The Villains Must Win-Chapter 208: No Second Chances 8

I was back.

Same sterile scent. Same hospital room with the faint hum of machines and pale sunlight seeping through the curtains.

And just like that—I realized I’d returned to the exact moment I first woke up here.

Not a minute ahead. Not even a second late.

I was back in that scene. Round one, all over again.

My body lay in the hospital bed, covered in crisp white sheets. My chest rose and fell steadily, but this time, I stayed still, feigning unconsciousness.

I didn’t open my eyes. Not yet.

Right on cue, I heard the soft shuffle of footsteps outside the door. Then came the click—quiet but distinct—as the handle turned and the door creaked open.

Christian entered with the doctor at his side, their voices low.

"She’s still asleep?" the doctor asked, stepping closer.

Christian moved beside my bed. I felt his eyes on me, studying my face for any flicker of awareness.

I kept my breathing even. My lashes didn’t twitch. I gave them nothing.

"She hasn’t stirred," Christian murmured. "Good. That makes this easier."

A beat of silence passed.

Then—there it was.

The conversation.

The one I now knew by heart.

"Keep quiet about the abortion, just like we agreed, Doctor. Don’t worry about anything—I’ll take care of it. She won’t ever know . . ."

I don’t know about you, but it never gets easier the second time around. The hate and anger burning inside this body—I could feel it in my soul. Lina’s emotions weren’t just memories anymore. They were alive, coursing through me like fire.

Don’t worry, girl. I’m going to win this game for you. Your body’s going to live its best life—spa days, revenge, everything you deserve. And wherever your soul is now . . . I hope you’re resting in peace.

. . . What am I even saying?

Alright . . . round two.

And this time, I wasn’t going to screw it up.

I wasn’t some wide-eyed host stumbling blindly into an A-Rank world anymore.

I had seen the monster behind that perfect face. I knew what hid behind his charm, what snapped beneath his surface.

And I wasn’t going to play along anymore.

Let the world throw its worst at me.

I was ready.

=== ===

Lina arrived at one of Christian’s high-end condos—the one they had shared for the last five years.

It was sleek, quiet, and painfully familiar. She didn’t speak a word about breaking up. Not yet. Not when she remembered exactly how that conversation played out the first time.

She didn’t want to die the second time again.

And using the word breakup in front of an emotionally unstable, possessive man like Christian Gray-Rothemere? That was just asking for another tragic ending.

For now, the safest move was to observe. Watch. Gather information.

She still didn’t fully understand this storyline—who the heroes were, who the villains might be, or how things were supposed to play out.

It could be Christian . . . but then again, maybe not. He had all the markings of a villain, but this world wasn’t giving her answers easily.

"You’re awfully quiet," Christian said as he joined her in the living room. "Are you okay?"

Lina sank onto the couch, her posture weak, her eyes downcast. She drew in a deep breath before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think I’m okay after losing my child?"

"Our child," Christian corrected gently as he moved closer, attempting to comfort her.

"Don’t be a hypocrite, Christian. We both know you never wanted that child. Congratulations—this must be a relief for you," she said bitterly, not even looking at him.

Christian tensed, taking a long breath to steady himself. "Can we not go there right now? The baby’s gone. There’s nothing we can do about that. Let’s move on. Try to continue with our life, Lina."

She didn’t reply. Her silence filled the room with something heavier than anger—disappointment. And he felt it.

His expression softened. "Look, I know I haven’t been there for you lately. I’ve been swamped with work. But I’ll make it up to you, I swear."

Still, Lina said nothing.

"How about I take you shopping tomorrow?" he offered with a hopeful smile.

"I just got out of the hospital, and hadn’t even recovered losing my child. Do you really think I’ll be able to walk for hours and enjoy a shopping spree?"

"Okay, okay—then I’ll order your favorite food." He quickly grabbed his phone, already scrolling through the Michelin stars restaurants as he set the dining table.

Within minutes, a knock came at the door. The staff entered swiftly, arranging a gorgeous spread of warm, nutritious meals—everything ideal for someone recovering from surgery or . . . an abortion.

Lina almost wanted to cry. It was this side of Christian that always pulled her back. The considerate, sweet man who remembered her favorite dishes and fussed over her comfort. It was how she had fallen in love with him.

Back in high school and college, she’d had a harmless crush on him. But he never looked at her—his eyes had always been on Stacey. It was only after Stacey disappeared that he started paying attention to her.

And even then, people whispered that Lina looked a lot like Stacey. That maybe Christian was only with her because she was a replacement.

But she had ignored the red flags. Christian was hard not to love. He pampered her, remembered the little things, spoiled her with gifts—everything but one thing: public affirmation of their relationship. He kept her in the shadows.

And then, when Stacey returned . . . it was like Lina became invisible.

"Let’s eat," Christian said cheerfully, trying to keep the mood light.

The soul inside Lina was practically salivating at the smell of the delicious food wafting through the air. Her stomach growled, but she kept her face carefully neutral.

"Come on, let’s eat. You must be starving," Christian said again as he gently took her hand and helped her to the table.

He served her plate personally, attentive and smiling—until his phone rang.

He checked it, and his expression shifted. Serious. Tense. Guilt flickered briefly across his face before he masked it and looked back at her.

"I’m sorry, Lina. Something urgent came up at the office. I need to head out—but I’ll be back soon. I promise."

Lina opened her mouth to speak, but he was already rushing toward the door.

"I’ll make it up to you," he said over his shoulder. "I swear."

Click.

The door shut. freewёbnoνel-com

Lina stared at the empty seat across the table. Any other woman might’ve crumbled under the weight of loneliness and betrayal—because of course Christian was going to see Stacey.

The original Lina probably cried alone at that table.

But the new Lina? She grabbed the fork and started digging in like a starved soldier after war. The food was divine and she wasn’t about to let Christian’s absence ruin her feast.

If nothing else, she was going to enjoy this delicious meal—and maybe start figuring out what kind of game she’d really been dropped into.

Because one thing was clear: She would come out of this with a perfect score and erase the shameful death and humiliating failure of her first attempt.

There couldn’t be anything more important than that.

After nearly thirty minutes of devouring the meal, Lina leaned back in her chair, letting out a soft burp. She patted her stomach, satisfied, and stretched out lazily on the couch to rest before Round Two.

Just as she was beginning to relax, her phone chimed.

She sighed and checked the screen.

Of course. Stacey.

A new photo popped up—Christian behind the wheel, driving. He looked carefree and content, a soft smile on his face as the streetlight filtered through the windshield. His expression was gentle, peaceful even . . . not the face of a man who just left a grieving woman alone after a traumatic loss of their child.

Lina narrowed her eyes.

Did he even know Stacey was taking pictures of him and sending them to her? Probably not.

A message followed the photo:

[I heard you were discharged from the hospital. And that your child is dead. Probably for the best, though—Christian and I are expecting our first child together. You wouldn’t want to be a mistress, and your child a bastard, right?]

There it was. The real poison. Not subtle. Not accidental.

Stacey wasn’t just a third party intruder to their life, who went back after she left and expected that the world still revolved around her—she was a saboteur. A psychological minefield.

No wonder the original Lina had spiraled into depression and desperation. No wonder she lost everything.

This Stacey didn’t just flirt—she edged. She twisted the knife.

But the current Lina didn’t react. Not outwardly. She simply blocked the number with a calm, practiced hand and tossed the phone aside.

Let her scream into the void.

Emotionally, Lina felt the tremors—rage, confusion, grief—but she didn’t let them rise. She kept herself grounded. Focused. Her mind was calm, steady, like a seasoned strategist surveying the battlefield.

It had taken years of gaming, dying, retrying, and adapting to master this level of emotional control.

This chapter is updat𝙚d by f(r)eew𝒆bn(o)vel.com