REBORN My Second Life I Became The Villianess (Nyxara) novel Chapter 21

"We need to have a serious discussion," he announced, his tone dropping an octave.

He turned his head sharply, fixing his gaze straight on Nysa.

"Nysa. Apologize to your sister. Now."

He used a very specific tone, a flat, unyielding tone that signaled absolute finality. It was the tone he used to use in the past when I had stepped out of line, a clear warning that disobedience would bring severe consequences.

Nysa flinched violently, her fork slipping from her fingers and clattering loudly against her porcelain plate. Her face flushed crimson with humiliation before she squeezed her eyes shut and forced the words through gritted teeth.

"I am sorry... for hitting you." she whispered.

I didn’t gloat. I leaned into the performance, playing the role of the magnanimous, understanding sister with absolute precision.

"It is fine, Nysa," I said smoothly, my tone measured and calm. "I understand that you have been under a lot of stress with the wedding planning and everything else."

My father gave me a sharp, approving nod. "Good. Now, let us address your broader conduct. Yesterday, when Dario asked you a simple question regarding how you would handle a basic family disagreement, you could not even provide a sensible answer. I have clearly allowed you too much leeway…" he said.

Our mother immediately attempted to intervene, waving a hand in protest. "Carlton, honestly, you are being far too harsh…" she started saying.

"Quiet, Caroline," my father barked, cutting her off with a sharp finality that made the silverware rattle. "Shut your mouth right now, or, so help me God, I will have your bags packed and send you back to your family estate today."

The threat hung in the air like a physical blow. Our mother turned pale, snapped her mouth shut, and shrank back into her seat, entirely silenced.

My father returned his focus to Nysa, who was trembling slightly in her chair.

"This weekend, when we arrive at the Valteri estate, every influential member of that family will be present," my father continued, his voice dropping into a low hiss. "You are thirty years old, yet you throw tantrums like an unruly teenager. Even your younger sister demonstrates more maturity. All you care about is consuming wealth, purchasing luxuries, and reacting with hostility when things do not go your way."

He struck the table lightly with his palm, making Nysa jump.

"This weekend, you will compose yourself. You will be on your absolute best behavior, exercise common sense, and maintain a respectful distance from your sister. Once this engagement is finalized, their family becomes our family. Dario has a younger sister of the exact same age as Nyxara. You are a grown woman, there is no justification for petty jealousy or vindictiveness, if Dario or any of his relatives converse with her."

He paused, letting the heavy silence underscore the gravity of his ultimatum.

"I have said what I mean. If I ever witness you acting in such a deranged manner again, I will freeze every single one of your accounts, strip you of your allowances, and terminate this engagement myself. I would rather endure public embarrassment than watch you marry into the Valteri family and ruin us permanently. Do you understand me, Nysa?" he asked.

For a long moment, the dining room was silent. Nysa looked as though she wanted to scream, but she swallowed her fury and stared down at her lap.

"...Yes, Father," she muttered, her voice trembling.

No further words were spoken. We finished our meal in heavy silence, the traditional power dynamics of the household thoroughly dismantled. Ten minutes later, I pushed my chair back, checked my watch, and stood up.

Understood, boss, Leo replied.

I locked the phone, set it aside, and turned my attention back to the glass windows. The city moved below me at its usual relentless pace, but by the end of the week, the Vexari name would be permanently altered.

The afternoon light cast long, amber shadows across the polished concrete floors as I wrapped up the final digital signatures on a stack of international acquisitions. My shoulders felt tight, the remnant of the tension that had clung to me since the hospital visit yesterday . With the weekend fast approaching and the looming summons to the Valteri seaside estate on Friday my schedule required a tactical adjustment.

I glanced down at the gold watch resting against my wrist. It was just past three in the afternoon. If I left now, I could bypass the worst of the downtown rush hour and handle a necessary errand before heading back to the Vexari estate.

My wardrobe, while impeccably suited for the business battlefield and boardrooms, it was entirely unsuited for the specific performance I needed to execute over the coming days. According to Leo’s dossier, the Valteri family estate during a formal weekend gathering operated under a very particular, highly scrutinized set of social codes especially for younger attendees.

To blend into the background, observe undetected, and position myself precisely where Nysa’s fragile ego would inevitably self-destruct, I needed to look the part. I needed to shed the sharp, tailored armor of an executive and adopt the appearance of an eighteen-year-old socialite stepping lightly through her first high-society season.

I shut down my terminal, locked the encrypted drives, and slid my phone into my leather shoulder bag. Grabbing my blazer, I locked the heavy double doors of my office behind me and descended via the private elevator to the underground parking garage.

The air in the garage was cool and damp, smelling faintly of exhaust and polished stone. My car idled quietly in its designated space, but today, I didn't want a driver trailing behind me like a shadow. I needed mobility and control over my movements. I opted to take my personal coupe out of the private bay, navigating the sweeping concrete ramp up into the bustling energy of the city streets.

The destination was a high-end, open-air luxury retail district nestled on the edge of the city’s historic quarter, a sprawling maze of designer boutiques, cobblestone pedestrian paths, and private courtyards where the city's wealthy heirs and heiresses spent their afternoons casually dropping small fortunes on seasonal wardrobes.

Finding a discreet parking spot down a narrow side street lined with overgrown ivy and wrought-iron lampposts, I stepped out into the crisp afternoon air.