The Villains Must Win
Chapter 229: No Second Chances 29

Chapter 229: No Second Chances 29

"And if she wanted to leave?" Lina asked.

"She wouldn’t," he answered. "And what is love if not knowing someone better than they know themselves?"

He stepped closer now, a slow gravity between them.

"You see it as obsession," he said, voice like dark silk. "But I see it as devotion. I gave her the safest place I knew—my home. My world. Where no one could break her. Not even herself."

Lina’s breath hitched. "And what about what she wants?"

Fredrich’s jaw clenched, just briefly. "She didn’t know what she wanted. She thought she wanted freedom. But that was before she understood what it really meant—before the betrayals, before the lies. I gave her certainty instead. I removed the burden of choice."

"And that’s love to you?" she asked, breathless.

"Yes," he said simply. "Unconditional. Ruthless. Complete."

He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind Lina’s ear. His touch was tender, but there was something beneath it—an unspoken promise, a warning.

"Do you understand now?" he asked, eyes searching hers. "The world doesn’t deserve fragile things. So I take them in. Keep them. Protect them from ever breaking again."

Lina swallowed hard. "Is that why you brought me here? Because you think I’m helpless? You think I’m fragile?"

Was that what he wanted—someone weak, someone he could control? Did he have some twisted need for dependency, a fetish for fragile women that fed his ego or masked something deeper?

Fredrich’s expression didn’t change—but his posture softened, his shoulders slumping as though he carried a weight heavier than the world.

"Maybe," he sighed quietly, "but at least you’re protected here with me. Stay with me, Lina, and you’ll never have to face anything alone. I’ll take care of you."

His words hung in the room like a promise . . . or a threat.

The silence deepened.

Lina felt the gravity of the moment tighten around her chest. This was the breaking point—the fork in the road.

This wasn’t a game. There were no save points, no do-overs, no undelete key for wrong choices. No memory cheat to help her chose.

One wrong word. One misstep—and it could all end.

Her mind flashed back through years of strategy, puzzles, diplomatic dialogues she’d navigated flawlessly in gamed worlds. But here, in this world of flesh and fear, none of that meant anything.

"Fredrich . .." Her voice trembled, every syllable a fragile lifeline across the chasm between them. "This . . . this isn’t right."

It was the path she knew that always led to the best ending. She had fought for freedom before—to bring the darkness into the light, to pull others out of cages, to dismantle the walls around men like Christian.

She had survived by choosing the hard truth over the comfort of lies in all games.

One deep breath.

"You have to let her go," she said gently, keeping her voice steady.

Fredrich’s face flickered—emotion like a candle in the ruins of a storm. But when darkness returned to his eyes, it was clearer, colder.

"Too bad," he said quietly. "I thought you would understand me . . . seeing how the world hurt you. How a man hurt you. Here, you will be protected. Love."

He stepped forward.

Fear pounded in Lina’s throat, but she kept her voice calm.

"I appreciate—but this isn’t love. You need control. That’s not the same."

His lips curled slightly—no longer a smile, but a curve of satisfied finality. He shook his head once, slow.

"And that," he said softly, "is your mistake."

Her whole body froze.

A metallic click. She barely processed the movement—too slow, too late. Like marble melting into panic.

The gun in his hand lifted into view, muzzle pointed directly at her chest. The world collapsed into silence, the only sound the rapid beating of her own heart.

"Goodbye . . . Lina."

A single shot echoed.

When the bullet fell, Lina’s world blurred. Her breath released in a shockwave, and she stumbled back—eyes wide, disbelief flooding her.

She didn’t have time to cry, to rage, to run.

Her legs buckled and she hit the ground hard. Pain spiked—sharp, hot, immediate. The breath left her lungs in ragged sobs.

Fredrich stood over her, face expressionless, eyes vacant as if he’d watched it happen a thousand times before. Lina wasn’t the only women who stumbled in his secret and every time, he was hoping that she would be different.

The room shook with the weight of silence.

Lina’s vision spun. Darkness seeped in through the corners of her sight. In those final seconds, there was only one thing in his mind.

SHIT!!

She chose wrong!

====

Lina blinked—and the world was gone. One second she was bleeding out dramatically on polished marble, and the next . . .

Nothing.

Just void once again.

A whole lot of floating nothingness, like she’d been unplugged from the simulation and dumped into some forgotten server room.

"Oh great," she muttered, sitting up slowly, "I’m in the death lobby. Again."

A familiar tapping echoed in the emptiness. She turned—and there, waiting with crossed arms and an expression that screamed I told you so, stood the rabbit.

Not just any rabbit. The rabbit. White fur, waistcoat, pocket watch, and all the smug judgment in the multiverse wrapped into one fluffball with resting disapproval face.

The Rabbit raised an eyebrow. "Well, that didn’t go well."

Lina was silent, motionless. Her hair hung down like a curtain, veiling her face as she slumped onto the non-existent floor. The dramatic anime-level collapse would’ve earned applause if there were any other souls around.

The Rabbit sighed. "You know, I warned you. ’Not ready,’ I said. ’Too unstable,’ I said. But nooo. You had to march into an A-Rank world like some overconfident boss battle NPC."

Lina didn’t move.

The Rabbit continued anyway. "System has officially deducted ten stars for catastrophic failure in a Rank-A scenario. Congratulations, you are now—wait for it—B-tier. Again." He smirked. "The demotion you never asked for, but very much earned."

Silence.

And then—

"The hell I will!" Lina shrieked, popping up like a possessed marionette.