Villainess.exe-Chapter 57: Not Every Daughter Is a Princess

[Evelina’s POV—Vinter Mansion—The Room With the Locked Door]

The door closed behind us with a soft, deliberate click.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Final.

The kind of sound that said the world outside could burn—and whatever happened next would stay contained in this room. Theo’s weight leaned heavier into me the moment the latch settled. Not collapsing—refusing to. As if he had decided falling was not an option until Alina was safe.

Rowan moved first.

"Clear the room," he ordered quietly.

The guards obeyed without question. Curtains drawn. Windows checked. The hallway was sealed. Someone locked the door from the inside. Another set a chair beneath the handle—not because the lock wasn’t enough, but because Theo Vinter’s life had taught everyone that enough was never enough.

I guided Theo to the bed.

"Sit," I said softly, not commanding—asking.

He obeyed.

That alone was terrifying.

Alina refused to let go. Her small fingers were fisted in his blood-soaked shirt, knuckles white, breathing uneven. I climbed onto the bed beside them, gently prying her loose just enough to pull her into my arms.

"Hey," I murmured, brushing her hair back. "You’re safe now."

She shook her head violently, curls sticking to her tear-damp cheeks.

"They were loud," she whispered, voice breaking. "They broke the glass. Uncle told me not to scream. I didn’t scream."

Something inside my chest folded in on itself.

"You did good," I said softly, lowering myself to her level. "You did very well."

Her fingers tightened in my sleeve.

Beside us, Theo swayed.

His breath was shallow now, lashes fluttering as exhaustion finally clawed its way in. Blood darkened the edge of his shirt.

"Rowan..." I said, Sharper this time. "We need a doctor."

He stepped forward, asking. "Shall we take him to the hospital, miss?"

"No—" Theo’s voice cut through the room, hoarse but iron-hard. "No hospital."

I turned to him. "But—"

"He planned this," he forced out. "He sent many today... that means they planned beyond tonight. If I move, if I surface publicly—" His jaw clenched. "He’ll come for her."

He?

My gaze flicked to Alina.

Understanding settled like a blade between my ribs.

I exhaled once. Then nodded. "Rowan," I said, already moving, "grab the nearest doctor you can trust. Bring him here. Now."

Rowan didn’t question it. He was gone within seconds, two guards on his heels.

Silence followed—thick, dangerous. I crouched again, gentling my voice. "Until then... let me disinfect you, alright?"

Theo looked at me through half-lidded eyes, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth despite the blood, the pain, and the chaos.

"Babe..." he murmured. "I really like the way you’re worried—"

"It is not the time to flirt," I said flatly. "Your niece is right here."

The smile faded.

"Alright. Then, check her first," he said instead, immediately. Unquestioning.

I turned to Alina, rolling up her sleeves carefully. "Are you hurt anywhere, sweetheart?"

She shook her head, hiccups catching in her chest. "No... I-I’m good, Aunty."

"You were very brave," I said, brushing her hair back gently. "Braver than most adults."

Her hiccups slowed. She watched me like I was something solid in a world that had just shattered. Only then did I stand and face Theo.

"Now," I said quietly, "it’s your turn."

He smiled faintly.

I reached for his sleeve, and Theo flinched.

Not from pain.

From reflex.

It was immediate—his shoulders tightened, muscles locking as if expecting an attack. His gaze sharpened, tracking my hand, my position, the door, and the corners of the room. His body was still half-trapped in the fight.

I stopped.

Slowly lifted my eyes to his.

"It’s me," I said quietly. "You’re safe."

His breath stuttered.

A long second passed. Then—just barely—his shoulders eased.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Didn’t mean—"

"I know," I said. "You don’t have to explain."

Carefully, deliberately, I slid his jacket off his shoulders. He didn’t resist—but he didn’t relax either. Not fully. The fabric peeled away, revealing skin marred with bruises, cuts, and old scars layered over newer ones. This wasn’t one bad night.

I reached for the hem of his blood-soaked shirt, pausing long enough for him to see the movement—so nothing surprised him.

"Alright?" I asked.

He nodded once.

I lifted the shirt slowly, inch by inch, careful not to jostle him. His skin was warm under my fingers—too warm. Feverish. Alive in a way that made the blood everywhere feel obscene.

When the shirt came free, he exhaled shakily.

Not relief.

Trust.

I pressed gauze gently against a wound near his ribs. He hissed softly—but didn’t pull away.

"Breathe," I murmured. "I’ve got you."

His jaw clenched. "I’m not used to someone saying that and meaning it."

"I do," I replied without looking up.

Alina shifted between us, already half-asleep, small fingers brushing his arm. Instinctively, Theo angled his body toward her, shielding her even while injured.

I noticed.

He noticed that I noticed.

Something unspoken passed between us—raw, quiet, and dangerous. For the first time, Theo Vinter wasn’t the man who burned the world.

He was the man who survived it.

And for reasons I didn’t fully understand yet, I was already standing inside his fire—hands steady, movements precise—refusing to step back.

The bond wasn’t loud.

It didn’t roar or burn.

It settled.

Quiet. Certain.

And that terrified me more than gunfire ever could. I cleaned the blood from his skin carefully, my fingers brushing over muscle gone tight beneath the strain. The room smelled of antiseptic and iron.

"Can I ask who sent the assassins?" I said, keeping my voice even.

Theo didn’t answer right away. His gaze slid past me—to the far wall, to shadows that didn’t exist, to memories that clearly did.

Then, calmly, almost absently, he said, "My brother."

My hand didn’t stop. The cotton didn’t pause against his skin. In some people’s world, bad blood was common. Brothers turned enemies. Inheritance disputes. Power plays dressed up as loyalty.

But something didn’t fit.

"Your brother wants you dead?" I asked quietly.

For the first time, Theo hesitated. Just a second. Barely visible.

Then his jaw tightened.

"No."

The word landed heavier than a gunshot. I looked up. His eyes weren’t on me.

They were on Alina—curled up on him, her small fingers wrapped around his sleeves, lashes resting softly against her cheeks. Completely asleep. Completely unguarded.

"He wants to kill her."

The world tilted. My hands stilled.

"What...?" The word slipped out before I could stop it.

Theo exhaled slowly, then smiled. Not the charming one. Not the dangerous one. This smile was hollow. Cracked. Full of things that never healed.

"Not every daughter is a daddy’s princess, babe."

My throat went dry.

He said nothing more than that. The silence stretched—thick, suffocating, heavy with things neither of us dared to name. I followed his gaze again, my eyes settling on Alina.

Six years old.

Too small to carry secrets. Too young to understand bloodlines and power and the way sins were inherited like titles.

I had known—of course I had—that not every daughter was a daddy’s princess. But not every father sent assassins after a six-year-old.

What could a child this small have done to deserve death at her own father’s hands?

Nothing.

And that truth was somehow worse.

The question burned at the back of my throat, sharp and dangerous. Why? I wanted to ask. I wanted to demand answers, to tear into the logic of a world that made monsters out of fathers and targets out of children.

But I didn’t.

Because this was his family.

And I had no right—no authority—to interfere in a war written in blood long before I ever stepped into his life.

Across the room, Alina shifted in her sleep. Just a small movement. A sigh. Nothing more.

Theo’s body reacted instantly.

Every muscle locked. His breath stilled. His hand twitched, already halfway toward a weapon that wasn’t there. Instinct snapped into place so fast it was terrifying.

A protector wired by violence.

A shield forged by loss. And in that single, unguarded moment, I understood.

This wasn’t just a mafia war. This wasn’t about territory, money, or power dressed up as legacy. This was a man standing alone between a child and a bloodline that had decided she should never have been born.

Theo Vinter wasn’t fighting for dominance.

He was fighting erasure.

And suddenly, a thought slipped into my mind—unwanted, sharp, unsettling.

What kind of life did the Creator choose for him? Was this why he was deleted as the male lead?

Because heroes were allowed redemption.

But men like Theo were only allowed survival—temporary, conditional, always paid for in blood.

I swallowed.

Did I do the right thing... choosing this route of the game? Because if this—this—was only the beginning of the Cursed Bond’s activation...

Then what awaited us in the coming days?

More blood?

More nights where I would watch him bleed and still stand between monsters and innocence?

Theo shifted slightly, wincing as pain caught up with him again. His eyes flicked to me, sharp despite the exhaustion.

"You’re thinking too loud," he murmured.

I met his gaze.

"For once," I said quietly, "I wish I wasn’t."

His mouth curved faintly—not a smile, not really. "Welcome to my world, babe. But remember this...no matter how dangerous my world is...you’re not getting away from me."

And in that moment, I realized something far more terrifying than the assassins.

I wasn’t just bound to Theo Vinter.

I was bound to his war. And the curse hadn’t even fully awakened yet.