Daily Life of a Transmigrating Villain

As the night embraced the hotel's parking lot, a Ferrari, gleaming under the moon's caress, skidded to a halt.

Its tires screeched, leaving a smoky trail on the tarmac as the doors burst open with a flourish.

A man emerged from the driver's seat, his black hair dancing in the night breeze.

He was dressed simply in a white shirt and black pants, a coat nonchalantly draped over one shoulder.

He strode to the passenger side with purpose and grace, pulling open the door as he announced, "We've arrived, Young Miss."

His words confirmed his subordinate status to the woman seated in the front seat.

As the luxurious car's door swung open, it revealed an interior crafted with exquisite wooden accents. Hidden behind those fine details was a beauty seated inside. Her legs gracefully extended out before her pink heels touched the ground. Stepping out of the car, she remarked nonchalantly, "I already told Dad that it's good he's getting married."

Her tone was indifferent, her gaze hard and scrutinizing. Her face was a canvas of subtle emotions—her eyebrows slightly raised in curiosity and her lips pursed in contemplation.

She looked towards the hotel where tonight's wedding—a union she had no personal stake in—was taking place.

Her eyes scanned the building, betraying a flicker of hesitation before she steeled herself to enter and face the man she had known for over five years and who now was just another stranger.

Not that she cared about him before nor today.

Through the same corridor, a line of servants stood at attention, each holding a tray.

The air was thick with the scent of some pungent liquid that they were sprinkling, causing the man's brow to furrow as he thought, 'Why do I have this uneasy feeling?'

As a war veteran whose instincts had saved him time and again since he was a mere child thrown into battle, he had learned to trust these gut feelings.

Now, serving as a bodyguard for a lady of high standing, his senses were tingling once more, signaling that something was amiss.

His sharp eyes scanned the servants' faces, noting their oblivious expressions to whatever substance they were handling. Turning to the woman, he suggested cautiously, "Young Miss, perhaps you should go ahead. I need to check on something; I'll be right behind you."

Amelia's gaze was locked on the grand banner that displayed the bride and groom's names—Demien Raphael and Emilia. Her expression turned icy at the sight of the bride's name, identical to her own.

"Do whatever you want" Ignoring the man's advice, she strode into the venue determined to uncover the day's unfolding drama.

For five years, she had postponed her arranged marriage to the sole heir of Raphael Industries, wanting to make her mark on her own terms rather than be overshadowed by a business magnate husband.

Yet now, news of Demien's sudden wedding to another had reached her ears, stirring a storm of emotions and suspicions.

Was it possible that he had been leading a double life all this while?

Or had Damien already prepared a bride with her name as an alternative just to get her attention?

As the silhouette of the woman faded into the distance, Edward shifted his intense gaze from her to the line of servants arrayed before him.

His eyes finally settled on the figure at the forefront - a middle-aged man clad in a butler's attire. The air around Edward grew tense as he loosened his tie and strode towards the butler, his expression turning icy.

---

"Kughh!? Who are you?!" gasped the man in the butler outfit, his back pressed against the wall of a compact room designed for servants, a space far removed from the scrutiny of the outside individuals.

Edward's iron grip encircled the butler's neck, his fingers pressing into flesh.

"Agh!" The butler's legs dangled and twitched in panic as he stared into Edward's eyes, which were as sharp as shards of glass.

"Tell me what was in that liquid," Edward demanded, his voice low and menacing. The grip tightened, and a subtle cracking sound filled the room as Edward's arm muscles bulged with exerted strength.

"Ugh, it w--as ho--ly w--ater?!" The butler's words were choked and disjointed; his eyes rolled back, revealing whites tinged with fear. He was teetering on the edge of consciousness, the suffocating pain clouding his mind and threatening to snap his neck.

Edward's gaze was unyielding as he watched the butler's eyes, which remained fixed until his struggling legs finally gave out.

Releasing his grip, Edward let the butler's body slump to the ground lifelessly. His gaze then drifted towards the window, ensuring they were still shielded from prying eyes, before returning to the bottle in his hand.

'Could it be poison?' Edward pondered silently. His intuition was a honed blade; if it hinted at danger, there was likely something amiss.

He studied the bottle for a moment longer before uncapping it and tilting it to his lips, swallowing the liquid in one determined gulp leaving behind a salty and bitter taste in his mouth.

Poison was the least of his concerns; since childhood, he had been conditioned to be immune to all toxins.

If there was indeed something wrong with this liquid, its effect on his body would guide his next move.

If malice lurked in the shadows of this whole event then Edward suspected it might be the work of Damien Raphael's enemies.

And truth be told, Edward harbored no fondness for Damien.

That man's reputation was tarnished in Edward's eyes, marred by years of unsavory deeds.

Edward was well aware of how Damien had pursued Amelia with relentless efforts for two years and after facing rejection, Damien resorted to underhanded tactics, such as indirectly targeting her business and orchestrating several other schemes.

If not for the explicit orders from Amelia's father, Edward would not have found himself entangled in today's events and even brought Amelia here.

'I hope it wasn't you, Damien Raphael, or else...' Edward's thoughts trailed off as he turned towards the imposing building. Adjusting his tie with a swift motion and donning his coat with an air of resolve, he opened the door.

With every step he took towards the building, his resolve hardened—a resolve that might just seal the fate of the Raphaels' future heir.