Jessica Snow slipped her phone back into her purse, a grin tugging at her lips that she couldn't quite explain.
The car hummed along the city streets, sunlight glinting off skyscrapers, but her mind was elsewhere—specifically, on Lugh Everveil.
The guy had a knack for surprising her.
Sure, he was the heir to a mega-rich empire, but he didn't strut around like some pompous prince.
No, he was real—down-to-earth, quick with a joke, and utterly devoid of that stuffy "young master" baggage.
Chatting with him felt effortless, like trading flirty jabs with a boyfriend over coffee.
Her heart did a little skip.
Dinner tonight's gonna be fun, she thought, already picturing his mischievous smirk across the table.
---
Meanwhile, across town in a penthouse that screamed "money can buy taste," Lugh Everveil tossed his phone onto a plush velvet couch, his own grin curving into a perfect arc.
He stretched out, his lean frame still clad in rumpled pajamas, dark hair a glorious mess from a morning of plotting and napping.
"She's chasing me again," he mused, chuckling to himself.
"My wife's back at it, and we're playing the love game from square one. Hilarious!"
In his past life, their romance had unfolded like a scripted rom-com.
Jessica had been the eager one, always nudging them closer, while Lugh played it cool—too busy sharpening his skills and outsmarting the protagonist to swoon properly.
But her persistence melted him eventually, and they'd teamed up to give the hero a proper thrashing.
This time, though?
He was all in from the jump—two hearts racing toward each other like giddy teenagers.
Lugh rolled off the couch with a dramatic groan, finally dragging himself to the bathroom.
A splash of water, a quick scrub, and a comb through his chaos of hair later, he was ready to tackle the day.
And for a villain like him, "tackling the day" meant one thing: messing with the protagonist.
It was his sacred duty, his raison d'être—simple, unpretentious, and oh-so-entertaining.
He swung by a flower stall outside the hospital, snagging a bundle of white carnations that practically screamed "sorry, not sorry."
With a face set in mock solemnity, he strutted into Xavier Cain's ward, where the guy lay wrapped up like a discount mummy—bandages galore, face pale, and a scowl that could curdle milk.
Lugh thrust the flowers forward with a flourish.
"My deepest condolences…"
Xavier's eyes narrowed to slits.
"…"
"Whoops, my bad!" Lugh backtracked, slapping a hand to his forehead with exaggerated remorse.
"Meant to say, chin up, buddy! No need to look so glum!"
Xavier's scowl deepened, his jaw tightening so hard you could hear the grind.
"Chin up?!" he seethed inwardly.
"I wake up to you, my mortal enemy, smirking at me with flowers? This is a nightmare!"
The guy was a walking bad-luck charm, and Xavier was already plotting how to shove those carnations where the sun didn't shine.
Lugh plowed on, undeterred, his tone dripping with faux concern.
"Doc says it's just a few busted ribs—piece of cake!
You're young, spry, full of bounce-back juice.
Two months flat, and you'll be strutting around like nothing happened. No biggie!"
Xavier's face turned a lovely shade of green.
"Two months?!"
His mind reeled.
Two months stuck in bed while Lugh and Jessica waltzed off into the sunset?
They'd be picking out baby names by then!
He couldn't wrap his head around it—reborn with all the protagonist perks, and yet here he was, worse off than ever.
Last life, he'd just eaten a few ego-bruising face-slaps.
This time?
He was a bedridden punching bag.
"I'm the protagonist, damn it! Why am I the universe's chew toy?!"
Gritting his teeth through the pain, he forced out a strangled,
"Thanks… really, really appreciate it."
Lugh beamed, all sunshine and rainbows.
"No sweat! I'm a helper at heart—practically a saint in designer shoes!"
Inside, he was cackling.
"Oh, I love this—the way you hate me but can't do a damn thing about it? Chef's kiss!"
Taunting Xavier was his favorite sport, and he was racking up points like a pro.
With a theatrical stretch, Lugh stood.
"Well, time's ticking—I've got a hot date to prep for. Gotta keep the girlfriend happy!"
Xavier jolted, eyes widening.
"Girlfriend?!"
"Yeah, you know her—the gorgeous lady who hauled you here with me yesterday," Lugh said, scattering metaphorical rose petals of smugness.
"She's stunning, sweet, smart as a whip—basically perfect. Can't let a catch like that slip away, so we're grabbing dinner tonight!"
Xavier's face went from green to a full-on emerald explosion.
"What the hell?!"
His brain short-circuited.
Dinner last night, dinner tonight—were they speed-running romance now?
In his last life, their dates had been sporadic, a slow burn.
This pace?
They'd be picking out patterns by next week!
He couldn't let this spiral further.
Another round of losing Jessica to Lugh—wearing the same green hat twice—wasn't an option.
Reborn pride demanded action.
"Wait… hold up!" he croaked, voice hoarse from pain and desperation.
Lugh paused, turning with a raised brow and a smirk.
"Something else, buddy?"
Xavier forced a smile, though it looked more like a grimace.
"Could you… maybe get in touch with my senior brother for me?"
"Senior brother?" Lugh tilted his head, feigning innocence.
"Yeah, a guy I'm tight with—family, practically," Xavier rasped, clinging to hope.
Lugh's eyebrow quirked higher.
He knew exactly who this "brother" was—Marcus Mahatir, a scholarly thirty-something with medical skills sharp enough to cut glass.
In the original script, Marcus had been Xavier's golden ticket, hooking him up with a gig at Snow Enterprises' hospital.
From there, Xavier had dazzled everyone with his healing prowess, rising to fame, saving the hospital from financial ruin, and catching Jessica's eye.
Then came the big reveal: Xavier, the legendary healer's heir and her fiancé.
Cue the violins, the romance, the happily-ever-after.
Except Lugh had torched that script.
He'd gotten Marcus fired, booted Xavier out of the hospital—and the city—and left their reputations in tatters.
It was glorious.
Now, Xavier was clawing for a redo, and Lugh was all too happy to play along.
"No problem!" he chirped, clapping his hands.
"Consider it done!"
Half an hour later, the ward door swung open, and in strode Marcus Mahatir.
Picture a man who looked like he'd stepped out of a medical drama—tall, wiry, with a mop of curly hair and glasses perched on a nose that screamed "I read books for fun."
His white coat fluttered like a cape as he rushed to Xavier's bedside, eyes wide with a mix of excitement and dismay.
"Junior brother!" Marcus exclaimed, voice cracking with emotion.
"What happened to you? Who turned you into a human burrito?!"
Xavier, still swaddled in bandages, managed a weak groan.
"Long story… bad day…"
Lugh lingered by the door, arms crossed, watching the reunion with a grin that could light up a room—or burn it down, depending.
"Don't worry, I'll leave you two to catch up," he said, waving cheerily.
"Gotta run—girlfriend's waiting!"
With that, he sauntered out, leaving Xavier fuming and Marcus hovering like a worried mother hen.
---
Back at his penthouse, Lugh flopped onto his couch, replaying the morning's antics with glee.
Xavier's misery was a gift that kept on giving—those gritted-teeth "thanks" and that glorious green-faced rage? Priceless.
And now, with Jessica chasing him and Marcus stepping back into the fray, the game was heating up.
He couldn't wait to see how Xavier would squirm next.
---
Jessica, meanwhile, spent her day floating on a cloud.
Paperwork flew by, her team buzzed with energy, and every so often, she'd catch herself smiling at the thought of Lugh's ridiculous texts.
"He's a goof, but he's my goof," she mused, already counting the hours 'til dinner.
The city hummed along, oblivious to the brewing rivalry.
Lugh prepped for his date—because even villains need to look dashing—while Xavier plotted from his bed, clinging to Marcus like a lifeline.
The dance was far from over, and all three players were ready for the next step.