Investing in My Yandare Villainess Fiancée:Each Reward Fuels My Growth

Chapter 66: Investment 66: Homecoming

The carriage ride to the Reingard estate took the better part of a day, and for most of it, Seria had her head resting against Elliot’s shoulder, fast asleep.

He didn’t mind. After everything they’d survived in that dungeon, he was fairly certain neither of them had truly slept in over a week—not the deep, dreamless kind anyway. He watched the rolling hills of the outer Reingard territory scroll past the carriage window, green and gold under the late afternoon sun, and let himself, just for a moment, forget about bug lords and ancient throne rooms and mothers who whispered orders through shadows.

"You’re staring," Seria mumbled without opening her eyes.

"I thought you were asleep."

"I was. You’re loud, even when you’re quiet." She finally cracked one crystal-blue eye open, a faint, teasing smile tugging at her lips. "What has you so deep in thought?"

"Just... glad to be going home." He reached over and gently brushed a strand of pale hair from her face. "And glad you’re coming with me."

Her cheeks colored instantly, the way they always did when he said something so plainly, unguardedly affectionate. She sat up properly, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her travel dress with far more focus than the task actually required.

"Well," she said, voice a touch higher than usual, "someone has to make sure you don’t get yourself killed the moment you’re out of my sight."

"Is that the only reason?"

"Obviously." She refused to meet his eyes, staring very intently out the opposite window instead. "Don’t read into it further than that."

He chuckled, and the sound seemed to ease something tight in her shoulders, because she finally allowed herself to lean back against him again.

The carriage crested a final hill, and the Reingard estate came into view below—a sprawling manor of pale stone and dark timber, framed by orchards on one side and a long, winding river on the other. Smoke curled lazily from several chimneys, and even from this distance, Elliot could make out figures moving in the courtyard, already alerted to the approaching carriage.

"It’s beautiful," Seria said softly, sitting up to get a proper look.

"It’s home," Elliot said, and found, somewhat to his own surprise, that after everything—the system, the dungeon, the war he was apparently now tangled up in—those two words still meant exactly the same thing to him they always had.

The carriage rolled to a stop in the circular courtyard, and before the wheels had even fully ceased turning, the manor’s front doors burst open.

"Elliot!"

A small blur of dark hair and flailing limbs came barreling across the courtyard and collided with Elliot’s midsection the moment he stepped down from the carriage, nearly knocking the wind clean out of him.

"Whoa—hey, Mira." He laughed, steadying himself and ruffling his little sister’s hair. "Careful, I just survived a dungeon. Don’t finish the job."

"You were gone forever!" Mira, all of ten years old and utterly unbothered by decorum, glared up at him with the kind of righteous fury only a younger sibling could properly summon. "You said two months and it’s barely been three weeks and there were rumors—bad rumors, Elliot—about students dying and I made Mother tell me everything and she wouldn’t and it was awful and—"

"Mira." A calm, warm voice cut gently through the torrent of words. "Let your brother breathe before you interrogate him."

Elliot looked up to see his mother, Lyra Reingard, standing in the doorway, an elegant but clearly exhausted smile on her face. Beside her stood his father, Baron Cassian Reingard, arms crossed, expression unreadable in the particular way that had always made it difficult for Elliot to guess what the man was actually feeling.

"Mother." Elliot extracted himself gently from Mira’s death grip and crossed the courtyard, pulling his mother into a proper hug. "It’s good to see you."

"You have no idea," she murmured against his shoulder, holding on perhaps a beat longer than strictly necessary. When she finally pulled back, her eyes—the same warm brown as his own—swept over him with the particular scrutiny only a mother could manage, checking for injuries even through his traveling clothes. "You look thinner. And there’s a scar on your jaw that wasn’t there before."

"It’s a long story."

"I imagine it is." She glanced past him toward the carriage, where Seria had just stepped down, smoothing her dress with visible nervousness that she was doing an admirable job of hiding beneath practiced composure. "And this must be Lady Migalison."

"Seria," Elliot corrected gently, waving her forward. "Mother, Father—this is Seria. My fiancée."

Seria dipped into a formal, textbook-perfect curtsy, the kind drilled into every noble daughter from childhood. "It’s an honor to finally meet you both properly, Baron and Baroness Reingard."

"The honor is entirely ours." Lyra’s smile turned warmer, more genuine, as she studied Seria with open curiosity rather than judgment. "We’ve heard so much about you."

"All of it terrifying, I’d imagine," Seria said dryly, a flicker of her usual dry wit breaking through the formal mask.

"Some of it," Cassian admitted, stepping forward at last, his expression finally cracking into something resembling a smile. "Though I suspect most of it is deserved, from what my son’s letters described."

"Father—"

"He wrote to us, you know," Cassian continued, ignoring Elliot’s protest entirely, clearly enjoying himself. "Rather a lot, actually, once he got to the academy. Nearly every letter mentioned you in some capacity."

"Every single one," Mira added helpfully, having reattached herself to Elliot’s side. "It was actually really annoying."

"Mira."

"What? It’s true!"

Seria’s cheeks flushed a deep, telling red, and she shot Elliot a sidelong glance that promised a much longer, much more thorough conversation once they were alone.

"Well," Lyra said, clearly delighted by the entire exchange, "why don’t we get you both settled in properly. You’ve had a long journey, and I imagine you’re both in dire need of a proper meal and a warm bed."

"That," Seria said, some of her composure returning, "sounds absolutely wonderful."

As the family began making their way toward the manor’s grand entrance, Elliot lingered a moment in the courtyard, glancing back toward the tree line at the estate’s edge—the same orchards he’d climbed as a child, the same fields he’d once thought held nothing more dangerous than the occasional stubborn goat.

For just a fraction of a second, he thought he saw movement at the tree line. A shadow, still and watchful, gone the instant he blinked.

"Elliot?" Seria had paused at the doorway, looking back at him with faint concern. "Is something wrong?"

He held her gaze for a moment, then glanced back at the empty tree line, telling himself it was nothing. Exhaustion. Paranoia left over from the dungeon.

"No," he said finally, jogging to catch up with her. "Nothing at all."

He didn’t quite believe himself. But for tonight, at least, he wanted to.