Villainess.exe-Chapter 60: The True Face

[Evelina’s POV—Vinter Corporation—Two Weeks Later]

Two weeks.

That was how long it took for the Vinter Corporation to stop whispering about me and start pretending I’d always been there.

I joined as a normal employee—on paper.

In reality? I worked under the president himself.

Theo Vinter’s team.

Just like he promised, he kept me close. Too close. My desk sat within his sightline, my schedule synced with his, my presence folded neatly into his daily routine like something he’d always planned for. No one questioned it. No one dared.

And I didn’t mind.

Until—"Long time no see, sister."

The voice slid into my spine like a blade wrapped in silk.

I froze.

Slowly, I looked up.

Sera Hartgrave stood a few steps away, dressed in pristine white, hair perfectly arranged, smile curved just enough to look warm to outsiders.

But I saw it.

The crack.

The thing she’d always hidden too well.

"What are you—" I started.

She cut me off immediately, tilting her head, smile deepening.

"What am I doing here?" she echoed lightly. "Isn’t that obvious?"

Her eyes flicked briefly around the office—at the glass walls, the muted luxury, and the way people pretended not to watch us.

"Of course I came to see you, sister."

A smirk touched her lips.

Not the innocent one.

The real one. My fingers curled slowly against my desk.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

I glanced instinctively toward the empty space where the system usually appeared—where warnings bloomed, where danger announced itself with cold blue text.

Nothing.

No alerts.

No flags.

No interference.

That unsettled me more than any flashing warning ever had. If there were danger, the system would have reacted.

Unless—this wasn’t considered danger.

Or worse.

Unless this was intended.

Sera stepped closer, her heels clicking softly against the floor, each step measured and deliberate. She lowered her voice just enough that only I could hear.

"We need to talk."

I studied her face—really studied it. The perfect composure. The calm. The confidence.

"You don’t belong here," I said quietly.

She smiled wider. "Neither do you. Yet here we both are."

My gaze sharpened. "Say what you want."

"Oh, I will," she replied softly. "But not here."

Her eyes flicked meaningfully toward Theo’s office—toward the place where power lived and listened.

"Don’t worry," she added, her voice almost kind. "I won’t steal you for long. After all..."

She leaned in just enough for her whisper to graze my ear.

"...this place already owns you."

I straightened slowly, meeting her gaze head-on.

"Be careful," I said coldly. "You’re standing very close to something that bites."

Sera laughed—quiet, breathy.

"I know," she replied. "That’s exactly why I came."

She stepped back, her smile resetting into something harmless just as footsteps approached nearby.

"Lunch?" she suggested lightly, like a sister making amends. "For old time’s sake."

Old time’s sake.

The phrase tasted like poison. I didn’t answer immediately. Because for the first time since I entered Vinter Corporation, I felt it—not Theo’s presence.

Not the system’s pressure.

But a different kind of threat.

One that smiled.

One that knew me.

One that had never needed the system to hurt me before.

And this time?

The system was silent.

Which meant whatever game Sera Hartgrave was playing—it was allowed. And that terrified me far more than if it hadn’t been.

***

[Evelina’s POV—Coffee Shop Near Vinter Corporation—Continuation]

The café was quiet in the way expensive places always were. Soft jazz. Low murmurs. Polished wood tables that absorbed secrets instead of echoing them. The kind of place where confessions dissolved into foam and sugar.

Sera stirred her coffee slowly.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

She took a sip, eyes lowering as if savoring the bitterness.

I didn’t touch mine.

"What do you want?" I asked plainly.

She paused. Then sighed—soft, practiced, tragic.

"Father locked himself in his study," she said gently. "Mother barely leaves her room anymore. The house is... silent."

Her eyes lifted to mine, glossy but sharp underneath.

"It doesn’t feel like the Hartgrave mansion anymore," she continued. "It feels like a haunted house pretending to be rich."

I tilted my head. "And?"

Her fingers tightened around the cup.

"So what do you want me to do?" I asked calmly. "Go back and comfort them? Convince them everything’s fine? Or..."

I leaned back slightly.

"...are you here for something else?"

That did it.

The mask slipped.

Just a little. Sera’s lips curved—not sweetly this time. Not gentle.

Venomous.

"You know," she said softly, "I always despised you, Sister."

Ah.

There it is.

"Not the childish kind of jealousy," she continued, her eyes darkening. "The kind where I truly wished you were dead."

She looked straight at me, lips curling.

"When I entered the Hartgrave household as your nanny’s daughter," she said softly, "I used to stare at everything you had."

Her gaze drifted, as if replaying old memories.

"The rich family. The grand house. Brothers who would bring you whatever you wanted without you even asking."

Her smile sharpened.

"The diamond necklace. The dresses. Every single thing you wore—I wanted it to be mine." Then she tilted her head, eyes glinting with something ugly. "But one thing shocked me, sister..."

A slow smirk spread across her lips.

"I never knew rich people could be so foolish. An Idiot."

The words sank like poison.

"I thought," she went on lazily, "that running a massive business meant they were intelligent. Calculating. Untouchable."

She let out a soft laugh.

"But it turns out... they’re incredibly stupid when it comes to emotions."

Her eyes locked onto mine.

"It was surprisingly easy to catch their attention," she said. "Even easier to replace you."

The words landed clean.

Sharp.

Intentional.

And unapologetically cruel. I didn’t react. No gasp. No anger. No disbelief. I let the silence stretch. She watched my face closely, waiting—anticipating something. Shock. Pain. Denial. Even tears.

She got none.

Instead, I caught it.

The smallest flinch in her posture. The split second where her confidence cracked.

I smirked.

"And... did you really think I didn’t know any of this, Sera?" I said calmly. "I’ve always known your true face."

Her eyes widened—just a fraction.

"So stop pretending you’re revealing some grand secret," I continued, my voice flat, uninterested. "And get to the damn business."

she sighed, voice lowering, "when you stepped aside... when you cut ties with the family..." Her brows furrowed. "...I should’ve been happy."

She laughed under her breath, sharp and humorless.

"But I’m not."

I smiled faintly.

"Why?" I prompted.

Her eyes flashed.

"Because even when you’re gone," she snapped, "you’re still there."

Ah.

Bingo.

"Father and Arden," she continued, bitterness seeping into every word, "they keep talking about you. About how the business was always meant for you. How you were capable. How you were suited."

Her nails pressed into the porcelain cup.

"They want to hand everything to you," she hissed. "The entire Hartgrave Corporation."

I couldn’t stop it.

I smirked.

Slow.

Knowing.

Satisfied.

"So that’s it," I said lightly. "You’re here for money."

Her eyes narrowed. "Don’t belittle it."

"I’m clarifying," I replied calmly.

She inhaled sharply, then leaned forward, dropping her voice to a whisper soaked in poison.

"You will receive a letter soon," she said. "A court letter."

My smile widened. "It will officially announce that Hartgrave Corporation is to be transferred to you."

She stared at me—hard.

"And when it arrives," she continued coldly, "I want you to reject it."

I raised a brow.

"You stepped out of the family," she said. "So take no rights to the business either."

There it was.

Not concern.

Not guilt.

Not closure.

Fear.

Fear that even without a name, without a home, without a place—I still stood above her.

I set my cup down gently.

"You really are showing your true colors today," I said pleasantly.

She stiffened. "Don’t act smug."

"Oh, I will," I replied, leaning forward just enough for her to feel it. "Because this is the first honest conversation we’ve ever had."

Her jaw tightened.

"You hate me," I continued calmly. "Not because I hurt you. Not because I wronged you."

I met her eyes.

"But because no matter what you do... you can’t replace me."

Her breath caught.

"And now," I added softly, "you’re terrified that even as a ghost—I still own everything you want."

The café felt colder. Sera straightened, regaining composure with effort.

"Reject the letter," she repeated. "That’s all I’m asking."

I tilted my head, smile sharp as glass. "And if I don’t?"

Her eyes flickered.

Just for a second.

Then she smiled too.

"I suppose," she said sweetly, "we’ll see how far you can go without a family backing you."

I stood.

Slowly.

Gracefully.

"You misunderstand something, sister," I said, gathering my coat. "I already walked away from Hartgraves." I leaned in close enough that only she could hear.

"I don’t need your family anymore." I straightened, a smile returning—cool, effortless. "And as for the letter?"

I paused.

"We’ll see how generous I’m feeling."

I turned and walked out.

Behind me, Sera Hartgrave sat frozen at the table—coffee untouched, smile cracked—finally realizing that she hadn’t come to threaten me.

She had come to beg.

And she hated herself for it.