Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate-Chapter 40: Breaking off the Engagement (2)

"…Very well."

Vivienne blinked, clearly surprised by how quickly he agreed.

Even Damien raised a brow slightly.

Dominic wasn't the kind of man to easily change his mind.

But then—his father sighed, his fingers tightening slightly against the table.

"This engagement was your insistence, not mine," Dominic said finally. "Even when I had my doubts, you pushed for it. You convinced your mother to arrange it." His gaze hardened. "And when the Everwyn family's demands became excessive, I tolerated them—because you wanted this."

Damien held his father's stare, unflinching.

Yes.

He remembered.

The Everwyns had been greedy.

Even though their standing was far below the Elfords, they had used Celia's engagement as leverage to negotiate more benefits—business alliances, financial backing, even property agreements.

And the old Damien?

He had accepted it all.

Because he had been so desperate to keep Celia, to prove to her that he was worthy, that he had agreed to anything her family asked.

It was pathetic.

Now, sitting here, he almost wanted to laugh.

His father had known.

Dominic had seen it all from the start.

That the engagement was imbalanced. That the Everwyns were demanding too much. That Celia herself had never shown the same level of commitment that Damien had.

And yet, Dominic had let it happen.

Because he had seen no value in interfering.

Because to him, this had always been Damien's mistake to make.

And now that Damien himself wanted to undo it?

Dominic had no reason to refuse.

Dominic exhaled through his nose, his decision final.

"I will contact Victor Everwyn," he stated, his voice firm. "I will inform him that the engagement is nullified. From that point on, it will be irreversible." His gray eyes met Damien's once more. "Are you sure?"

There was no hostility in the question. No anger. Just a final confirmation.

Damien didn't hesitate.

"I am."

Dominic studied him for a moment longer, then gave a single, sharp nod. "Then it's done."

Beside him, Vivienne let out a quiet breath of relief before reaching over, placing her hand gently on his shoulder.

"You did really well," she said softly. "Noticing this. Accepting it."

Damien turned to her, offering a small nod in return.

A lie.

He hadn't struggled to accept this.

He had known from the moment he arrived in this world that Celia was never going to be his.

But so what?

Let them believe it had been a hard realization. Let them think this was some personal growth.

Because in the end, only he knew the truth.

The engagement had been nothing more than a symbol of the pathetic, miserable excuse of a man he had once been.

And now?

It was gone.

Just like that, the dinner continued. The tension that had hung in the air earlier had dissipated, replaced with idle conversation.

But in Damien's mind—

A sharp chime echoed.

Ding!

[Quest Completed: Break the Engagement]

Description:

For years, the engagement to Celia Everwyn had been the ultimate representation of the host's blind devotion, his pathetic naivety, and his inability to see reality for what it was. The host has finally severed this shackle.

Rewards:

+300 SP

+750 EXP

New Item: Lottery ticket

Ding!

[Level Up! The Host has reached Level 1.]

Visit ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com for the 𝑏est n𝘰vel reading experience.

The system notifications continued to flash in the corner of his vision, but Damien barely acknowledged them.

For now, they could wait.

For now, the game was only just beginning.

*****

Celia Everwyn sat in front of her vanity, the dim glow of her bedroom lights casting soft shadows across the polished surface. A faint scent of perfume lingered in the air—something floral, delicate, refined. It should have been soothing. This was her space, her sanctuary, a place where the outside world ceased to matter. And yet—

Her fingers paused mid-stroke, the glossy brush hovering over the nail of her index finger.

She exhaled slowly.

Her nails were immaculate. Perfectly shaped, perfectly polished—a deep emerald shade that matched her eyes. She had taken her time with them, as she always did. It was a routine she enjoyed, something methodical, something beautiful, something that reminded her that control was a choice.

But tonight—

Tonight, even as she admired their perfection, her mood remained soured.

Because of him.

Because of that waste of a man.

Celia's fingers hovered over the bottle of nail polish, her usual precision dulled by irritation. The deep emerald color gleamed under the warm light of her vanity, a perfect match for her eyes—refined, sharp, controlled. Everything she prided herself on. And yet, her mood was anything but composed.

She let out a slow breath, resisting the urge to tap her nails against the wooden surface. The steady, methodical act of polishing was supposed to soothe her, but tonight, even the familiar ritual felt off. Her hands were steady, but her thoughts were not.

Because of that waste of a man.

Her day had been perfect—an increasingly rare moment of freedom from training, from responsibility. She had spent it shopping with Riona and the others, browsing high-end boutiques, indulging in fleeting distractions. And then, just as she had allowed herself to relax, Riona had shown her the photograph.

A single image.

Celia hadn't even needed to look at it to know what it was. The moment Riona had pulled out her phone with that oh-so-innocent tone, she had known.

"Ah… isn't this your fiancé? Look."

Riona had said it with feigned surprise, her voice light, casual, as if she had just stumbled upon the image by accident. As if she weren't deliberately placing it right in front of Celia, waiting for her reaction like a predator setting bait.

The other girls leaned in, curious. Then came the laughter—soft at first, hushed giggles that quickly turned into something sharper, crueler.

"Oh god, he looks so pathetic."

"Is he seriously letting that woman hang off him like that?"

"What a joke. Celia, you have such amazing taste."

More laughter.

Celia had only glanced at the screen for a moment, but it was enough. Damien, lounging in a club, a drink in one hand, a woman draped over him. Cheap. Tasteless. Predictable.

Her nails had dug into the fabric of her skirt beneath the table, but her expression hadn't changed. She had only given a small, controlled smile, tilting her head as if amused.

"I suppose even trash needs a place to rot," she had murmured, her voice smooth, unimpressed.

The laughter had only grown louder.

Now, back in the quiet of her room, Celia inhaled deeply, pressing her lips together as she stared at the emerald polish. Her nails were still immaculate, untouched. A shame. It was the only thing about tonight that had deserved her attention.

Damien.

She detested him. From the very beginning, she had never liked him. There was nothing to like.

A pig of a man. Weak. Disgusting. A parasite who survived not through talent, not through effort, but by feeding off his family's wealth. She hated men like him—spineless, indulgent, desperate to throw money at their problems instead of fixing themselves.

But her family needed their wealth.

And so, she had played along. The perfect fiancée. The elegant, untouchable Celia Everwyn, standing beside a man who was beneath her in every way.

She picked up the nail polish bottle once more, rolling it between her fingers. The weight of it was familiar. Solid. Unlike him.