The Transmigrated Villain Claims the Heroines!

I kept reading until I physically couldn’t anymore. I’d forgotten just how mushy this book really was.

Even I couldn’t take it anymore, especially now that the characters I’d been reading about were completely real.

One of them was now my fiancée, after all.

Then, as if answering my desperate wish for something—anything—other than reading a novel,

Knock, knock.

"Lady Faye has arrived, my lord."

"Invite her in."

"Of course, my lord."

I rose from the chair and stretched, still not used to my newfound strength and wealth. If I could help it, I would never get up from that chair—it was far too comfortable, the kind of luxury I couldn’t have afforded even after a lifetime of saving in my original life.

Maybe transmigration wasn’t so bad after all.

From an average Joe to a buff, wealthy, and handsome duke straight out of a novel.

Quite the upgrade.

But now wasn’t the time to be grateful; I needed to look presentable if I was going to meet Faye in the dining room.

If possible, I wanted to get that classic "I didn’t recognize you" reaction the moment I stepped into her line of sight.

I adjusted the cuffs of my coat and glanced at my reflection in the tall mirror near the bookshelf.

Still not used to that face.

Sharp jaw. Dark hair. Eyes that looked like they’d seen wars I hadn’t personally lived through.

It felt like wearing someone else’s high-end avatar.

"Don’t overdo it," I muttered to myself. "You’re going to lunch, not declaring war."

I stepped out of the study and into the corridor. The estate staff moved efficiently, quiet but alert. Even here, in my own residence, the air carried that faint undercurrent of caution.

Right.

Reputation.

I walked toward the dining hall at a measured pace, resisting the urge to shove my hands into my pockets like I used to.

The doors opened before I reached them.

And there she was.

Faye stood near one of the tall windows, sunlight filtering through sheer curtains and catching in her hair. She’d changed from her earlier attire into something lighter—still modest, still noble, but softer.

She looked... nervous.

Her fingers were laced together in front of her, posture straight, as if rehearsing how to stand properly.

When she heard the doors open, she turned.

And froze.

Will this be the reaction I was looking for?

Her eyes widened just a fraction. Not dramatically nor cartoonishly.

Just enough.

"I—" she started, then stopped.

I kept my expression neutral. As calm and duke-like as I possibly could.

"Yes?"

She blinked once, as if rebooting her thoughts.

"You look..." She swallowed. "...different."

"I changed coats."

"That’s not what I meant."

That earned the smallest twitch at the corner of my mouth. Definitely working.

She stepped closer, clearly trying to regain composure. "It suits you."

"Thank you," I replied. "You look well, too."

Her cheeks tinted pink almost instantly.

Looks like embracing the confidence of being a romance novel duke definitely worked. Note-taken.

A servant cleared their throat politely from the side. "Lunch is prepared, Your Grace."

We took our seats across from one another at the long table. It was unnecessarily long, actually. I made a mental note to have a smaller one brought in next time. Talking across what felt like a negotiation battlefield wasn’t ideal.

Just a small furniture change wouldn’t compromise my identity that much, right?

Dishes were placed before us—fresh bread, roasted meats, vegetables glazed in something fragrant, and a chilled fruit tart at the center.

Faye looked around briefly, clearly impressed but trying not to show it.

"You didn’t have to prepare so much," she said.

"I didn’t," I answered honestly. "They did."

That seemed to ease her a little.

For a few moments, we ate in relative quiet. We didn’t have much to talk about, but that wasn’t a bad thing.

At least we weren’t rushing things.

Then she spoke.

"I’ve never been here before," she admitted softly. "To House Noctierre’s vacation home, I mean."

She hesitated before continuing. "It’s... not as intimidating as I imagined."

"That’s because you’re in the dining room."

She stared at me for a few seconds longer, then—unexpectedly—laughed.

It wasn’t restrained this time. It was light, genuine, and undeniably very attractive. I really need to be careful navigating around this world.

Everyone straight up acted like my type...

Still smiling faintly, she lowered her gaze to her plate.

"I was worried," she confessed. "That things would feel... different today."

"Different how?"

"Like I suddenly belonged somewhere I didn’t understand. The conclave was very stressful, y’know?"

I paused mid-bite.

"That makes two of us," I said before I could stop myself.

Her head lifted immediately. "You?"

"Of course." I leaned back slightly. "You think I woke up one day fully understanding everything expected of me?"

Technically not a lie.

She studied me carefully, as if searching for a crack in the image.

"...You don’t seem unsure."

"I’m a good actor."

The more I make myself seem friendly compared to my original character, the better. If I really did live in this world, I’d rather be seen as benevolent, since that would make any quests I receive from this system easier.

That made her smile again—smaller this time, but warmer.

The tension that had hovered faintly between us since the engagement began to thin.

But in the back of my mind, a line from the novel surfaced.

There, she met Sir Leon for the first time.

Auxiliary corps. Rock bottom. Shared struggle.

That version of her was forged by loss.

This one sat across from me in a bright dining room, free of crushing debt.

I had changed her trajectory.

But had I made it stronger, or weaker? Well... no point in thinking about it too much. I’m way too powerful now to even consider thinking about an uncertain future.

Faye tilted her head. "Is something wrong?"

"No," I said smoothly. "Just thinking."

"About?"

"Whether I should fawn over how you look."

She blushed again. "C-Cassian..."

I allowed myself a faint smile. But inside, my mind was more mixed than anything.

’Is she really just that friendly, or does being ridiculously handsome actually make flirting this easy for me?’

If so, I’m definitely fairly bitter that I wasn’t this handsome in my previous life. Could have made a lot of things far simpler and easier...

Then my memory returned to everything beyond the dining hall, past the polished floors and obedient servants, the original story still existed.

And I had just stepped several pages away from it.

Whether that was a good thing...

Still remained to be seen. But, if there was anything I was confident about... it’s that I’d definitely be living an easier life than the original duke.