As I lay sprawled on Wilde's bed, the weight of his clothes draping over me like a second skin, the faint, lingering scent of him fills the air—woodsy with a hint of something sharper, like danger hiding behind expensive cologne. His presence is everywhere, seeping into the very walls. And yet, a question gnaws at the back of my mind: Am I seducing him into becoming a law-abiding citizen, or is he pulling me into the shadows, slowly luring me into becoming a criminal?
I glance around his room. It's simple, almost too simple. For someone like Wilde, who thrives in chaos, I expected something… darker. The bed is neatly made, minimalistic, the sheets a crisp shade of grey. The walls are bare except for a single framed photograph—a blurred cityscape at dusk. His desk, surprisingly organized, with no hint of any sinister plans tucked away. Everything in its place, everything accounted for. It's unsettling. People like him should leave traces of their secrets everywhere, but here—nothing. Of course, I rifled through every drawer, every corner, but I found no scribbled notes, no encrypted documents, no mysterious objects. Nothing that could confirm he's plotting something more ominous. Or maybe he's too good at hiding it.
With thoughts of a certain wild man swirling in my brain, I finally drift off into a restless sleep. The moment I close my eyes, I'm plunged into a nightmare—a dark figure moves in the shadows, always just out of sight, stalking me with every step. No matter how fast I run, it's there, looming, and before I know it, it's upon me, consuming me, swallowing me whole.
The nightmare finally dissolves when my alarm blares, dragging me back from whatever delulu world my brain had decided to entertain. I set the alarm to wake up early—an attempt to rein in my spiraling thoughts and get back some control.
First thing on the agenda: check for messages from Assistant Uno.
As usual, Uno doesn't disappoint. The guy's efficiency is next level. Sitting in my inbox is a new video. I can't help but smirk, wondering if his face is as flawless as his skills.
Before I dive in, I listen carefully for any sounds. Wilde's room is eerily silent, confirming that he's either still asleep or out. Satisfied, I connect my earphones and hit play.
The screen flickers to life, revealing Caden slouched over a bar in one of those ridiculously exclusive lounges for rich heirs and trust fund kids. Judging by the state of him, this must've been last night after I gave him a firsthand lesson in pain management with a well-aimed kick to his family jewels. His face is flushed, and he's nursing what looks like his fifth drink of the night.
Then, the camera pans, and I spot her—Sara, the female lead of this twisted story. She's gliding toward Caden, her dress clinging to her in all the right ways. It's a stark contrast to the usual white lotus act she's been pulling off. The dress is form-fitting, pure white, but the innocence that usually radiates from her has morphed into something darker. I almost forgot she existed, to be honest. She's been so invisible lately, probably because I've been hogging all the main character drama.
Wait—this angle is way too close to be a CCTV feed. Was Uno actually sitting right next to them? I wouldn't put it past him. The dedication is real.
I lean in, focusing on their interaction. The club's strobe lights flicker dangerously as Sara sits down beside Caden, her posture casual, yet seductive. They talk, but the pounding bass of the music makes it impossible to hear. Still, their body language says enough. She's not her usual innocent self; the fake sweet girl vibe is replaced with something more manipulative. Green tea energy at its finest.
They're arguing—well, it looks like Caden's arguing, while she's trying to convince him of something. If the Bee System wasn't a total scam, I'd have a way to hear what they're saying. But of course, that would require actual functionality, which it seems to lack.
Suddenly, mid-sentence, Sara leans in and silences him with a kiss. Ayo! Now this is getting spicy. Maybe this will distract Caden from whatever vendetta he's nursing against Wilde.
The two of them stagger into the elevator, and the video cuts to another feed—a CCTV shot this time. I've got to give it to Uno, he's thorough. The footage shows a very drunk Caden and Sara stumbling into a private room. The door closes behind them, leaving me to fill in the blanks. I snicker to myself. If Caden and Sara hook up, maybe they'll be too wrapped up in each other to interfere with my plans. It's a win-win.
But then, the video speeds up, and a few minutes later, the door flies open. Sara stumbles out, her hair and dress a mess. She looks furious, while Caden, now completely sober, stands at the door, glaring at her before slamming it shut. What on earth just went down?
Before I can process what I'm seeing, the Bee System's confused voice rings in my head, clearly as lost as I am. "Host, what's going on with the main leads?"
"You were here the whole time?" I ask, exasperated.
"Of course, Host! I always have your back! I've been watching everything for you. You don't have to thank me—we're in this together!"
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Bee Wee-Wee, can you take a physical form?"
"Not yet, Host! After we've collected enough life points, you can buy me a body. Why do you ask? Are you planning to get me one? That's so considerate!"
"Oh, I'm definitely getting you a body," I say sweetly, barely suppressing my irritation. "So I can punch you whenever you decide to spout nonsense. Having my back? I'll be grateful if you don't stab me in it."
Bee hums happily, completely oblivious to the sarcasm. Honestly, if I didn't need the system to survive, I would've yeeted it weeks ago.
Though my mind is occupied with the new developments between the male and female lead, I don't lose sight of my original goal in coming to Wilde's house: seduce and destroy!
Dressed in only his oversized shirt and a pair of panties—just as they describe it in those novels—I make my way to the kitchen. I want to give off the image of a spoiled rich girl who doesn't know how to do anything, but is willing to learn for her one true love. For this performance, I'm too well-prepared. In my original world, I never did mundane things like cooking, so this should be easy to fake.
I tie my hair up, trying to make the act look as sexy as possible, and pull up a tutorial on how to cook congee. Yes, congee. Every novel in my world used to mention it, so it must work in this one too, right?
The kitchen is sleek and modern, with polished marble countertops, glossy cabinets, and high-tech appliances that gleam under the soft lighting. It takes me a moment to find the ingredients and tools I need among the rows of spotless shelves. Everything is neatly arranged, almost too perfect, as if this kitchen has rarely seen any real use. I fumble through drawers, the cool metal of the utensils clinking against each other, and find a pot big enough to make the congee.
As I follow the steps of the tutorial, stirring the rice and water carefully, I hear footsteps behind me. Perfect timing.
I make sure the rays of the rising sun fall across my face just right, illuminating my skin with a warm, golden glow. I turn around slowly, wearing what I hope is the perfect combination of cute and seductive on my face. Our eyes meet. I smile.
There he is—standing in the doorway, looking like he just woke up. His hair is tousled, eyes still slightly sleepy, and there's something almost adorable about him in this moment. Hard to believe he's supposed to be the villain.
He stands there, frozen for a moment, blinking as if he's caught off guard by the sight of me. His gaze lingers for a second too long, as if he's trying to make sense of the scene before him.
"Wash up and let's have some breakfast!" I say, my voice lilting playfully, soft but inviting, trying to snap him out of his haze.
It works. He blinks again, shaking his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts. His eyes move downward—right where I want them—landing on my bare legs peeking out from under his oversized shirt. His eyes widen slightly, a flicker of something crossing his expression, but then it's gone, replaced by the faintest hint of dissatisfaction.
Before I can savor my victory, he speaks, his voice sharp and reprimanding. "Why aren't you wearing clothes properly? Do you want to catch a cold?"
His harsh words cut through the air, completely shattering the seductive atmosphere I've been working so hard to create. The playful, alluring scene I had crafted in my mind dissolves in an instant, leaving me standing there, feeling slightly ridiculous. I was just suppressing the urge to smirk and throw out something bold like, "Like what you see?"—the kind of flirty, shameless line the male leads in those smutty novels always use. But now, any internal satisfaction I was building up is dashed by his immediate disapproval, as if he's completely immune to my efforts.
Why is this man not focusing on the right things, ah?! A sexy, beautiful woman in nothing but an oversized shirt and panties is cooking for him at the crack of dawn, and he's worried about me catching a cold? I can't believe it. No wonder he ended up being the villain—he's utterly missing the point!
His frown deepens, completely oblivious to the intention behind my whole setup, and I can't help but feel a mixture of frustration and disbelief. How is this possible? Shouldn't he be at least a little flustered? Even the stone-cold villains in the novels back in my world would be moved by now.
But Wilde? He's more concerned about the temperature than me. Ridiculous!