REBORN My Second Life I Became The Villianess (Nyxara) novel Chapter 18

The doctor quickly called a nurse into the room, and they went to work. The nurse cleaned the wound with a stinging antiseptic wash that made my skin crawl, followed by the local anesthetic injection that numbed the area into a dull, heavy throb. Then, the doctor picked up the curved needle and fine suture thread.

Neither of them made a sound as they worked. Through it all, I didn't flinch. I didn't grip the edges of the exam table, I didn't squeeze my eyes shut, and I didn't let out a single breath of pain. I just sat there like stone, enduring it with the cold, calculated detachment of someone who had survived far worse than a few stitches.

When the final knot was tied and the wound was neatly sealed with dark thread, the doctor gently pressed a fresh, sterile bandage over the top.

"All done," the doctor murmured, though he looked somewhat uneasy under the crushing weight of Dario’s unblinking stare. He exchanged a quick, nervous glance with the nurse. "I'm going to go check on Mr. Vexari in the adjacent recovery suite and review his scans. I'll leave you both for a moment."

"Do it," Dario commanded, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.

The doctor and nurse didn't need to be told twice. They packed up their trays, muttered hurried apologies, and practically scrambled out of the room, clicking the heavy door shut behind them.

The second the latch clicked into place, the atmosphere inside the small private room became utterly electric.

Dario moved with the terrifying, predatory grace of a caged animal. Before I could even process his movements, he stepped directly between my knees, planting both of his massive, calloused hands firmly on the examination table on either side of my hips.

He leaned down, caging me in completely, his broad chest inches from mine. His dark, consuming gaze bored straight into my violet eyes, searching every microscopic inch of my expression as if trying to decode a puzzle that was driving him insane.

"Why?" he demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low whisper that vibrated right through my bones. "You're smart and I know you're lethal. You could have broken her arm, you could have thrown her through a wall, you could have crippled her the second she laid a hand on you."

He paused, his breath hitching slightly as his dark eyes darkened with a mixture of raw fascination and burning frustration.

"Why didn't you retaliate, Nyxara? Why the hell did you just stand there and let her beat you?" he asked.

I didn't cower or look away. I tilted my chin up, meeting his intense, unhinged stare dead-on, and a slow, cold smile touched the corners of my lips.

"Because I wanted her to do it," I said, my voice steady, ice-cold, and entirely devoid of fear.

"I wanted her to lose control. I want her to feel true, suffocating despair. I want her to claw at the walls and clutch at straws while everything she thinks she owns turns to ash. This isn't about defending myself. This is about psychological destruction. And this... this is only the beginning." I said.

For a fraction of a second, he just stared at me. The sheer audacity of my plan, the cold, calculating cruelty hidden beneath my quiet demeanor, it didn't scare him away. Instead, it fed the darkest, most possessive parts of his soul.All of my research on Dario Valteri pointed at one thing, that he didn't care how cruel someone’s intention was, all he wanted was the truth. A lie would only make him despise and hate you more.

Being the unhinged, power-obsessed man he was, his expression softened into something almost reverent. He didn't yell, or argue. He just leaned in close, his lips brushing softly, tenderly against mine in a slow, intoxicating kiss that tasted of absolute surrender.

When he pulled back just an inch, his thumb gently traced the edge of the new bandage on my temple before dropping to cup my jaw.

"Should I marry her?" he asked quietly, the question hung heavy and dangerous in the sterile air. I didn't answer right away. I just stared up at him, letting the silence stretch between us, watching the wheels turn in his brilliant, ruthless mind.

"Answer me, kitten," he whispered, his thumb pressing firmer against my skin. "If I marry her... will you continue ruining her?"

"Can I see him?" I asked, already sliding off the exam table.

"Of course," the doctor nodded, stepping aside. "He's in the recovery suite just down the hall. Room 402."

I didn't wait. I smoothed down the front of my clothes, checked to make sure the black turtleneck was still sitting high enough to hide the mark Dario had left on my throat, and walked down the corridor. Dario fell into step right beside me, his broad shoulders and commanding presence clearing the hallway as effortlessly as the sea parting.

When I pushed open the door to Room 402, my father was propped up against a stack of crisp white hospital pillows. A white bandage wrapped around his head matched the pale, exhausted look on his face, but his eyes were sharp and clear. The second the door clicked open, his gaze snapped toward us.

For a fraction of a second, his eyes landed on Dario walking in right behind me, a flicker of uneasy surprise crossing his features. But the moment he saw the fresh white dressing taped across my forehead, all hesitation vanished.

"Nyxara," my father rasped, his voice rough from the fall. He immediately tried to haul himself upright, wincing as a wave of dizziness hit him. "Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere else? God, sweetheart, let me look at you…"

I walked over to the side of the bed, gently pressing my hands against his shoulders to keep him from straining himself. "I'm fine, Father. Really. It's just a couple of stitches. The doctor cleared me." I said softly.

I watched his face closely, and the physical, relief that washed over his features was entirely genuine. The rigid lines of stress and exhaustion around his mouth softened, and his chest rose and fell in a long, shuddering sigh.

He reached up, his trembling hand lightly catching mine where it rested on his blanket, gripping my fingers tightly.

"Thank God," he breathed, closing his eyes for a second. Then, he looked up, finally acknowledging the dark, imposing figure standing silently in the corner of the room. Dario had pulled up a metal chair, sitting down with relaxed, predatory grace, his dark eyes watching the exchange without a single word of interruption.