Erick was already halfway down the corridor when a hurried voice called out from behind him.
"Hey—wait! Damn it, Erick, slow down!"
He stopped and turned just in time to see a man jogging toward him, hands braced on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath.
"I swear," the man wheezed, "you walk like you're marching into battle even when you're off duty."
Erick slipped his hands into his pockets, his expression unreadable.
"Lieutenant Nickolas Tan," he said coolly. "If this isn't urgent, you could've called. And you might want to remember how to walk properly—like a soldier."
Nick straightened, rolling his eyes.
General Erickson Warton's right-hand man—and best friend since high school—Nickolas Tan was one of the most capable officers on base. Unlike Erick, whose father had been the nation's legendary Chief Marshal, Nick came from a middle-class military family. Loud, blunt, and unapologetically curious, he had always been the one to say what others wouldn't.
Nick inhaled deeply before blurting out,"I'm not here as your subordinate. I'm here as your friend. And I'll get straight to the point—annul your engagement to the La Roche heiress."
Erick blinked.
Then smirked.
"I didn't realise you felt that way about me, Nick. Unfortunately, I only see you as a friend."
He clapped Nick on the shoulder and turned to leave.
Nick's face darkened."Don't flatter yourself. I prefer women—with large breasts."
Erick chuckled faintly as Nick followed him.
"Then where did you hear about my engagement?" Erick asked. "Don't tell me the old man—"
Nick nodded vigorously."Your godfather practically announced it to the entire base. He even told me to start looking for a wife."
Erick sighed.
"But that's not the point," Nick continued, his tone dropping. "Have you actually looked into your fiancée? Her background? Her reputation?"
"I'll meet her myself," Erick replied calmly. "Why investigate rumours?"
Nick stopped walking.
"Because those rumours aren't harmless."
Erick turned.
Nick lowered his voice."Do you know what people call her?"
Erick's gaze sharpened."No."
"The Wicked Heiress of La Roche."
The words lingered heavily between them.
"They say she destroys people she dislikes. Schemes, manipulation, ruined reputations. A true villainess." Nick grimaced. "Even I felt chills hearing about her. As your friend, I'm telling you—stay away from that woman."
Erick studied Nick for a long moment.
Then he smiled.
"You know," he said quietly, "there's a saying—no one is the villain of their own story. Perhaps she has her reasons."
Nick stared at him in disbelief.
"Your morality is completely unsuited for a woman like her."
Erick stepped forward and patted Nick's shoulder.
"I appreciate your concern. But I trust my father's judgment."
Nick exhaled heavily."I knew you wouldn't listen unless you saw it for yourself."
"I'll be the judge," Erick replied.
---------------------
La Roche Mansion
The iron gates opened slowly.
Lethea stepped out of the car, her heels clicking softly against the marble.
Before her stood the La Roche Mansion—white pillars, neoclassical arches, a Victorian fountain crowned by a weeping angel. Water trickled endlessly into the basin below.
Home.
"It's… beautiful," she murmured.
In her previous life, she had taken all of this for granted. The luxury. The power. The people who bowed their heads for her sake.
Now, she felt only gratitude.
I wasted everything, she admitted silently. But this time… I will be happy.
Servants lined the hallway as she entered.
"Welcome back, Young Miss."
She smiled politely, shocking them.
Alfred Kurt—the butler—cleared his throat as he followed her upstairs.
"Your parents have left the country to attend to your sister. They won't be present for tomorrow's meeting."
He closed his eyes briefly, bracing himself.
In the past, this announcement would have ended in rage.
Instead, Lethea nodded.
"I understand."
Alfred froze.
She ascended the staircase calmly, memories replaying vividly—how she once screamed, smashed a vase, accused them of abandonment.
How small she had been.
Jealousy made me blind, she reflected coolly. I won't repeat that mistake.
Her lips curved faintly.
"Now," she thought, there's only one thing that matters.
Erick.
Alfred hesitated before asking,"Young Miss… are you truly alright?"
Lethea turned.
"I am."
She studied the butler closely. In her past life, Alfred had fed her resentment with quiet truths—information that had fueled her hatred. She wondered what fate had done with him after she was cast out.
"Please tell my parents not to worry," she said softly. "I can take care of myself."
Alfred nodded, stunned.
"Old Master wishes to see you in his office."
"I'll come once I'm presentable."
As she entered her room, Lethea stood before the mirror.
Young. Untouched. Dangerous.
Her reflection smiled back—sweet, controlled, deliberate.
"Erickson Warton," she whispered, fingers brushing her lips.
"This time… I won't destroy you."
Her eyes darkened.
"I'll own you."