Reincarnated as the Villain’s Father

After dinner, I had ordered the servants to bring Annabel to my room. But they had misunderstood my command.

Annabel stood before me, dressed in an ornate gown with makeup carefully applied.

Despite the cosmetics, faint traces of tears were still visible on her cheeks. The seductive dress she wore exposed her slender waist and navel. Her long golden hair cascaded down to her lower back, and the neckline revealed the smooth curves of her ample chest without shame.

But her expression was that of a lamb accepting its fate in the jaws of a wolf. The longer I remained silent, the more suffocating the atmosphere became. I didn't know what to say but I had to say something, or she'd stand there forever.

"Who chose your dress?" I finally asked. My voice was neither mocking nor gentle. I simply wanted the answer.

Annabel lowered her head. A strand of hair fell over her face as she avoided my gaze. "The maids… When you commanded me to come to your room… they assumed this was how it should be," she said in a soft whisper.

"I wanted to speak with you, not display you like an object," I replied, stepping forward. She didn't move back.

Her chest rose and fell. whether from fear or shame, it was hard to tell. The trace of tears beneath her makeup lingered like an unspoken humiliation. Whether she had come of her own will or out of fear of me… the answer was obvious. Her tears betrayed everything.

"Sit down. Across from me."

My tone wasn't loud, but it left no room for disobedience.

Annabel hesitated. For a brief moment, our eyes met. There was no spark of hatred in hers, but this wasn't hollow submission either. It was something more complicated. fractured, yet still holding a sliver of resistance. She walked slowly to the chair across from me and sat down. Her knees pressed tightly together, hands clasped in her lap. She didn't know what would happen next, only that she had to wait.

I remained standing. The silence in the room pressed harder than the walls. I felt no anger, not pity. But… something was there. Something I couldn't name.

"Are you afraid of me?" I finally asked. A simple question. But no one with a simple answer.

She shook her head slowly. No. Then she paused, looked away, and nodded. Yes. Finally, her shoulders slumped. The answer was too tangled for words.

"Tell me the truth, Annabel."

At that, her head lowered even further. Her arms tightened around her body. The gesture made her seem smaller, though the pressure on her chest made it seem like her breasts might spill from the dress at any moment.

"Yes…" The word came out as a whisper, but I could hear the fear in it.

I exhaled quietly, as if disappointed with her answer. Who the hell was I kidding? Seeing such a pure, beautiful woman suffer like this for no fault of her own filled me with burning hatred, for Leonardo, the man whose body I now inhabited.

The novel hadn't explicitly said it, but it was obvious. For this woman to bear Leonardo's child, that bastard must've forced himself on her. A rapist. A filthy son of a bitch. That's who Leonardo was. But I couldn't exactly shout out: "I'm not him. I just reincarnated into his body from another world."

So now I had to carry the sins of this goddamn bastard and step into some kind of redemption arc. Hopefully, I wouldn't die of tuberculosis halfway through.

"Annabel," I said, my voice a little softer now, but still firm. "I won't touch you. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. So relax. I won't hurt you. I just want… forgive me. For what I've done."

She didn't lift her head. Her eyes remained on the floor, her breathing uneven. At first, she said nothing. The silence between us turned into a wall.

Then her shoulders began to tremble. Slowly, at first, barely noticeable. But the shaking became more obvious.

Tears rolled down again. This time, the makeup had been forgotten. Not that much of it remained.

Her fingers clenched tighter in her lap. Her nails dug into her skin. Then she whispered, voice hoarse and almost too quiet to hear,

"... Why now?"

Her voice was broken from crying. Each word seemed torn out of her.

"Why… not earlier?"

Still, she didn't raise her head. Tears dripped from her chin in silence. I could only hear her trembling breaths and the occasional sniffle.

I didn't approach her. This wasn't something that could be fixed with a touch. One wrong move, and whatever fragile pieces remained would shatter.

"I don't know," I said truthfully. "But now… I'm trying to do what's right."

Annabel blinked. Another tear fell. She wiped her eye with trembling fingers. Then she spoke again, quietly,

"You've changed… haven't you?"

I froze.

How the hell did she know? Somehow, instinctively, she had sensed it. that something inside the man before her had shifted. That I wasn't… him anymore.

But I couldn't answer that. If I told the truth, the world would unravel. If I lied, it would be worse.

So I stayed silent. And she lowered her head again, as if she had her answer.

The tears didn't stop. But now they weren't from fear. They came from exhaustion. From a soul worn thin.

"Forgiveness isn't easy," she said. "But… maybe one day…"

"There's no rush," I told her.

She nodded, said no more. She wept in silence. Her posture, her presence, everything about her seemed small. But for the first time, she wasn't entirely defenseless. There was perhaps a trace of acceptance in her gaze.

And for me, that was enough.

 -----

The Count's Office - Toward Evening

The desk was buried in paperwork. The edges of the parchments were stained with soot; the ink had dried into a dull, cold gray. Three people sat before me: the chief tax officer, a representative of the wine merchants' guild, and delegates from two villages caught in a land dispute.

All of them wore the same expression,nervous respect.

I began with the tax records. Due to Leonardo's old debts, some regions had been burdened with tax rates as high as 40%. There was no way they could survive under such weight.

"Reduce those rates," I told the tax officer. "But on one condition: every village will send me weekly production reports. If I catch any falsified data, not only will I reinstate the old rates. I'll hang you in that village's square."

The man trembled. "Yes… Count, Your Grace."

Next, I turned to the wine guild. Imported goods from the south had flooded the market and driven down prices. Our local wines were no longer selling.

"New policy," I said. "Only local wine will be served in the palace cellar. And at the winter festival here in the castle, only your products will be featured. In return, you'll lower your prices. Everyone wins."

The representative bowed in agreement.

I didn't shout at anyone. But I didn't act friendly either. I was fair. And to them, that alone was a miracle compared to the old Leonardo.

Finally, I faced the village delegates. The land dispute involved irrigation channels and seemed minor but in a few seasons, it could escalate into a major economic issue.

"Neither side is on the right. You're both greedy," I said. "Palace engineers will redraw the irrigation canals. Whoever manages the water, manages the land. If either side violates the new arrangement, their land will be seized next harvest."

They looked ready to protest but one look from me was enough. They left without a word.

And just like that, today's duties were over.

With time, I was growing more adept at managing the responsibilities of a count. Luckily, in my previous life, I had been a law student with above-average knowledge of history. That made adapting to this role easier.

A few hours passed. The chamber was empty now. Only unfinished documents and the sound of the winter wind against the window remained.

I sat down. Standing helped keep my mind sharp, but exhaustion had finally set in.

Then I placed a sheet of parchment before me, dipped my pen into ink, and began to write a letter.

"Dear sister…"