Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate-Chapter 39: Breaking off the Engagement

Vivienne was the first to speak again.

"Damien…" Her voice was softer now, searching. "Why? Did something happen?"

Her concern was immediate, genuine. Her delicate brows furrowed slightly as she leaned in, looking for answers. "Did she do something?"

Damien almost laughed.

Of course, his mother would think that.

It was an easy assumption. One that, if he played into it, would immediately shift the power in his favor.

Because if he wanted to, he could tell them everything.

He could reveal how Celia had come to him at the club earlier today. How she had slapped him in front of everyone, her voice dripping with barely restrained contempt.

And if he did?

Vivienne would not take it well.

She would do something.

Damien wasn't sure what exactly—perhaps confront Celia herself, or worse, make a scene with the Everwyn family.

His mother wasn't a cruel woman, but she was fiercely protective.

And Celia?

She had no idea how close she had come to making a very, very dangerous mistake.

But Damien wouldn't say it.

Because if he did—if he let his mother fight his battles for him—then wouldn't that make him the same pathetic fool he had once been?

No.

If he was going to walk away from Celia, it wouldn't be out of anger.

It wouldn't be out of humiliation.

It would be because he decided it.

He leaned back slightly, exhaling. "No, Mother. Nothing like that."

Vivienne's gaze remained locked onto him, uncertain.

Instead, Damien gave them something else. Something better.

"I've been meeting with Celia a lot," he admitted. "And I've come to realize something."

Dominic, who had been listening in silence, narrowed his eyes. "And that is?"

Damien smiled—slow, knowing.

"She's not interested," he said simply.

For the second time that night, Dominic Elford was caught off guard.

His normally unreadable expression flickered—just for a moment. Not shock, not anger, but realization.

Because he knew Damien. He knew the way his son had once pursued Celia with everything he had, how he had stubbornly forced the relationship forward, convinced that love could be earned if he just tried hard enough.

And for him to sit here, calmly stating that it was pointless—

That was not something Dominic had ever expected.

But before Dominic could say anything—

Vivienne let out a small, breathless laugh.

"…Finally."

Damien turned to her, raising a brow.

Vivienne smiled, a real, genuine smile, and exhaled as if she had been waiting for this for years. "Oh, Damien, I've been hoping you would realize that."

Of course, his mother had known.

Not just her.

Anyone with eyes could have seen it.

It was obvious.

And not just in this world, but in the game as well.

When he had played as Damien Elford, back in Shackles of Fate, even he—as the player—had known.

Every interaction. Every moment Celia had spent with Damien.

It had always been there.

The distance.

The lack of warmth.

The way she had smiled, but never genuinely. The way she had spoken, but never with feeling.

She had never wanted him. Not as a lover. Not as a fiancé.

And yet, the old Damien?

That pathetic, desperate, crawling fool?

He had never seen it.

Or worse—he had seen it, and simply ignored it.

Because he had wanted her.

Because he had needed her.

And in the end, wasn't that what made him the most disgusting of all?

It was the same when he had played the game.

Watching Damien waste his attention, his time, his money on a girl who didn't appreciate any of it.

Watching him throw himself at her feet, convinced that if he just tried harder, if he just gave more, if he just endured—

She would love him back.

It had made him sick.

He had wanted to punch the loser bastard in the face.

But of course, the game hadn't let him.

Because that wasn't the role of Damien Elford.

Because the moment he had started Shackles of Fate, he had already lost.

Because, in the end—

It wasn't just some "tragic romance."

It was an NTR game.

A game designed for humiliation.

Women like Celia.

Damien had seen them before. Over and over again.

The ones who stood at the top without ever having to fight for it. The ones who basked in the admiration of men too blind, too weak to see the truth. The ones who collected affections like trophies, not because they cared, but because they could.

And Celia?

She was exactly that kind of woman.

She had never once earned the attention she was given. Never once deserved the pedestal she stood on. The old Damien had knelt before her, given her his time, his effort, his everything—only to be spat on for his trouble.

A girl who had power, but no right to wield it.

A girl whose only true ability was her beauty, whose status wasn't built on talent, intelligence, or strength—but on the blind adoration of fools.

And Damien?

He would strip that power from her.

He would trample on the pedestal she stood on.

He would crush the illusion she wrapped herself in until there was nothing left.

Because women like her—women who played with the weak, who toyed with the desperate, who laughed at the pathetic men who groveled at their feet—

They deserved nothing.

And Damien would make sure Celia Everwyn got exactly what she deserved.

His lips curled into the faintest smirk, but he quickly masked it. Now wasn't the time.

Instead, he turned back to Vivienne, schooling his expression into something softer. He exhaled through his nose, letting his shoulders relax just slightly, as if letting the weight of the truth settle onto him.

"I noticed…" he said quietly, nodding to his mother. "And it was really hard."

Vivienne's brows furrowed in sympathy, her green eyes filled with understanding.

"That's why I was late today."

A lie.

But so fucking what?

If it made things easier. If it convinced them he had struggled, that he had only just now reached this revelation, then let them believe it.

His mother sighed, reaching out to place a gentle hand over his.

"Oh, my love… I'm so sorry."

She squeezed lightly, her warmth genuine. Her concern real.

And Damien?

He squeezed back.

Damien turned his gaze back to his father, his expression even, unwavering.

"Father, that is why I want to break the engagement."

Dominic's fingers stilled against the table. His steel-gray eyes locked onto Damien's, searching, assessing, measuring.

And then—

"Do you think this is a child's play?"

His voice was low, steady. Not raised, not angry. But heavy with expectation.

Damien exhaled slowly, leaning back slightly. "No, it is not." His blue eyes remained sharp, unwavering. "That is precisely why I want to end this engagement."

Dominic studied him for a long moment, as if trying to decipher whether he was speaking from emotion or reason.

After all these years?

After all the time he had fought for this?

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And yet—Damien didn't hesitate.

"That's right," he said simply.

A long silence followed.

Then—

"I see…"

Dominic leaned back, exhaling through his nose as he tapped a single finger against the table, considering. His gaze flickered for a moment, lost in thought, before settling once more.

"…Very well."