Villain Transmigration: Author Transformation

A series of coughs came through as Nathalie responded to Marianne's queries.

In broad daylight, with a quick tea time, this was what greeted her.

Out of all things she might've asked.

Then again, not that it wasn't possible as she was well aware of the obsession this lady had for him.

"I suppose you don't have to be so defensive about it."

[I wasn't.] Her penmanship was rather crooked as she lightly tapped her chest as choked herself. [I'm genuinely surprised.]

"I see." 

Alas, Marianne took a sip of her tea, taking her time. To which this had Nathalie take her time regaining her composure as she thought of Keith.

She thought that accepting a tad bit of her hospitality would make their relationship better than it was before; then again, she knew building rapport was never an easy feat.

For as far as she could remember, Marianne was no different from her—all she wanted was recognition from Athan, and Mystique reached out an olive branch to her.

Though the outcome for that scene has yet to come.

It was rather disrupted how Athan took her with him, and she didn't have anything to bargain with as she was somehow at a disadvantage, or so she pondered.

But her mind that she still had the upper hand got thrown out the window when he knew how bleak the future might be and almost got busted from her items that Nero took.

There must be no way he would be able to find it, and it shouldn't be here if that was the case.

Compared to Nathalie, she was somewhat covert with her plans, and it upset him every time he made a bold move, enough to change the timeline. Though it wasn't all that, as there was an unknown factor—who just happened to be Jonathan, the allegedly Grand Duke of the Southern Territory, Forsberg, and he already was in full support of Athan's endeavors.

Two of them had already made huge changes, where things ran out of her favor, but none of them had already pointed against her fate.

'Wait, Jonathan?'

A subtle glint in her eyes came, gazing downwards at the black surface of the tea. 

Nathalie had a way to communicate.

At the moment, she bid her time until this silly tea time was over, and she would rush her way to Jonathan.

"So, you already came back as His Highness asked for your help, perhaps?"

'Just how much did he disclose to her?' Inside, a myriad of emotions—more so quizzical and dubious—was all she recognized as she kept a straight face with her. 

[About the ritual—]

"Indeed, that is the one he mentioned."

[To be fair, I'm not sure.] This time, Nathalie's turn to take a sip; she observed Marianne's gestures the more she went to it. [I have already taught you and gave you what needed to be done to impress him.]

"While it was successful, it was still not enough."

A tad squint from her indigo eyes with one corner of her lips twitched from the vagueness of the reply.

[Why not?]

Her solemn gaze had a slight crack—a hint of forlorn when she had a quick bitter smile, now covered with drinking her tea.

After which, she was in all ears.

Whenever Marianne asked to present what she had so far, she was more than willing to do so, but his facial reaction was no different from a stone.

No feedback, no criticisms, and he would've greeted her before moving away.

The only request she had was the attention of Athan, and she couldn't be more than grateful to be with him every single day. She endured it with the same reaction, and most of the day came how she got treated. 

She wasn't there.

Though the obsession grew, several times folded.

Marianne slowly went back to her old advances, which Nathalie wouldn't want to delve further into.

Day by day, it turned out excruciating for her until a golden opportunity arrived—he came back beyond wasted.

"I remember His Highness taking a visit here; his eyes were glowing crimson red—brimmed with an insatiable hunger. The moment he laid his eyes on me, things started to take a turn."

Just as what Marianne usurped, and one thing she could only have such a dream for it deemed impossible, happened.

"We were in bed—just the both of us then—but he kept calling your name. From head to toe—every touch, every embrace, every—everything…" From her trembling hands erupted, clinks from the cup the more she choked out her utterance. "I was there for him, but all of his thoughts were all for you."

More than anything, Nathalie got caught off guard.

Out of words, literally.

It was impossible.

Nathalie, foremost, never bothered about it, she had more shit to get together, and there was not enough time and energy to keep up with his crap. Even the sudden change of his demeanor towards her freaked the hell out—only before she learned the truth of the matter.

But now there was a curse cast upon him, through the help of Arnold, she had doubts about whatever Athan had to say about her.

'I must say, Athan had a different vibe a while ago.'

Although, before she could ponder through her thoughts, Marianne was out of her woes and went for her jugular.

"You also had your moment with His Highness, and he has yet to throw a fit of rage." Marianne leaned closer, glancing at the alley for a second then towards her. "Perhaps you concocted a secret potion?"

Nathalie got confused. 

[I have no idea what you're talking about—] But all of her hair stood on end when she noticed something different—stopping what she doodled, turning around.

"Had a glorious time chit-chatting about me, eh?"

Athan leaned against the wall and was in a black bathrobe, of which Nathalie pondered a loose tie by the hip, revealing a stark cleavage. Even she glared at several dews—from his wet, silky hair now to his fresh, vibrant face, and on his body, from his broad chest trickling to the abs.

He already had a smug smirk in him, and it went bigger when Nathalie kept up the stare.

"Like what you see?"