REBORN My Second Life I Became The Villianess (Nyxara) novel Chapter 26

Dinner that night was heavy, suffocating, and dead silent. The sprawling dining room, usually filled with the clinking of expensive crystal and Nysa’s endless complaining, felt more like a tomb.

The three of us sat at the table, each locked inside our own little corner of the wreckage. My father was sitting at the head of the table, looking exhausted and carrying a crushing weight. He wasn't glaring with cold fury anymore; instead, his eyes kept drifting over toward me with a quiet, lingering mix of exhaustion and deep appreciation.

The harsh, bitter edges he usually kept raised against the world had softened completely when it came to me. He could finally see the reality of it all , that while Nysa was thirty years old and still throwing tantrums like an overgrown child, I was only eighteen, yet carrying the poise, intelligence, and sensibility of someone twice my age.

He didn't look at me with indifference anymore. He looked at me like I was the only thing holding our collapsing family together.

Per his orders, my mother had been confined to her bedroom upstairs, stripped of her cards and her freedom after the disaster this afternoon. Nysa was sitting a few seats down from me, looking like she had aged ten years in a single day. Her shoulders were hunched, her eyes were bloodshot and hollow, and she poked at her food.

She was broken and terrified of the looming trip to the Valteri estate and haunted by the fact that her petty schemes had blown up in their faces. She didn't dare look my way or open her mouth. I sat quietly, cutting a small piece of chicken and chewing slowly, maintaining a calm, unbothered composure.

After a few agonizing minutes, my father cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence. He didn't use that sharp, commanding tone he usually reserved for the house; his voice was tired, but when he spoke to me, there was a distinct note of respect.

"Nyxara," he said softly, his eyes resting on me. "Make sure you have everything packed for tomorrow. The Valteri drivers will be here by ten."

I looked up, offering him a gentle, reassuring nod. "Don't worry, Father. I've already taken care of my packing. Everything is under control." I replied softly. A faint, grateful sigh escaped his lips. He gave me a small, approving nod that spoke volumes, an acknowledgment that I was the true pillar of the Vexari name now.

Nysa flinched at the interaction, shrinking further down into her seat, painfully aware that she had been replaced. A moment later, my father stood up, dropped his napkin beside his untouched plate, and walked out of the room.

I took one final, slow sip of my water, letting the quiet settle over the table. The old Vexari household was dead and buried, and tomorrow, we were walking straight into the next phase of the game.

The morning sunlight hadn't even fully settled across the estate before the silence was shattered. By shrill, loud screaming that was echoing down the hallway, pulling me straight out of bed.

I cracked my bedroom door open just an inch and peeked out. Nysa and our mother were locked in an absolute, full-blown war right outside. Nysa was red-faced, tearing at her hair, and screaming bloody murder at our mother.

"This is all your fault!" she shrieked, her voice cracking with pure hysteria. "Who told you to run around and cheat like an idiot? Now Dad is treating me like a criminal, scrutinizing my every move, and my entire life is imploding because of your mess!"

My mother, looked exhausted and broken in her bathrobe, fired right back, but I didn't bother listening to the rest of their pathetic shouting match. I just closed my bedroom door, locked it, and ignored them.

After taking a long, refreshing shower and throwing on a outfit, I grabbed my bags and headed down the staircase.

My father was already sitting at the dining table, nursing a cup of black coffee. He looked up the second I walked in, his expression instantly softening.

"Morning, Father," I said smoothly, pulling out my chair.

"Morning, sweetheart," he replied, his tone warm and steady.

I glanced around the empty dining room, noticing the lack of other places set at the table. "Are Mom and Nysa not joining us this morning?"

Nysa had clearly mapped out the logistics in her head down to the last meticulous detail. Standing by the second vehicle in line, she assumed the seating arrangement would mirror her carefully curated plans: Dario riding upfront in the lead car with her, while our father and I shared the middle transport, and our disgraced mother relegated and sidelined was forced into the trailing vehicle. It was a setup designed to keep her close to the center of power and ensure she could latch onto her future husband the moment the wheels started rolling.

Instead, the entire chessboard flipped before anyone even reached for a door handle. As Dario stepped out from the house, his eyes swept over the convoy and the small group gathered by the vehicles. He paused, casting a deliberate glance toward my father, as if preparing to suggest that he and I share a transport while the rest of the family sorted themselves out.

Nysa caught the shift in his attention. Her painted smile instantly tightened, panic flashing across her face like a neon sign as she anticipated being cut out of the lead vehicle. She opened her mouth, a sharp, whiny protest already bubbling up in her throat.

Before a single syllable could escape her lips, our father cut her off with a single, brutal wave of his hand.

"Go on, get in with your mother," my father ordered, his voice dropping into a flat, icy register that left zero room for negotiation.

Without giving Nysa a second to argue, my father stepped forward and pulled open the rear door of the second town car for me. I slid into the plush leather interior smoothly, keeping my face entirely neutral. He waited right there on the pavement, his eyes lingering on me with a quiet, protective nod until Nysa, fuming, humiliated, and visibly trembling with suppressed rage was forced to march over and climb into the back seat beside our mother.

Once Nysa slammed her door shut, our father firmly clicked the latch into place, turned on his heel, and walked briskly toward the third car at the tail end of the convoy, pulling the door open and climbing inside.

I blinked, momentarily thrown off. Wait. My father was supposed to be in this car.

My hand instinctively hovered over the door handle, ready to push it open and call out to him, when the opposite door on the far side of the car clicked open.

A rush of cool air swept into the cabin as Dario slid effortlessly across the leather seat, shutting the heavy door with a solid, muffled thud. Before I could even turn my head to process the shift, his hand reached across the console, catching my wrist with a firm, inescapable grip.