Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate-Chapter 32: Damien Elford without facade (2)

"I am Damien Elford."

His blue eyes gleamed, cold yet alive with something almost wicked.

"Though..." He exhaled, running a lazy hand through his wet hair. "The Damien who no longer bothers to put up a facade."

And seeing that, Elysia couldn't make sense of this.

This situation.

This man.

The Damien Elford she had known—spoiled, weak, self-indulgent—would never speak like this. Would never look at her like this. Would never hold himself with such effortless control.

Yet here he was.

And for the first time in years, she felt something close to... shaken.

She hated that feeling.

Elysia remained silent, her lips pressed into a firm line, willing herself to suppress the unfamiliar unease creeping into her chest.

But then—

Damien moved.

Slowly. Deliberately.

His hand rose, fingers brushing against her chin, tilting it upward with a gentle yet undeniable force.

She stiffened.

Her body—trained, honed, disciplined to perfection—should have reacted. Should have withdrawn. Should have resisted.

And yet... she didn't.

Because for some reason, she couldn't.

Her green eyes were forced to meet his.

Blue. Piercing.

"Now... answer me." His voice dropped lower, smooth yet commanding. "Did I not tell you not to enter?"

Looking at him this close—being made to hold his gaze—

She felt strange.

Something flickered in her chest, something unidentifiable, something foreign.

What was this feeling?

It was not intimidation. She had faced monsters, fought battles, stood before far more terrifying figures than him.

And yet—

This felt different.

Damien's fingers remained on her chin, his touch barely there yet impossible to ignore.

"Well?" he prompted.

"You did."

A smirk tugged at his lips, but his grip didn't waver.

"'You' did?" His voice was teasing, yet there was something in his tone that demanded her attention. His thumb ghosted over her skin, not in a caress, but in a way that forced awareness. "Who are you calling 'you'?"

Elysia's breath hitched—just slightly.

She had spoken carelessly. Too casually.

She had spent years dealing with a man who had never deserved his title, who had never carried the presence of a true master. A man so spineless, so utterly unworthy, that it had become second nature to address him without the reverence his name should have commanded.

But now—

This was different.

This was not a man who would allow such disrespect.

She lowered her gaze, correcting herself immediately.

"I apologize, young master."

Damien hummed.

And Elysia?

She still did not know what this feeling in her chest was.

Damien's smirk didn't fade. If anything, it deepened, his blue eyes gleaming with quiet amusement.

But he wasn't done yet.

"Did I not tell you not to enter?" he repeated, his voice as steady as before, though this time, there was a certain sharpness to it.

Elysia inhaled slowly, regaining her composure. She would not make the same mistake twice.

"You did, young master."

Damien tilted his head slightly, his damp black hair falling over his forehead. "Then why did you enter?"

She did not hesitate. "I apologize for acting on my own."

Her words were precise, spoken without emotion. A simple admission of fault.

"I should have remained outside," she continued, her green eyes lowered. "And waited for you to come out on your own."

A soft chuckle rumbled in his throat. "Good."

Elysia remained still as he studied her, his expression unreadable. And then, slowly, his fingers traced along the edge of her chin, his touch neither forceful nor hesitant—just deliberate.

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"Then, do you know what happens when one makes a mistake?" he murmured.

She didn't answer immediately.

Not because she didn't know the answer—

But because, for the first time in a long while, she was uncertain of what he would say next.

Still, she met his gaze without flinching.

Silence stretched between them.

Until he answered for her.

"They get punished," he said smoothly, his thumb grazing just under her chin before letting his fingers trail away.

Elysia nodded once, accepting it.

"Then punish me, young master."

The words were simple. A duty. She was trained to obey, and punishment for mistakes was nothing new to her. She had been disciplined under the Elford family's strict rules for years.

Yet—

Damien only chuckled.

"Well... this time," he said lazily, his smirk returning, "I'm in a good mood."

His blue eyes glinted, something unreadable behind them.

"So I'll overlook it."

He leaned in slightly, just enough for her to catch the faint scent of fresh soap clinging to his skin.

"You should be grateful for that, Elysia."

His voice was teasing, but there was a weight behind his words that she could not ignore.

And for the first time in years, she felt something unfamiliar coil in her chest.

She did not understand this feeling.

It settled in her chest, unfamiliar, unwelcome. A tension that did not belong.

And yet—

She did not have the time to dwell on it.

Damien exhaled through his nose, a hint of amusement still lingering in his gaze. Then, with a casual wave of his hand, he dismissed the moment entirely.

"I'll get ready for the meal," he said.

Elysia blinked.

Her brow lifted ever so slightly—an unconscious reaction.

He knew?

Damien Elford had never remembered mealtime, let alone acknowledged it without being dragged from whatever filth-ridden mess he had buried himself in.

His smirk widened as he caught the subtle shift in her expression.

"Surprised?" he asked, a chuckle slipping past his lips.

Then he shook his head, almost to himself. "Come now, Elysia. This much was obvious, wasn't it?"

He spread his arms slightly, as if to gesture at the situation itself.

"For you to enter my room for no reason wouldn't make sense," he mused, his voice laced with amusement. "And at this hour, only one thing could happen."

His words were smooth, effortless—spoken as if he had always been this way.

And yet, to Elysia, this was another confirmation.

This was not the Damien Elford she knew.

"Yes," she finally answered, pushing away whatever strange thoughts had momentarily clouded her focus. "The Madam has sent me to inform you that dinner is ready."

Her voice was even, calm—back to the controlled tone she had perfected over the years.

Damien hummed. "How thoughtful of her."

Elysia did not comment.

"I'll join after I clothe myself," Damien said, his voice as casual as ever.

Elysia nodded. Without hesitation, she turned toward the wardrobe, her steps precise, practiced.

The heavy wooden doors creaked slightly as she pulled them open, revealing rows of neatly arranged suits, shirts, and vests—all expensive, all pristine, untouched by the man who owned them.

Her hands moved automatically, selecting what was appropriate for the occasion. A dark vest, a crisp white shirt, tailored trousers—clothes befitting an Elford. Clothes that he had never truly worn as they should be.

As she retrieved them, she heard Damien's voice behind her.

"What are yo—"

He stopped mid-sentence.

Then—

"Aha..."

A chuckle, light and almost amused, escaped him.

"Right..." He exhaled, shaking his head. "I used to make you do that, didn't I?"

Elysia remained silent, but she didn't need to respond.

He was right.

This had been a routine for years.

It had started as a command—one spoken with an air of arrogance, laziness, and the entitlement of a man who had never lifted a finger in his life.

"You do it."

That was all he had said the first time, shrugging as if the mere act of dressing himself was beneath him.

And because it was an order, she had obeyed.

Every morning, every evening—whenever the occasion called for it—she had wordlessly helped him dress, buttoning his shirts, adjusting his cuffs, ensuring his clothes sat properly against his frame.

It was a task she had despised.

Not because it was difficult, not because it was beneath her—

But because it had been him.

Because she had known, every time she fastened a button, every time she straightened a collar, that he did not deserve this level of service.

That he did not deserve anything.

And yet, she had done it.

Because that was her role.

Elysia turned, the set of clothes folded neatly in her hands. Her green eyes met his, calm and unreadable.

"These will do, young master," she stated.

"Good."