As I move to step out of the sleek car, my gaze catches on Mr. Lozero, standing by the gate. His expression is conflicted—torn between protecting his daughter from a man he knows doesn't love her and the promise of expanding his already sprawling business empire.
Greed binds us all.
I give him a moment, waiting to see if he'll offer any words of caution—something to shield his precious daughter—but I already know the answer. You don't rise to power by nurturing everyone's feelings; you get there by being ruthless. And, not to boast, but I understand that better than most.
When Mr. Lozero—this body's father—gives me a small, polite smile without a word, I can't say I'm shocked. Maybe the original Faye would've felt betrayed, but I expected this. If Papa Lozero had truly cared for his daughter, she wouldn't have met her end in a conveniently orchestrated car accident in the original story. And Wilde, as the mastermind behind it, wouldn't have walked away untouched. Perhaps Mr. Lozero had been threatened by villain-sama, but that hardly excuses his silence.
We walk down the cobbled pathway in silence, our expressions calm and composed, but beneath the surface, I know we're both scheming like seasoned foxes, each carefully plotting the next move.
Inside, the drawing room exudes quiet opulence. The polished hardwood floors gleam under the light of a grand chandelier, its crystals catching the soft sunlight streaming through the tall windows. Heavy velvet curtains frame the walls, complementing the subtle luxury of the furniture. The room is an understated display of wealth, the kind that whispers rather than shouts.
Seated comfortably in one of the plush armchairs, my mother—this body's mother—looks every bit the part of a matriarch, draped in an exquisitely tailored suit from Lurielle Couture, a high-end label known only to those who inhabit this echelon of society. Her expression is poised, her lips curved into a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes as she speaks to the Timewell father and son duo, who occupy the matching armchairs across from her. The elder Timewell is dressed in a perfectly tailored gray suit, his posture as stiff and formal as his reputation, while his son mirrors his refinement, though with a more modern edge in a sleek navy ensemble.
In the few days I've been in this world, I've barely glimpsed this body's mother. But seeing her now, seated in this room, effortlessly holding court, I realize she's far more formidable than her absence had suggested. Behind that perfect facade lies the same cold, calculating mind that governs everyone in this world.
Ironically, Papa Lozero and Mama Lozero's marriage wasn't the arranged affair one might expect from a family as steeped in old money and tradition as theirs. In fact, the original Faye's grandfather had already arranged a marriage for Papa Lozero that would have greatly expanded the family's business empire—a common strategy in families like theirs, where alliances are valued more than affection. But there was one complication: Papa Lozero had already fallen for Mama Lozero, a woman from a family that, by comparison, could only be described as "lower class."
Naturally, his entire family was against the match. Papa Lozero, however, was not a man easily swayed. Stubborn to a fault, he spent five long years elevating Mama Lozero's family, pulling strings, making connections, and acquiring wealth on their behalf until they were finally deemed worthy by his father's high standards. Only then, after years of painstaking work, was the marriage allowed. And when they finally wed, it was with all the grandeur and opulence expected of a Lozero wedding.
But those five years? They were anything but smooth. Behind the scenes, Grandfather Lozero was quietly furious. His eldest son's defiance couldn't go unpunished, not when a perfectly beneficial match had been planned. And so, the bride who was meant for Papa Lozero? She was given to his younger brother instead.
At first, it seemed like the usual reshuffling of pawns in the game of wealth and status. But what followed was no accident—or at least, not in the way most would assume. Shortly after the marriage, the girl's family went bankrupt, their wealth evaporating in what appeared to be a series of unfortunate financial disasters. And then, as if fate itself were conspiring to clear the board, the girl—Faye's aunt—died in a sudden, tragic hit-and-run accident. The kind of accident that, in families like these, rarely happens without careful orchestration. As if that wasn't enough, Papa Lozero's younger brother, overwhelmed by the loss of his wife and the collapse of his in-laws, took his own life not long after.
And Mama Lozero? During all of this, she remained perfectly poised. While tragedy unfolded around her, she was meticulously preparing for her own rise into the Lozero family, diligently mastering the traditional "four womanly arts" as if she were undergoing some aristocratic metamorphosis. It was as though she was shedding her old life to step into the gilded world of the Lozero elite, where survival was measured not just in wealth but in one's ability to navigate the subtle, dangerous games that played out in the shadows.
I learned all of this not through the system, which had, as usual, failed to provide me with even basic information about the original Faye's background, but through my assistant, Uno. Could I dig deeper, uncover the true reasons behind the deaths of all those involved? Sure. The whispers of foul play, of carefully laid plans leading to ruin and death, are everywhere in families like these. But in the end, does it matter? The conclusion remains the same. In this world, only the strong survive, and the weak are swept aside—whether by chance or by design. Even in families that pretend they are above such schemes.
I did wonder if Mr Lozero's own experience would change his approach when it came to arranged marriages deals. Now we have a clear answer. It did not.
Its Mr Timewell who first sees us enter.
I did wonder if Mr. Lozero's own experience would change his approach when it came to arranged marriage deals. Now we have a clear answer. It did not.
It's Mr. Timewell who first sees us enter.
Mr. Timewell, ever the epitome of refined elegance, rises as we step into the room. His suit—sharp, tailored to perfection—catches the light in a way that quietly emphasizes the understated wealth that comes with established families.
"Ah, Faye, Chairman Lozero," he greets us with a warm, carefully crafted smile, as though our arrival had been the highlight of his day, and not at all awkward at welcoming us in our own home. "Your timing is impeccable, as always. I trust the journey was pleasant?"
His gaze briefly flicks to me, a polite but disinterested glance, before settling back on Mr. Lozero, offering him a subtle nod. It isn't submission—more an acknowledgment of status, a gesture that treads the fine line between respect and superiority, the kind only these circles understand.
Mr. Lozero responds with a nod, his expression as composed as ever, though there's a slight, almost imperceptible tightness around his eyes. It's a subtle reminder that, even among allies, there's always a quiet battle of egos at play.
"Smooth, as expected," Mr. Lozero replies, his voice calm and measured. "Though the traffic, as always, can be unpredictable. But I suppose that's the price we pay for living in a city that never sleeps."
Mr. Timewell lets out a soft chuckle, one of those polite, rehearsed laughs that's neither too familiar nor too dismissive. "Ah, yes, the city does demand its dues, doesn't it?" He gestures toward the lavish seating area, where the conversation will inevitably shift from pleasantries to more serious matters. If I didn't see the haphazardly parked cars in the driveway, I'd have thought he's here for a casual meet-up.
I follow Mr. Lozero, my heels clicking softly against the polished marble floors, and settle into a chair. My eyes scan the room, taking in the quiet luxury that surrounds us. The rich, warm hues of the mahogany wood, the soft glow of the chandelier overhead, the framed art on the walls—all carefully curated to remind anyone entering of the power and wealth these families hold.
Mr. Timewell takes a seat across from us, crossing one leg over the other, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. He leans back slightly, folding his hands in his lap, a gesture that invites conversation without giving too much away.
"Now, Chairman Lozero," he begins smoothly, "I assume we're all here with certain... interests in mind. The Timewell family always values long-standing relationships, as I'm sure you know. But I imagine today's meeting carries a bit more weight than our usual social calls."
Mr. Lozero doesn't miss a beat. "Indeed," he replies, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "I think we both understand that the stakes have grown considerably higher. And naturally, the choices we make now will have consequences for generations to come."
There it is. The subtle power play, the hint of veiled threats and promises of what lies ahead, all cloaked in the careful, polished language of high society diplomacy.
I glance at Mr. Timewell, who is still smiling, but the gleam in his eyes tells me he knows exactly what's at stake. It's always the same in these rooms—talking about empires and alliances as if they were chess pieces on a board, all while pretending to care about things like family and legacy. Everyone is playing the long game.
As the men continue their exchange, I stay silent, observing. It's fascinating how these meetings operate, where every word, every gesture, holds hidden meaning. Where alliances are formed not out of loyalty or trust, but out of convenience and shared ambition.
But I already knew that. After all, I've become quite adept at navigating this game myself.
Caden, sitting across from me, isn't even trying to hide his gaze. I choose to ignore him, finding his lack of subtlety amusing. Next to seasoned players like his father, he seems juvenile, even devoid of the commanding presence Wilde possesses. This male lead is utterly forgettable.
Ah, how I miss Wilde. All I want right now is to wrap this up and escape to play with my cute and obedient villain-sama.