REBORN My Second Life I Became The Villianess (Nyxara) novel Chapter 11

I didn’t call myself the CEO, that identity was buried deep behind proxy servers and shell corporations, safely hidden from the prying eyes of high society and my own family. To them, I was just a cog in the machine. But even as a low-level title, CipherCore carried weight. It was the stealth tech startup that had quietly been eating up market share for the past year, moving with ruthless, terrifying efficiency. 

Dario, who had been sitting back with a look of supreme indifference, suddenly set his coffee cup down onto the saucer. The sharp clatter made my mother jump. 

He didn’t look at Nysa. His dark, piercing eyes locked onto me, narrowing as if he were trying to dissect me right across the table. 

“CipherCore?” he repeated, his deep voice carrying a sudden, electric edge of interest. “That’s the up-and- coming firm that’s been aggressively swallowing up half the tech market in the tri-state area. Their algorithms are bleeding-edge. How the hell did a fresh graduate land a job there?” 

Nysa stiffened instantly, her face turning a mottled shade of red as she realized Dario was no longer paying attention to her performance. Her hands clenched around her napkin so hard her knuckles turned white. 

My mother let out a sharp, dismissive huff of annoyance, leaning back in her chair. “Oh, please. It’s probably some glorified data-entry position. They just hired her out of pity or because some HR rep didn’t know what they were doing.” 

“Actually,” I said, keeping my eyes cast downward like a scolded student, playing right into my mother’s underestimation, “after I finished my masters early, I sent in an analytical portfolio. They reviewed my backend security models and offered me a remote consulting contract. I just… review data packets and help optimize their system architecture.” 

It was a total lie, of course-1 since I owned the entire company, I wrote the models myself but to them, it sounded like a modest, nerdy desk job. 

Dario didn’t look convinced. In fact, the corner of his mouth twitched upward into a slow, dangerous smirk. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, never breaking eye contact with me. A girl who hid her actual brilliance behind a quiet facade? That was his kind of game. 

“Data packets and system architecture,” Dario repeated, tasting the words slowly, his gaze heavy with an unspoken challenge. “Strange. Most people with those positions at CipherCore are veterans with decades of silicon valley experience, not eighteen-year-old girls in black suits.” 

“I guess I study hard,” I whispered, offering a small, meek shrug. 

My father cleared his throat, puffing his chest out with sudden, booming pride, completely ignoring my mother’s sour expression. “Well, look at that! Quiet as a mouse, but the girl’s got brains. Always knew the Vexari bloodline had an eye for numbers. Good for you, Nyxara. Keep your head down and make yourself useful.” 

“Thank you, Father,” I murmured, staring down at my plate. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nysa vibrating with silent, homicidal rage. She opened her mouth, desperately trying to pivot the conversation back to herself, to tear me down, to expose me, anything to get Dario’s attention back. But she was too late. 

Dario picked up his coffee cup again, his eyes lingering on me with a burning, intense curiosity that made my pulse spike in the best possible way. The trap was set, the pieces were moving, and I hadn’t even finished my breakfast yet. 

The silence around the dining table grew heavy, thick with the kind of tension that made silverware sound like sledgehammers against porcelain. 

I kept my eyes fixed on my plate, cutting a neat square of toast, but I could feel Dario’s gaze burning a hole, right through me. 

He took a slow sip of his coffee, never breaking eye contact, before his lips curled into that dangerous, knowing smirk. 

“Can you work remotely?” he asked, his deep voice cutting smoothly through the morning quiet. 

I paused, a flicker of genuine surprise hitting me. I didn’t let it show on my face, years of masking had taught me how to keep my expression entirely blank. I blinked slowly, shifting back into my quiet, unassuming persona, and looked up. 

“Yes,” I murmured softly. “My contracts are entirely digital. I can work from anywhere as long as I have a secure terminal and a stable connection.” 

His smile widened just a fraction, the kind of look a hunter gives when he realizes the rabbit isn’t running away. He turned his head away from me, shifting his intense gaze toward my father. 

Brother-in-law. The word tasted like ash, but I kept my head down and nodded meekly. Yes, Father. If you’re sure.” 

“I’m sure,” Dario replied, his eyes dark with an amused, private glint. 

He turned and walked toward the grand foyer. I picked up my leather briefcase, pushed my chair back, and followed him at a quiet, respectful distance. 

Just as I reached the heavy front doors, I couldn’t resist. I paused, turning my head slightly back toward the dining room. Nysa was standing by the table, her hands clenched into fists so tight her nails were digging into her palms. Her face was twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated hatred, glaring at me like she wanted to murder me on the spot. 

I let the timid mask slip for just half a second, offering her a slow, razor-sharp smirk. Her breath hitched in rage, but before she could scream, I turned on my heel and stepped out into the crisp morning air, leaving her choking on her own fury. 

Dario was standing by the matte-black sedan, his dark coat pulled back against the crisp morning wind. When I walked down the steps, he didn’t wait for his driver; he stepped forward and pulled the heavy door open for me. 

I kept my chin tucked, stepping into the leather interior with a quiet, hesitant grace, playing the part of the timid sister right up until the second he climbed in beside me and clicked the door shut. The driver put the car in drive, and the heavy iron gates of the Vexari estate slowly parted, sliding open to let us through. 

The second the car cleared the gates and we were swallowed by the open road, the act vanished. 

I snapped my head toward him, my shoulders squaring, my voice dropping the soft, trembling pitch entirely. 

“Pull the car over,” I snapped, glaring straight into his dark eyes. “And stay the hell away from me.” 

Dario didn’t even blink. He didn’t look startled, or amused, or apologetic. He just raised a single, slow dark brow, leaned forward, and casually instructed the driver, “Keep driving.”