Daily Life of a Transmigrating Villain

The guards exchanged glances, their eyes narrowing in suspicion as they focused on Damien. One of them stepped forward, his voice uncertain. "Is what he's saying true?"

Damien didn't flinch. "Of course, he does," he replied calmly. "But what I want to know is why my driver is in this state." His voice turned icy. "What have you done to him?" Find exclusive stories on m_v l|e-NovelBin.net

The guard hesitated, his posture stiffening. "Sir," he said, his tone respectful but firm. His eyes observed the taxi and Damien's suit, which he found not well suited for a young master. "It would be best if you cooperated. Why were you entering the mansion?"

Another guard, clearly larger and more muscular, stepped closer, trying to use his size to intimidate Damien. But before he could get too close, there was a sudden sound.

Bam!

Damien's fist had connected with the guard's gut, sending the man to his knees.

Thud!

Saliva dripped from the guard's mouth as he struggled to regain his breath, gripping his stomach in pain.

Shocked, the downed guard raised his head, staring up at Damien in disbelief. The other guards began to react, moving to defend their comrade, but Damien's voice cut through the air, cold and commanding. "How dare you act like this in front of me," he said, his voice dripping with authority. "I am Damien Raphael!"

The guards froze, a chill running down their spines as the weight of the name Raphael hit them. In unison, they bowed their heads in apology, the tension thick in the air.

"We apologize for not recognizing you, sir," one of them managed, his voice shaky as they realized just how badly they'd misstepped.

One of the guards, still bowing, couldn't help but think, 'Wasn't Damien Raphael the one who got banished from his family?'

But he didn't dare lift his head. Banished or not, the Raphael family carried immense power, and banishment wasn't something to trust blindly. 'What if this is some kind of test or ploy?' he thought, knowing better than to question someone tied to such a family. The Harrison family wouldn't likely risk offending anyone with such connections.

Damien scanned the group, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watched them squirm. "Free my driver," he commanded, his tone sharp.

Karl, lying on the ground, gritted his teeth in silent rage. 'It's Karl, not "driver," you asshole,' he thought, but he kept his mouth shut as a guard rushed to remove the cuffs. The second Karl was freed, he bolted for his taxi, hands shaking as he fumbled to start the engine.

The car roared to life, but just as he was about to take off, Damien slipped into the passenger seat, closing the door behind him with ease.

Before they could leave, Damien turned back to the guards, his voice cold and measured. "You've all upset me. I'm leaving now, but rest assured, I will never return to the Harrison family again. And don't worry," he added with a smug glance, "I'll be sure to mention how badly I was treated here to your patriarch."

The guards' faces drained of color. They exchanged panicked looks, sweat trickling down their foreheads. "Sir, sir, please—" one of them stammered, but the taxi was already pulling away, Damien comfortably seated inside.

As the car sped off, one of the younger guards turned to the chief, his voice filled with dread. "What do we do now, sir?"

The chief sighed heavily, his face grim. "Forget it," he muttered, straightening up. "I'll take the blame for this."

The other guards glanced at each other before turning back to the chief, admiration in their eyes. He stood tall, staring off into the distance, accepting the weight of his decision.

A short while later, the hum of engines filled the air as a fleet of luxury cars approached the metal gates of the Harrison family estate. The polished vehicles glinted under the sunlight, exuding wealth and power. The lead car, a sleek Bugatti with a commanding presence, was followed closely by a Rolls-Royce and a line of Range Rovers packed with bodyguards.

As the convoy neared, the large gates swung open slowly, and the guards stood at attention, saluting in unison. Servants lined up on either side, bowing deeply to make way for the family members exiting the cars. All eyes were drawn to the imposing Bugatti at the front.

The door opened, and out stepped a woman with striking beauty. Her poise and grace immediately caught everyone's attention. As she moved toward the Rolls-Royce, her movements were fluid and effortless, drawing curious glances from the servants. Luna Harrison, the jewel of the family, approached the rear door of the Rolls-Royce with an air of urgency.

"Grandpa," she called softly, her voice laced with concern, as she helped the elderly man out of the car.

The patriarch of the Harrison family, though clearly aged, carried himself with dignity. His expression remained calm, but his slow steps indicated his frailty. Luna gently supported him as they walked toward the mansion, her hand on his arm, ensuring his balance.

His condition was stable, but there was no mistaking the care with which Luna handled him.

The servants trailed behind, murmuring quietly as they followed the two inside, the atmosphere thick with unspoken tension and reverence.

As the grand procession approached the mansion, a sudden commotion broke out. Shouts echoed from within, startling everyone just as they were about to step inside.

"Fire! There's a fire in the lady's room!" A few servants rushed out, yelling and causing alarm among the gathered family members and staff.

Luna froze, her heart skipping a beat as she heard one of the servants shout, "Room 34! There's fire in room number 34!"

Her eyes widened in shock. Without a second thought, Luna let go of her grandfather, leaving him to be caught by his assistant as she sprinted down the corridor.

'No, no, no... it can't be happening!' The thought raced through her mind like a storm. The dread twisted inside her, knowing full well that Room 34 was where she had preserved her mother's portrait. She had never mustered the courage to look at it, blaming herself for everything that had happened, but keeping it there, untouched, as a way of holding on.

Her legs carried her faster than ever as she darted through the mansion's grand hallways, passing servants who were rushing to contain the chaos. She turned the corner, her heart pounding in her chest. The sight that greeted her was a small crowd of servants throwing fire extinguishers into the open doorway of Room 34, smoke still curling from inside.

By the time she reached the room, the fire had been subdued. Luna stumbled inside, her breath caught in her throat. She stood frozen as her eyes scanned the room—everything seemed intact, but the center of the room, where the portrait once hung, was empty.

The portrait of her mother... it was gone.