaching toward her son, as if she had misheard.
Even Dominic, who rarely reacted to anything Damien did, narrowed his eyes.
Adeline, however—
Adeline's chair scraped against the polished floor as she set down her glass with an audible clink.
"What," she said, her voice steady, but just beneath it was the unmistakable edge of anger, "did you just call me?"
Damien didn't lean back. He didn't retreat. He held her gaze and let his smirk deepen, his amusement at her reaction blatant.
'Ah, what's the matter, dear sister? Did you think you could spit venom without ever tasting some yourself?'
"Did I stutter?" he mused, resting his chin against his palm. "I think you heard me just fine."
Adeline's lips parted, a sharp intake of breath—rage building beneath the perfect, practiced mask she always wore.
And then—
Ding!
A sharp, intrusive chime echoed in Damien's mind.
Then—
Pain.
A cold, seizing force clenched at his chest, gripping his muscles like unseen chains, suffocating, overwhelming. His breath hitched for half a second—just a half-second—but it was enough.
His body knew.
It recognized Adeline.
Just like with Elysia, an unnatural, gut-wrenching impulse clawed at him, screamed at him to fold, to kneel, to submit. But unlike Elysia—this was worse.
Ding!
[Warning! The host has directly opposed a Core Figure of his Downfall!]
[The effects of the Traits (Naïve Fool) and (Simp) have intensified!]
[Physical resistance has dropped by 20%. Mental resistance has dropped by 35%.]
A sickening wave of weakness flooded his limbs.
His fingertips twitched against the table's polished surface. His legs felt sluggish, as if invisible weights had been shackled to them. His breath came slower, shallower. His pulse pounded in his skull.
Because this was different.
Elysia had been an outsider—an overwhelming, dominant presence, but a new one.
Adeline?
Adeline had been part of his story. His fall.
In Shackles of Fate, she had been one of the architects of his suffering. One of the ones who had laughed as he was stripped of everything.
And his body remembered.
It remembered the helplessness. The agony. The absolute certainty that he was powerless before her.
Even now, some deep-rooted part of him—the part molded by that twisted game—wanted to break beneath her.
Wanted to apologize.
Wanted to take it back.
Ding!
[Host's instinctive reaction: Submission.]
[Processing...]
[Error.]
[Host has rejected automatic response.]
And then—
Something snapped.
The moment the system tried to force his body to bend, something inside him pushed back. A raw, unyielding force.
It wasn't the system.
It wasn't some artificial correction.
It was him.
'No.'
The weakness in his limbs? He ignored it.
The tightness in his chest? He crushed it beneath his will.
The suffocating impulse to lower his gaze? He defied it.
And instead—
He held her stare.
Ding!
[Warning! Direct defiance detected.]
[Processing...]
[New hidden parameter established: Defiance Against Fate.]
Adeline was still glaring at him, her eyes now alight with unrestrained fury.
"You arrogant, useless little—" she seethed, but Damien barely heard her.
"Stop."