REBORN My Second Life I Became The Villianess (Nyxara) novel Chapter 22

The street was relatively quiet compared to the main commercial streets, flanked by the high brick walls of private estates on one side and the back service entrances of exclusive fashion houses on the other. It was a transitional zone, quiet, secluded, and visually picturesque, yet close enough to the main district that foot traffic remained sparse.

I pulled my sunglasses down slightly over the bridge of my nose, keeping my stride measured and unhurried. The fresh stitches hidden beneath my side bangs throbbed faintly with each step, a sharp physical reminder of the violence waiting just beneath the polished surface of my family's existence.

As I rounded the corner toward the pedestrian arcade, a subtle shift in the atmosphere registered in my peripheral vision.

It wasn't a loud sound. It was the distinct, muted scuff of a heavy boot against damp cobblestones, followed immediately by the rapid, suppressed rustle of a heavy wool coat brushing against a brick wall.

I didn't stop walking or turn my head, Instead, my senses snapped to absolute, razor-sharp attention. I subtly adjusted my trajectory, glancing toward the large, reflective glass panel of a closed boutique storefront to my left.

The smoked glass acted as a makeshift mirror, revealing the dark, bulky silhouette of a man stepping out from the narrow alleyway directly behind me, closing the distance at a fast, deliberate pace.

He was wearing a dark, oversized hoodie pulled low over his forehead, his hands were shoved deep into his front pockets. Even through the distorted reflection, I could see the rigid, unnatural tension in his shoulders, the posture of someone executing a poorly rehearsed order.

Nysa. The realization didn't shock me; it barely even registered as a surprise. It was predictable. Desperate, cornered, and spinning out of control from our father's threats and the looming humiliation of the Valteri engagement.

Nysa had lashed out in the only way her stunted, malicious mind knew how. She hadn't hired a professional. She had probably dipped into her endless supply of cash to pay off some low-level thug, tasking him with a crude street-level intimidation tactic to scare me off before the weekend.

I kept walking, slowing my pace just slightly to encourage the closure of the gap, calculating the exact distance, the weight of my bag, and the structural layout of the surrounding alcoves.

"Hey. You," a low, rough voice growled from behind me, accompanied by a heavy hand lunging forward to grab my shoulder.

I didn't give him the satisfaction of a startled gasp. The second his fingers brushed the fabric of my blazer, I pivoted on the ball of my right foot, using his own forward momentum against him. I caught his outstretched wrist with my left hand, torquing his arm upward into an unnatural joint lock, while simultaneously driving my heel backward with crushing force directly into his shinbone.

A sharp, breathless yelp escaped his throat as his balance instantly collapsed. Before he could recover or throw a counter-punch, I swept his legs out from under him, sending his heavy frame crashing hard onto the unforgiving cobblestones with a dull, sickening thud that echoed down the narrow alley.

I didn't hesitate, I dropped down on top of him, pinning his windpipe against the stone with my forearm while my hand clamped around the collar of his hoodie, yanking his head up so his eyes locked onto mine.

"Who sent you?" I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm, devoid of any panic or anger. It was the voice of a predator speaking to an insect.

The thug choked, clawing frantically at my forearm, his face turning a deep, mottled shade of red as he gasped for air. "I…I don't…get off me…"

I increased the pressure just enough to remind him of the anatomical reality of his situation. "Wrong answer. Let's try this again. Who hired you?" I asked, even though I already knew who it was.

"I swear to God, I don't know her name!" he choked out, terror finally breaking through his stubbornness as he realized the woman sitting on his chest was entirely detached from standard human fear.

"Some blonde chick! Rich, high-class, driving a white European car ! She tossed an envelope of cash at me outside a club downtown two nights ago and told me to rough up the girl with the bandage on her temple before the weekend! That’s all I swear! I swear on my life!"

I stared down into his wide, panicked eyes, reading every micro-expression of absolute, cowering defeat. It was pathetic. It was crude, sloppy, and entirely characteristic of Nysa’s lack of foresight. She couldn't even manage a proper hit without leaving a trail wide enough for a freight train to drive through.

"A blonde chick in a white import," I murmured, a cold, humorless smile touching the corners of my lips. "How original."

"Please…man, lady, whatever…just let me go, I didn't mean nothing…." he whimpered, struggling uselessly beneath my weight.

I slowly eased the pressure on his windpipe, letting him gasp in a ragged breath of air before delivering one final, deliberate warning right to his ear.

When I walked through the front doors, and passed the living room, I spotted Nysa.

She was sitting upright on the couch, completely motionless. She wasn't pacing or yelling at the staff. She looked unnaturally composed, too quiet and entirely too still and it immediately put me on edge.

"Good afternoon, Nysa," I said, pausing by the door.

She didn't flinch. She just gave me a slow, tight-lipped nod.

"Afternoon, Nyxara," she murmured, her voice entirely too sweet.

I didn't push it. I headed up the stairs, locked my bedroom door, and set my bags down. After a quick, hot shower to wash off the afternoon's mess, I threw on some comfortable lounge clothes and headed back downstairs.

Nysa was still sitting in the exact same spot. All quiet, silent, and elegant. I knew without a doubt she was up to something. I walked into the living room, took a seat across from her, and pulled out a book to read. But my eyes stayed sharp, tracking her every movement out of the corner of my vision.

After a few minutes, I saw Nysa give a subtle, tiny nod. When I glanced over quickly, I noticed one of the younger house servants hovering nearby. I didn't react and went right back to my book.

About five minutes later, that same servant walked in carrying a glass of juice and set it right on the table in front of me.

"Here you go, Miss Nyxara," the girl mumbled nervously.

"Thank you," I said calmly.