Road To Revenge: Obtaining a villain system

011. The Article

Niccolo had never known what it felt like to truly breathe until the day the money came through. Thirty million dollars. Even now, more than a week later, the number didn’t sound real when he repeated it in his head.

Thirty Million.

The figures kept flashing in his mind like neon lights, and with them came both freedom and fear. Freedom, because he was no longer the broken man his wife discarded like trash. Fear, because he had seen how quickly life could take everything away.

The first thing he did was move. No more temporary rooms with peeling paint and thin mattresses that smelled of someone else’s perfume. He wanted a place that was his, a place where he could close the door and not feel like a guest in his own skin.

The agent he contacted had raised an eyebrow when Niccolo told him his budget, but Niccolo quickly reminded him that he wasn’t interested in mansions or sprawling penthouses. Not yet. He wanted something clean, modern, comfortable —something where he could think.

After a week of walking through overpriced boxes in the sky and dreary apartments that didn’t feel like home, he found it: a spacious two bedroom apartment tucked in a quieter part of the city, high enough for sunlight to pour in through the glass walls. Hardwood floors gleamed under his steps, the kitchen was fitted with stainless steel, and the view overlooked a small park where people jogged in the mornings.

It wasn’t extravagant. It wasn’t cheap. It was perfect.

He signed the lease that same afternoon.

That night, Niccolo sat cross legged on the bare floor of his new apartment, a bottle of water beside him, staring at the emptiness. For the first time in months, maybe years, he felt something close to peace.

But it didn’t last.

The money, though comforting, pressed on him like a heavy hand. Thirty million could vanish if he was reckless. He had lived poor —scraping coins together as a teenager, driving strangers around until his back ached, begging Kimberly to understand that he was trying. He would rather die than ever feel that powerless again.

So he planned.

Investments. Real estate. A business of his own. Something that would not only grow the money but also give him identity beyond “the man Ariana’s parents handed thirty million to.”

He wasn’t sure if marriage would ever be in his future again. He wasn’t sure if he wanted children. But if either of those happened, one thing was certain: no woman would ever treat him as disposable again. He would be too rich, too powerful, too untouchable for anyone to dare.

The scars Kimberly left behind were still fresh, and he knew money alone couldn’t heal them —but money would ensure he’d never bleed like that again.

One morning, just a week after moving into his new place, Niccolo woke to the soft buzz of his phone. He rubbed his eyes, sat up in bed, and scrolled lazily through I*******m.

That was when he saw it.

A picture of Ariana. The caption above it read:

“Mayor’s daughter officially in a relationship. Mystery man revealed.”

He blinked. Then blinked again.

The photo wasn’t recent —it was from the day at city hall, when Ariana had run into him while he was settling his divorce. In the picture, she was smiling, and her hand was around his waist as though they were a couple.

Niccolo frowned but scrolled past it. The media twisted stories all the time. He wasn’t naïve.

But when he saw the second post, then a third, then a fourth, irritation began to prickle his chest. Every headline seemed louder than the last:

“Ariana spotted with new lover!”

“Mayor’s daughter tied down at last?”

“Secret ceremony at city hall —who’s the man?”

The one that truly froze him came from a bigger outlet:

“Mayor’s daughter has secret wedding with unknown lover.”

He stared at the words for a long time, his stomach tight. The picture paired with it was almost mocking: him and Ariana standing side by side, paperwork in his hand. The way she had leaned closer that day —innocent at the time— now looked staged for romance.

Niccolo dropped the phone on the bed. He wasn’t a fool. This was the kind of story that could spiral out of control, the kind of story that could ruin him before he even had a chance to build himself.

Almost as if on cue, his phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn’t a headline.

It was Ariana.

He hesitated before answering, his chest tightening at the sound of her voice. “Niccolo… my parents want to see you.”

Her tone wasn’t casual. It wasn’t playful. There was a tension in her words that made his pulse quicken.

“Why?” he asked slowly.

“They’ve seen the articles,” Ariana said after a pause. “They… they think we should clear things up. Properly.”

Niccolo leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. Properly. That word had weight. He didn’t know if Ariana meant clearing the air, or if she meant something far more binding.

Suddenly, the thirty million dollars in his account didn’t feel like protection anymore. It felt like a leash.

★★★

When Niccolo arrived at the mayor’s residence the next day, it was like stepping into another world. The gates alone were taller than any house he’d ever lived in, flanked by security guards who eyed him as if measuring his worth. The driveway stretched endlessly, lined with trimmed hedges and imported cars gleaming under the sun.

He adjusted his jacket— nothing super expensive, but decent enough not to embarrass himself— and walked forward with the kind of steady confidence he had been forcing himself to practice in the mirror.

The butler led him into a lounge that seemed too perfect to touch: velvet chairs, polished tables, portraits that whispered of wealth and lineage, it looked like they had added extra decorations since his last visit.

When Ariana appeared, her expression softened in relief at the sight of him. But behind her, the sound of footsteps heavier, sharper, more commanding filled the space.

Her parents.

Niccolo stood.

For the first time in his life, he wasn’t facing an employer or a cheating spouse. He was facing power itself. And the question that rang in his mind was simple:

Were they here to thank him… or to claim him?