Daily Life of a Transmigrating Villain

Damien walked down the street, the cool evening air brushing against his face as he gripped Karl's phone in one hand, spinning it idly between his fingers.

He strolled along, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he dialed a familiar number.

After a few rings, the line picked up, and a sharp, irritated voice filled the silence. "Hello? Who the hell is this?"

Damien chuckled under his breath.

The voice belonged to none other than Natasha.

She hadn't forgotten him, it seemed—no surprise, considering their rather… unconventional first meeting.

"Well, well," he said smoothly, letting his voice carry the same easy confidence that had gotten under her skin last time. "If it isn't the woman with the sharp tongue. Miss me?"

There was a pause on the other end, and Damien could almost hear her grinding her teeth.

"Miss you? Are you serious right now? Who are you, and why the hell are you calling me?"

He smiled, amused by her anger.

"You wound me, truly. But let's not pretend you've forgotten. I'm the guy you threatened to slap the last time we met. Ring any bells?"

Her response was immediate, laced with frustration.

"Oh, you. The creep who thought it was cute to suggest we—" she paused, probably biting back the memory of his inappropriate comment, "sleep together—at our first meeting. You've got some nerve calling me again."

Damien chuckled, unfazed by her fury.

He could almost picture her pacing on the other side of the call, her fists clenched, anger radiating off her.

"I've been told I have a certain charm," he said, his tone playful yet deliberate.

"But I'll admit, my approach might've been a bit… bold last time. I'll make it up to you. How about we start over?"

"Start over?" she practically spat the words out.

"You think I want to hear anything from you after that? What kind of man opens with that?"

Damien's grin widened as he walked, his steps slow and deliberate, like a predator sizing up its prey.

"A confident one. But I'll tell you what—I'm more than just words, Natasha. How about we meet tonight? I'll show you I'm not as bad as you think. No games. No… propositions," he added, his tone suddenly dropping, sincere enough to catch her off guard.

Her breath hitched slightly on the other end, and though her anger was still palpable, there was a beat of hesitation.

"You're really full of yourself, you know that?" she said, her voice softer but still tense. "You think I'm just going to let that slide?"

"Of course not," Damien replied, his voice dripping with assurance. "But I figure a second chance wouldn't hurt. You can yell at me in person if you like. I'm free tonight—what do you say?"

There was a long silence, the only sound being Damien's footsteps as he neared the flower shop from the previous day.

He could almost hear her weighing her options.

Finally, Natasha spoke again, her voice resigned but curious. "And what makes you think I'll show up?"

Damien stopped in his tracks, a confident grin tugging at his lips.

"Because you're curious. Because even though I pissed you off, you know there's something about me that you can't quite shake. And because, deep down, you want to see if I'm all talk or if there's more to me than what you saw last time."

Her silence was telling, but it didn't last long. "You're insufferable, you know that? Fine. One drink. And if you even think about trying something—"

"Scout's honor," Damien interrupted with a chuckle, raising his hand as if she could see it. "Just a drink. I'll behave."

"Doubt it," she muttered under her breath. "Alright, mystery man. But don't make me regret it."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he replied smoothly, ending the call before she could change her mind.

Pocketing Karl's phone, Damien arrived outside the flower shop, the same quaint little place he'd visited yesterday.

The warm light from inside illuminated the street, casting soft shadows around him.

The bell above the flower shop door chimed as Damien stepped inside, the soft clink barely disturbing the otherwise quiet, late afternoon air.

The elderly woman behind the counter didn't look up immediately, but there was a slight shift in her posture.

She knew who had entered.

He could feel her sharp, observant gaze on him before she even turned her head.

"Back again, are you?" Her voice was soft yet edged with curiosity, a subtle undertone laced with caution. "You certainly have a taste for flowers."

Damien flashed a smile, the same calm and composed expression he'd worn yesterday, strolling over to the display with an almost casual elegance.

"I can't say no to beauty when it's right in front of me," he replied smoothly, his fingers grazing lightly over the petals of a nearby rose.

The old woman tilted her head, watching him with eyes that seemed to pierce through him, gauging every movement, every word.

Her demeanor was as calm as his, but there was a keenness to her observation, a sharpness beneath the wrinkles and soft tone that suggested she was no ordinary shopkeeper.

She stood still, her fingers tapping the counter rhythmically, as if she were waiting for something.

"You've quite the eye for beauty," she remarked, her voice neutral, careful.

"Strange for a man your age to spend so much time in a place like this."

Damien didn't miss a beat, his smirk deepening ever so slightly.

"What can I say? Flowers have a way of drawing me in."

The woman raised an eyebrow, her eyes narrowing just a fraction, as if weighing the truth behind his words.

"Is it the flowers? Or something else?"

Damien met her gaze without flinching, the atmosphere thickening slightly as they regarded each other, like two predators silently circling their prey, neither willing to show their cards too early. .net

"I've never been one for ulterior motives," he said, his voice calm and composed. "If I wanted something, I'd ask for it."

The old woman's lips twitched into a faint smile, though her eyes remained watchful. "Is that so?"

She knew better.