The Has-Been Scheming Villainess

Moving back in time—

Mia sat in her grand chair, lost in thought, admiring the painting of The Battle of Mardoor, when the sharp voice of Kyle broke her reverie.

"Milady! Milady!"

She turned her head slightly, not yet fully shaken from her deep contemplation of the brutal battle scene before her. The image of rune knights flanking and mercilessly butchering a line of defenseless mages felt almost prophetic to her. It was a stark reminder of how the tides of fate could turn swiftly, favoring the strong and leaving the weak to scramble in their wake.

"What is it, Kyle?" she asked, her voice calm but tinged with the cool authority she carried as the ruler of the Dromas Barony.

Kyle, young and eager, was breathless. "There's a visitor, ma'am! He claims to be Randel Eir Dromastus, the long-lost eldest son of the Dromastus family!"

Mia's heart skipped a beat, though she was careful to keep her expression composed. Randel Eir Dromastus? Alive? The name was more than just a memory; it was a loose end she had never expected to see tied up in her lifetime.

"Alive?" she whispered, almost to herself. Half in disbelief, half in cautious hope. Her lips pressed together in thought, already calculating the possibilities this unexpected visit could bring.

Kyle, despite his youth, had sharp eyes and was quick to read people. "I think it's really him, ma'am," he continued earnestly. "I saw a painting of him before the mansion burned down in the invasion two years ago."

Mia bit her lip, her mind racing. She had heard rumors about the eldest Dromastus son, but no one had seen or heard from him since that night of blood and fire. Most assumed him dead, another casualty of war. And now, suddenly, this stranger appeared, claiming to be him? It was too convenient. Suspicious, even.

But if it was him… this could be an opportunity.

Her fingers tightened slightly on the armrest of her chair as she recalled the whispers that had surrounded Randel before his disappearance. He was a man of both incompetence and irresponsibility—

Mia stood up from her chair, her gaze sharp and calculating. "Bring him in, Kyle. I will meet this man."

As Kyle hurried off, Mia's heart pounded in her chest, but her mind was calm, focused. If this truly was Randel, she needed to play this carefully. His reappearance could either be a threat to her plans or the key to securing her future.

She moved toward the large windows, looking out over the lands that had once been thriving but now lay in ruin. The weight of her ambitions pressed heavily on her shoulders. There were those who wanted her dead, factions within and outside the Barony who would stop at nothing to see her fall. If Randel was who he claimed to be, then he could be a powerful ally—or a dangerous rival.

Mia was nothing if not pragmatic, and she knew how to use people. She had survived the worst of what this world had thrown at her, and she would not allow anyone—not even Randel—to jeopardize the power she had built for herself. But if she could bend him to her will, make him see things her way, perhaps they could build something greater together.

A sly smile crept across her face. Either way, this meeting would change everything.

As the door opened and the footsteps of the supposed heir echoed through the hall, Mia prepared herself for what was to come.

During dinner, Mia couldn't help but observe the man sitting across from her. He is so elegant… like a noble, she mused inwardly. The way he carried himself, his slim but well-built frame, broad shoulders, and the proportions of a healthy young man—everything about him seemed to fit the part. His face, though rough, had a certain charm. With a bit of grooming, he would easily look the role he claimed to be.

But Mia wasn't convinced. Despite his appearance, the possibility that this man was an impostor lingered in her mind. She studied him closely, weighing her options. Finally, she spoke, her voice cool and controlled.

"You claim to be Randel Eir Dromastus," she said, her gaze piercing through him. "Prove it. What is my name?"

Her question hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in simple words. She waited for his answer, ready to gauge whether this mysterious man truly was who he claimed to be.

Mia sat across from Randel, her eyes gleaming with curiosity and calculation. She had already decided to play her role carefully, pretending not to know him. Every word, every glance, was deliberate, part of a larger plan she had already set in motion.

Randel, for his part, seemed taken by her presence. His sharp features softened when their eyes met, and Mia noticed the way he would glance at her with a mixture of wariness and admiration. It didn't take long for her to realize that her subtle charm was working.

In truth, Mia was drawing him deeper into her carefully constructed trap. She played the part of the woman who was slowly warming up to the long-lost heir, feigning surprise and delight at their growing connection. But inside, she was cold and calculating, waiting for the moment when he would be too enamored to see the claws she had hidden beneath her soft exterior.

Randel, oblivious to her true intentions, was already falling into the trap.

Soon, she thought, he will be mine completely.

Then they got drunk, and the rest was history.

Back to the present—

Miyandrel Celeste was no more.

As she finished manipulating the paperwork, her quill scratching against the parchment, she realized how far she had plunged into her new reality. The grandeur of her past life, where she was once a mighty princess slated to be the next ruler of the Empire, now felt like a fading dream, a memory slowly dissolving into the obscurity of her present existence.

She had been destined to become the first Empress in the realm's history, her future etched in blood and lineage. Yet, because of betrayals, conspiracies, and the unpredictable twists of fate, she had ended up a loser in the grand game of Thrones. The bitterness clung to her every thought, a constant reminder of the stark contrast between what should have been and what had come to pass.

Now, she found herself in the backwater territory of the Dromastus Household—a remote and insignificant land far removed from the splendor of the imperial court. No longer Miyandrel Celeste, she was Mia Dromastus, the normal wife of Baron Randel Eir Dromastus.

The title sat heavily on her shoulders. It was a poor substitute for the imperial crown she had once sought. Her fingers traced the edges of the forged documents, sealing her fate as a woman bound to the ambitions and whims of a lesser lord.

The elaborate story she had woven, a background crafted with care and precision, became her armor against those who might remember the once-powerful princess. She was no longer a ruler but a merchant's daughter, a woman who had somehow found her way into Randel's arms. It was a lie, a fiction designed to shield her true identity, but one she wore well. She had no choice now but to make do with this façade, the mask of Mia Dromastus, concealing the shadows of Miyandrel Celeste.

She surveyed the modest chamber that was now her domain.

Gone were the marble halls of the palace, the royal court filled with intrigue and influence. In their place was the quiet, unremarkable life of a baron's wife. The soft rustle of the papers she had just signed echoed in her ears, the sound a reminder of her downfall—of how far she had fallen from the heights of power.

Of course, not everything was in ruins.

After all, a part of her plan was being fulfilled as of this moment.

Mia sat in the quiet chamber, her hands resting on the parchment, the ink still drying from the latest agreements. The air around her was thick with the scent of dust and the lingering remnants of dreams long abandoned. Yet, beneath the surface of her composed exterior, something still stirred. The Celeste blood that ran through her veins refused to be fully stifled. Deep within the layers of her heart, her ambition—the one thing that had not withered in exile—remained alive, burning quietly.

As she reflected, her mind wandered back to that morning, when Randel's words, uttered with such gravity, had left an unexpected mark on her. She closed her eyes, the memory flashing before her with vivid clarity.

"I will allow you to be my wife. You and the child… I will allow both of you in my life. I will die protecting you both until I die."

Those words, spoken with an intensity she had not expected, pierced through the walls of her carefully constructed emotional fortress. His sincerity had caught her off guard, leaving her with a flush of heat on her cheeks she hadn't felt in years. She could still hear the weight in his voice, the underlying promise of protection and commitment—a promise that, for a fleeting moment, had made her feel something close to vulnerability.

But then, as quickly as the tenderness had surfaced, Randel's selfishness had reasserted itself. "You better make good work on your end because I still want a normal wife, and a normal life." His words had been sharp, dismissive, cutting through the solemnity of the moment like a jagged blade. The sting of his bluntness brought her back to reality, and Mia had gritted her teeth in response.

The arrogance of his demand grated against her pride, a sharp reminder that her place in his life was conditional, that he expected her to fulfill a role she had never truly chosen.

In this fleeting moment of reflection, Mia couldn't help but acknowledge that, in her own way, she had managed to assert control over the narrative of her life.

"I still couldn't believe it, to be frank…"

Mia, a Fatemancer of extraordinary skill, had the ability to peer through time itself. In her relentless quest for power, she had navigated through exactly 6,012,500 realities, searching for the perfect partner to bear the seed of power she so desperately sought.

Among these countless diverging paths, one figure emerged time and again as a pivotal piece of the puzzle: Randel Eir Dromastus. To many, Randel appeared ordinary, a man content with a simple life, hiding his strength beneath the facade of normalcy. In half of the realities Mia had explored, this humble appearance held true, with Randel leading a life of quiet obscurity, his potential untapped.

But in the other half, Randel transformed into something far more dangerous—a madman, driven by an unquenchable rage, capable of shaking the very foundations of the world. This duality perplexed Mia. She had seen the threads of fate twist and turn in unpredictable ways, but the stark contrast in Randel's potential for greatness or destruction left her unsettled. She could not yet determine which version of him had entered her life.

Among the myriad threads, however, there was one reality that held her attention with a magnetic pull—a future in which she had borne Randel's child. This child, a being of unparalleled power, stood as a beacon that disrupted the natural order, challenging the boundaries of reality itself. Mia could feel the weight of that potential within her even now, the strings of fate already tightening around her, pulling her toward that inevitable path.

This future, though filled with uncertainty and danger, represented the culmination of everything she had ever desired. Her ambitions, once tied to a throne now lost, had shifted to something far greater—a legacy that would reshape the world.

In countless simulated realities, Mia had attempted to win Randel's heart. Each time, she failed, her efforts crumbling under the weight of his unpredictable nature. Frustration simmered beneath the surface. Randel was a mystery, a riddle she couldn't solve, and with every failure, her desperation deepened.

Desperate measures became her only option. Mia had always prided herself on control—manipulating the threads of fate, orchestrating events to her favor—but Randel's stubborn resistance unraveled her calm. So, she resorted to intoxicating him, blurring the lines between desire and manipulation. It wasn't her proudest moment, but Mia had long abandoned the idea of pride when it came to achieving her goal.

She remembered last night vividly, the murky haze of it playing like a broken reel in her mind.

The air had been heavy with the scent of wine and whispered promises. Randel, unaware of the subtle manipulation laced into the evening, had fallen under the spell Mia had so carefully woven. His inhibitions dulled, his resistance softened, and she led him to her bed.

It had been a calculated move, one she'd justified to herself time and again. The only way to bind their fates, to ensure that the child of prophecy would come into existence, was through this intimate connection. Mia, with a cold, calculated resolve, knew it had to be done. But there was a rawness to the memory, a sense of crossing a line she couldn't uncross.

As she sat now, the quiet of the morning pressing in around her, Mia placed a hand over her stomach. She knew with certainty—Randel's seed had taken root within her, the child destined for greatness already stirring in the depths of her womb. This was the key to everything, the culmination of all her ambition.

Her lips twisted into a small, almost cynical smile. "Oh, and I rode him like a bull," she whispered to herself, the echo of last night's encounter lingering in her mind. The vulgarity of the thought did little to shake her composure; after all, she had gotten what she needed.

Mia's plan was unfolding with a seamless simplicity that belied its audacity. Every step was calculated, every move deliberate, and now that she was pregnant, the path ahead was clear. Her objective was to keep Randel satisfied and unaware of her deeper intentions until the child was old enough to be sent to the Academy. Once the child was securely positioned there, the gears of her grander plan would turn—one that would ultimately lead her back to the Empire she had lost.

Randel's protection was a cornerstone of this strategy. Despite all her abilities as a Fatemancer, she lacked offensive might. Her magic allowed her to peer into the threads of destiny, to foresee danger and take preemptive action, but it was never enough when the fight turned physical. Randel, with his Phantomancer abilities, was the key to their survival. His class, capable of harnessing illusions and bending reality in the subtlest ways, had proven far superior to hers in the realm of combat. Time and again, she had attempted to ambush him, only for him to slip away, seemingly aware of her every move before she could execute it.

Now, as she stood beside him in the flickering light of the fireplace, she extended a document toward him. "Sign here," she instructed calmly, handing him a marriage contract.

Randel took the document with an indifferent air. His eyes scanned the lines carefully, always suspicious. "As I said, I want a normal wife," he reiterated, his gaze steady on the paper. "No more public displays of magic from now on. I'll do the same. I know you're using me for some sinister purpose, but as long as you keep me out of it, I don't care." His pen scratched across the parchment, sealing the contract with a quick signature.

Mia watched him closely, her own thoughts running beneath the surface of her composed exterior. She had no choice but to agree, for now. "Just so we're on the same page," she began, her voice measured, "I am a merchant's daughter. My mother passed away before I was born, and my father, Kjorn, died in the war—killed by bandits. That much is true. The only lie here is that I am now Mia Dromastus."

Randel, still reading, raised an eyebrow without looking at her. "The real Mia is dead, then?" he remarked casually, as if discussing the weather.

Mia didn't flinch. "Correct," she replied, her tone betraying nothing. She had crafted this lie with care, choosing a real identity, a real story that could hold up to scrutiny. This wasn't a partnership based on love or trust, but on necessity and ambition, and both of them were aware of it.