Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate - Chapter 71

Chapter 71: Closed ends (3)
Celia refused to accept this.

Her entire body burned with indignation, her nails pressing so hard into her palms that they threatened to break skin. How dare this woman stand before her, acting as though she held the moral high ground? How dare she speak as though Celia had been the one clinging to Damien, as though she had been desperate for this engagement?

No, that wasn’t how this worked. That wasn’t what had happened.

“You expect me to believe that?” Celia’s voice was sharp, her words slicing through the tension like a blade. “You expect me to believe that this was Damien’s decision?”

Vivienne simply smiled. A slow, elegant curve of her lips, as if Celia’s anger amused her.

Celia hated it.

“You did this,” Celia accused, her tone colder now. “This was your doing, wasn’t it? You’ve always hated me. You’ve always resented this engagement. I wouldn’t be surprised if you spent years trying to manipulate Damien into doing exactly this.”

Vivienne tilted her head slightly, watching Celia the way one might watch a child throwing a tantrum.

Celia pushed forward, voice steady despite the fury crawling beneath her skin. “You never cared about him, did you?” she hissed. “If you did, you wouldn’t have let him make this mistake. You would have stopped him. But you didn’t, because this was exactly what you wanted.”

Vivienne let out a soft laugh.

It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t defensive. It was genuine, light, as though Celia had just said something ridiculous.

And then, still smiling, Vivienne crushed her with class.

“My dear Celia,” she said smoothly, voice rich with condescension. “You think far too highly of yourself.”

Celia’s breath hitched, her body going rigid at those words.

Vivienne took another step closer, her emerald eyes gleaming with a knowing amusement. “You think that I would waste years of my life manipulating my son just to get rid of you?” She exhaled softly, shaking her head. “Oh, Celia, no. You were never that important.”

Celia stiffened, her fingers twitching at her sides.

Not that important?

Vivienne continued, each word like a precise, well-placed dagger. “I never approved of you. That much is true. I never wanted you as my son’s fiancée.”

Vivienne’s gaze never wavered, her expression the very picture of composed superiority. She was a woman born into power, shaped by it, draped in it like a second skin. There was no hesitation in her words, no false pretense.

“You were never that important,” she repeated, as if Celia had misheard the first time. As if she wanted the words to sink in, fully, completely.

Celia’s fingers twitched at her sides, rage pulsing through her veins, but Vivienne wasn’t done.

“Your lineage, your family—just like your father and mother—are beneath mine.” Her voice was calm, even, but the way she said it carried a finality that made Celia’s chest tighten. “So tell me, Celia, why would I waste a single moment of my life scheming against you?”

The words were casual, dismissive, yet they cut deeply.

Celia had heard plenty of people speak of their superiority before. She herself had done the same countless times. But to be on the receiving end of it—to be spoken to like she was nothing more than a pest, a fleeting inconvenience—it sent a boiling frustration crashing through her, wave after wave.

Vivienne exhaled lightly, shaking her head as if indulging a particularly dull conversation. “The only reason I ever tolerated your presence was because of my son.”

She took a step forward, too close, her movements slow and deliberate.

“I didn’t want him to be sad,” she murmured, voice softer now, almost thoughtful. “That’s the only reason I let this ridiculous engagement last as long as it did.”

Then, with practiced grace, she lifted a manicured hand and placed it gently on Celia’s shoulder.

A touch so light, so delicate, yet suffocating all the same.

Vivienne pressed in slightly, leaning toward her, her lips just inches from Celia’s ear.

And then, in a voice so soft that only the two of them could hear, she whispered—

“But now that he’s free, Celia…”

She smiled.

“You will not come here again.”

Celia stiffened, her entire body rigid under Vivienne’s touch.

“If you show up once more in front of my house,” Vivienne continued, still smiling, still immaculate, “I will make sure that someone will get… inconvenienced.”

Celia’s breath hitched.

Vivienne leaned back, her emerald eyes gleaming with something dark, something undeniable.

It wasn’t a threat.

It was a promise.

Celia’s hands shook, rage clawing at her insides, her teeth grinding together so tightly she thought she might break them.

But she couldn’t do anything.

Not here.

Not now.

She could only stand there, glaring at Vivienne Elford, her entire body trembling from frustration, from sheer, utter helplessness.

Celia turned on her heel and walked back to the car, each step precise, measured—controlled.

She refused to let Vivienne see even a single crack in her composure.

The moment she slid into the back seat, the door shutting with a soft click, the control shattered.

Her hands shook, fists clenching so tightly against her lap that her nails dug into her own skin. Every muscle in her body was coiled, trembling with an anger so vicious, so all-consuming, that she barely even registered the driver’s voice.

“Miss Everwyn, are we—”

“Drive.”

Her voice came out strained, clipped, and the driver knew better than to question her. The car pulled away from the estate, the Elford mansion growing smaller in the distance.

But Celia could still feel it.

That house. That family.

Vivienne’s voice still lingered in her ears. Her smile, that unshakable, untouchable smile, played over and over in her mind, driving her further into her rage.

Celia exhaled sharply, her hands twitching against the seat before she slammed her fist against the door, the sharp thud of impact echoing through the car.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to rip that perfect, polished expression off Vivienne’s smug face.

And Damien—that pathetic bastard—

Celia’s teeth gritted together so tightly it hurt.

‘You think you can just walk away from me?’

Her nails dug deeper into her palms, but the pain was nothing compared to the burning humiliation searing through her.

She had never—never—been dismissed like this.

Treated like she was beneath someone.

Reduced to nothing.

She had ruled over Damien for years, crushed him beneath her words, bent him into whatever shape she pleased.

And now?

That spineless worm had dared to throw her away.

And Vivienne had dared to speak to her like she was a pest.

A cold, hollow laugh escaped her lips, sharp and bitter.

‘Fine.’

If they wanted to cast her aside, if they wanted to see her as worthless, as powerless, as someone who could just be removed like an inconvenience—

Then she would make sure they paid for it.

All of them.

Vivienne Elford, with her arrogant, self-assured elegance—she would break that woman.

And Damien.

Damien, that weak, pathetic fool who had always belonged beneath her—

She would ensure that whatever fate awaited her, his would be worse.

Her lips curled into a silent, dark smirk, her fingers finally stilling against her lap.

‘You two have no idea what you’ve just done.’

*****

Celia sat in her room, staring at her reflection in the vanity mirror, but she wasn’t really seeing herself. Her mind was still trapped in the suffocating aftermath of her encounter with Vivienne Elford, replaying each word, each infuriating glance, each moment she had been forced to endure.

Her fingers tightened around the armrest of her chair. She had spent the entire car ride back seething, her emotions barely contained, but now that she was alone, the weight of it all pressed down on her like a vice.

And yet, beneath all the fury, beneath the sharp, simmering humiliation, there was a singular, undeniable truth.

She had lost today.

The thought sent a bitter taste crawling up her throat, but she forced it down.

This wasn’t over.

This was never over.

A sharp knock sounded against her door before it swung open.

Victor Everwyn stepped inside, his presence filling the room with an air of restrained frustration. His gaze was dark, calculating, his lips pressed into a thin line as he closed the door behind him.

Celia turned slightly, but she didn’t rise. She simply met his gaze through the mirror, waiting.

Victor didn’t waste time. “Well?” His voice was clipped, his patience already frayed. “What happened?”

Celia inhaled slowly, keeping her tone level. “I couldn’t meet with Damien.”

Her father’s jaw tightened.

“I was stopped at the gates,” she continued, “the guards refused to let me in. I demanded to see Dominic, but they wouldn’t allow that either.”

Victor exhaled through his nose, the tension in his shoulders visibly increasing. He stepped further into the room, his fingers moving to adjust his cuffs, a habit he only displayed when he was trying to contain his irritation.

“So you spoke to no one?” he pressed, voice low.

Celia hesitated, just briefly.

“I spoke to Vivienne Elford.”

Victor’s gaze sharpened instantly.

Celia turned fully to face him now, crossing her legs with a practiced elegance that belied the boiling anger beneath her skin. “She made it clear that I am no longer welcome near Damien. That the engagement is over, and I have no place in their affairs anymore.”

Victor was silent for a long moment, processing this.

His fingers twitched slightly at his sides, but his face remained carefully composed.

Then, with a slow, measured breath, he spoke. “As expected,” he muttered. “Vivienne never approved of this engagement to begin with.”

Celia scoffed, bitterness creeping into her tone. “She spoke as if I were an insect beneath her shoe.”

Victor’s eyes darkened at that. “Of course she did. She’s an Elford.”

Silence hung between them, thick and heavy.

Then, Victor’s gaze flickered toward Celia, and his tone shifted.

“The school year begins next week, doesn’t it?”

Celia’s fingers twitched slightly against her lap, but she nodded. “Yes.”

Victor exhaled, running a hand through his hair before turning back toward her fully.

“Then deal with this matter when he is at school.”

Celia’s expression remained unreadable, but inside, she felt a flicker of satisfaction.

Of course.

Of course, this was how she would fix this.

Damien may have been locked away in that mansion now, surrounded by his precious family, protected behind their walls—

But school was different.

At school, they were equals. At school, he could not run from her.

Celia lifted her chin slightly, her emerald gaze steady.

“I will,” she murmured, voice smooth, deliberate. “Leave it to me.”

Victor studied her for a moment longer, as if ensuring she had truly understood the weight of this task.

Then, with a small, approving nod, he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Celia remained seated, fingers slowly uncurling against her lap.

She had a plan now.

She would face Damien at school.

And when she did—

He would not be able to escape her again.