REBORN My Second Life I Became The Villianess (Nyxara) novel Chapter 20

Nysa opened her mouth, a sharp, defensive retort flying straight to her lips, ready to scream, ready to blame me, ready to turn the tables. But she took one look at my father’s face, at the absolute, icy finality etched into his features, and her mouth clicked shut. She swallowed hard, staring at the floor in stunned silence.

I ignored them both, focusing entirely on my father. I securely braced his weight, helping him stand up off the stiff medical mattress, and steadily led him out of the hospital room, leaving Mom and Nysa standing alone in the sterile silence of the suite.

The black town car pulled up smoothly at the entrance of the hospital, the heavy glass doors sliding shut behind us as the cool evening air hit my face. My father leaned heavily against my shoulder, every movement was deliberate and cautious as I guided him into the back seat.

The drive back to the Vexari estate was silent, broken only by the steady hum of the engine and the soft, pained exhales my father let out from the backseat.

When the car finally rolled up the long, manicured driveway and pulled to a stop in front of the massive double doors, I expected to step into the same war zone we had left behind hours earlier. But the moment I pushed the front doors open, the illusion of perfection had already been put back in place.

The living room was spotless, there wasn’t a single piece of shattered vase on the marble floor, the torn sofa cushions had been expertly replaced or flipped, and the scattered papers were gone. The hired house staff had clearly been put to work immediately to erase every physical trace of Nysa’s explosive meltdown.

"I'm going straight to bed, Nyxara," my father muttered, his hand pressing against his bandaged temple as he slowly made his way toward the grand staircase. "Do not disturb me for the rest of the night."

"I won't, Father. Get some rest," I replied softly, watching him carefully ascend the stairs until he disappeared down the hall toward his master suite.

Once I was alone in the quiet foyer, I turned and walked up the second flight of stairs toward my own bedroom. The second I shut my door and locked it behind me, I dropped my keys onto the nightstand and pulled my phone out of my blazer pocket.

The screen was practically glowing red with notifications. Sixteen missed calls.

My brows furrowed as I unlocked the screen. The missed calls were split between Chloe, Leo, and Sarah, Without wasting a second, I tapped into our encrypted messaging app, started a conference group call, and hit connect.It picked up on the first ring.

"Nyxara!" Chloe’s voice practically shrieked through the speaker, frantic and breathless. "Are you alive? What the hell is going on?"

"Jesus, boss, we've been trying to reach you for two hours," Sarah chimed in, her tone tight with worry. "Are you okay? Where are you?"

I sank down onto the edge of my bed, reaching up to gently touch the edge of the sterile bandage hiding my new stitches. "Calm down. I'm fine. What happened?"

"What happened?" Leo’s cool, deep voice cut through the line, laced with disbelief. "You're trending nationally, Nyxara. That's what happened."

"What do you mean, trending?" I asked, a sudden chill running down my spine.

"Check your encrypted feed right now, Chloe just dropped it in the chat," Sarah said urgently.

I swiped over to our encrypted group chat. A notification popped up with a screenshot attached from an anonymous high-society gossip channel. I tapped the image to open it, and my breath hitched.

It was a picture, it had been taken outside the hospital earlier that afternoon. The angle was sharp and had been captured from a distance through the tinted glass of a passing vehicle. It showed Dario stepping out of his car with me cradled securely in his arms, his massive frame shielding me from the cameras, his face dark and protective as he carried me toward the emergency entrance.

The way the lens had caught the moment, the intense, desperate closeness of his body wrapped around mine, his head bowed protectively over mine, looked entirely intimate.

Above the photo, bold, capitalized headline text screamed across the screen:

HAS THE VALTERI HEIR CANCELLED THE VEXARI ENGAGEMENT? WHO IS THIS MYSTERY WOMAN?

"Oh, wow," I murmured, staring at the screen in absolute shock.

"There are multiple pictures online, Nyxara," Chloe babbled, her voice speeding up with nervous excitement. "Half the city’s elite think Dario dumped Nysa . People are saying he carried a completely different woman out of his car like she was made of glass. Everyone wants to know who you are."

"I was at the hospital because my father was admitted," I explained calmly, keeping my voice steady as I recounted the events of the afternoon, the fight, Nysa shoving my father, the head injury, and Dario stepping in to clear the path and carry me out.

I smiled, leaning back against my pillows as I stared up at the ceiling. "Yes. Rile her up good. Push every single button she has until she completely shatters."

"Consider it handled, boss," Chloe laughed darkly. "Enjoy the show."

The morning air filtered through my bedroom window, offering a brief moment of quiet after the chaos of the hospital visits. I dragged myself out of bed and prepared to face whatever fresh turmoil awaited downstairs.

The bandage on my temple was still fresh, but I patched it up neatly, slipped into a crisp cream blouse and a matching pencil skirt, and made sure my collar sat high enough to conceal any lingering reminders of the previous day.

When I stepped down the grand staircase and entered the dining room, the atmosphere was suffocatingly heavy.

My father, mother, and Nysa were already seated around the long table. But the contrast was striking. Nysa was uncharacteristically subdued; she wasn't picking at her food or complaining about the preparation. Instead, she sat completely rigid, staring blankly down at her plate as if her entire world had dissolved. Beside her, our mother wore a tight, pained expression, her lips pressed into a bitter, silent line.

The moment my father looked up and saw me, the harsh lines on his face relaxed into an expression of profound relief.

"Nyxara," he said, his voice softer than usual. "Come sit."

I pulled out the chair beside him, smoothing my skirt as I settled in. "Good morning, Father. Mother. Nysa."

My father cleared his throat, his eyes darting briefly to the white dressing taped to my head before locking back onto my face. "How are you feeling this morning, sweetheart? Does the wound hurt?" he asked.

"I am fine, Father. Just a little sore," I replied, offering a reassuring nod. "How are you holding up? Did the headache subside?"

"Aside from feeling like my skull is splitting open every time I move, I will survive," he sighed, dragging a tired hand across his face. Then, his posture abruptly stiffened. The warmth vanished from his eyes, replaced by a cold, razor-sharp authority that instantly chilled the room.