To survive in this world, his first priority was to restore the estate. Based on fragments of memory, the past Victor took apart the family home brick by brick.
Ultimately, his own children had violently taken his life.
It was astonishing that even on the brink of death, the body's former owner gave no thought to the consequences. He didn't care about the suffering of those close to him, so long as there was always money and drink at hand. Such was the scumbag that was Victor Hellsworth, Lord of these lands.
Now, he was the one who had to clean up this mess, trapped in the skin of an utter villain. Just yesterday, he was on stage auditioning. Today, in an ironic twist, he became the "villainous father" he was meant to portray.
Except this time, there was no walking off the stage.
With his experience, the acting shouldn't have been difficult. It was easy to show rage in rehearsal, but keeping a "poker face" was another story. The world already wanted him gone.
The first person he encountered, predictably, was Kyle. The eldest son didn't even try to hide his hatred, his entire demeanor radiating cold contempt.
"Breakfast, right..."
Victor sighed involuntarily, recalling his son's words. It was only the first day, and he was already about to come face-to-face with his future murderers.
However, as soon as he inspected his quarters, his fear of his son was eclipsed by physical revulsion. Filth, stench, disorder. His inner perfectionist was having a hysteric fit.
The room was a living hell. To hell with breakfast. He needed to put this place in order; he couldn't afford to appear before anyone looking like this.
Approaching the window, he jerked the massive curtains aside. Sunlight struck his eyes like a punishing blade, exposing every layer of grime. Dust danced lazily in the golden beams.
The empty bottles infuriated him most of all, and he began gathering them one by one. He lined them up by the threshold in perfectly straight ranks, ignoring the fact that they smelled of vomit. Looking at them, one would think they had been collecting dust here for years.
Next came the clothes. The smell of stale booze and old sweat made him sick, but he only pressed his lips together stubbornly. He took out a small knife and scraped dirt from under his fingernails. Soon, the flesh under the blade started to ache.
Half an hour later, the room was unrecognizable. Victor stepped into the shower. He grabbed the first bar of soap and scrubbed away the grime. Finally, he felt refreshed. Looking into the mirror, he couldn't suppress a wry smirk. Pale, with deep shadows under his eyes, he still looked devastatingly handsome.
"Unfairly attractive," he thought.
The previous owner of this body was trash who had managed to squander such a gift.
With the OCD flare-up gone, Victor settled into a soft armchair. He started to remember more details about the children. There were four of them. The young man who had woken him was the eldest, around twenty-four. The sister he had mentioned was the second oldest. The younger ones were named Ethan and Leon: one fourteen, the other just ten.
Four little monsters whom he—or rather, the man before him—had raised with his own cruelty. He needed to see them. From this moment on, he would be Victor.
His stomach gave a demanding growl; it was exactly time for breakfast.
Victor pushed open the double doors.
The chatter in the hallway died out instantly. A maid froze in place, her white-knuckled fingers gripping the edges of a tray. A servant, who had been leaning against the wall, quickly straightened up. He almost dropped his rag. A ringing silence hung in the air. The servants stared at him as if they were looking at a corpse come back to life.
"M-my Lord..." the girl exhaled, turning pale before his eyes.
Victor didn't deign to give her even a glance. His attention was fixed on the straight rows of bottles by the threshold.
"Clear this shit out. Air everything out. Burn the bedding. Wipe every crevice of the furniture with vinegar. If I catch even a hint of that old stench in here, you'll be out of the estate in a heartbeat."
The servant bolted as if a pack of wolves were at his heels. Victor shifted his gaze to the maid. She was trembling, expecting the usual: a slap, a scream, or a goblet flying at her head. Instead, he pointed a fingertip at a tiny tea stain on her apron.
"Fix yourself. There will be no stains in my house. Not on the furniture, and not on the people."
He walked past them, feeling their eyes on him. It was a mix of primal terror and utter confusion. To them, he was a living corpse in whom a terrifying passion for cleanliness had suddenly awakened.
On the stairs, the smell of roasted meat mingled with the acrid smoke of torches. With every step, the air grew heavier. There, behind the dining room doors, sat those destined to be his executioners. He heard the soft clink of cutlery. In his mind, it already sounded like knives being sharpened.
"At least one breakfast without his beastly howling," a sharp female voice drifted out.
Evelyna. The daughter who, in the future, would burn this estate to the ground.
"Father is awake, but... he was different. Too sober," Kyle's voice chimed in.
"Sober?" Evelyna laughed shrilly, almost mockingly. "He just hasn't gotten to the bottle yet. Ethan, hide that book before he burns it along with your hands."
Taking a deep breath, he pushed the doors open. Every sound in the dining room vanished instantly. Four pairs of eyes fixed on him. Kyle glared with deep contempt. Evelyna's hatred was clear and fierce. Ethan flinched and almost slipped off his chair. Meanwhile, little Leon froze, spoon in hand.
As if performing a role in a play, Victor walked to the head of the table. His chair was positioned incorrectly—exactly an inch to the left of center. That single inch grated on his eyes more than his daughter's hatred. Without uttering a word, he moved it, aligning it perfectly with the pattern on the carpet. Only once symmetry was restored did he sit down.
Victor shifted his gaze to the youngest, studying his features. Leon had golden hair and clear emerald eyes. His childhood innocence and natural beauty gave him a soft, disarming look.
Feeling his father's heavy gaze, Leon turned pale and dropped his spoon. A loud splash followed, and a greasy stain began to spread across the snow-white tablecloth. The air in the room grew so thick it felt like it could be cut with a knife. Kyle stood up slightly, his hand going to the hilt of his dagger. He was ready for any madness his father might bring.
"So much for a family meal. I'll be killed before I can even make them scrub this grease stain off the cloth," Victor thought to himself.
"Why have you stopped talking? This is breakfast, not a wake. Carry on."
Kyle slowly lowered himself back into his chair. Evelyna remained motionless, clearly waiting for the usual explosion of rage. Victor, however, nonchalantly reached for the crystal decanter of wine. The children went still. In their minds, this was the signal for the beginning of the end. The first sip, inevitably followed by a hail of plates and curses.
He poured a bit of the thick liquid, and the sharp scent of cheap, soured wine hit his nose. Taking a tiny sip, Victor winced involuntarily.
The glass landed on the table with a thud. Victor pushed it to the very edge.
"Take this away. Bring black tea. Five sugar cubes."
Kyle gripped his fork so hard it nearly bent.
"Tea?" he stammered. "You... you aren't going to drink?"
"Do you have a hearing problem, Kyle? And change Leon's tablecloth. That stain is testing my patience."
Ethan quickly grabbed a napkin to blot the soup. But his fingers shook so much that he just smeared the mess more.
"Enough, Ethan. Leave that to the servants. Eat your breakfast."
Evelyna couldn't take it anymore. She pushed her plate away with a crash and stood up.
"I feel sick just being here."
She stormed out of the room, slamming the door so hard the glass in the cabinets rattled. Kyle tensed, ready at any moment to leap to his sister's defense. The elder brother was so alert that he was prepared to lung at his father at the slightest wrong move.
"I should be careful with him," Victor made a mental note.
"Kyle, your food will turn to ice soon."
"You... you're just letting her go? No screaming? No punishments?"
"If she had the strength to yell like that, it means she's full."
Victor waited for the tea. Using silver tongs, he dropped in the sugar cubes.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
He slowly stirred the drink, watching the vortex in the cup. Kyle, Ethan, and Leon sat frozen over their dishes. Their father's new behavior terrified the children more than the usual violence.
Victor took a sip. The scalding, sweet tea slightly soothed the tremors in his body.
"What are you planning?" Kyle finally forced out. "Clean clothes, tea... If you want to mock us before disinheriting us, just say so."
"You ask too many questions for someone who hasn't finished eating."
Victor raised a hand. The gesture was so commanding that Kyle fell silent.
"Finish your meal. You are dismissed."
Without looking back, he stood up and headed for the exit. At the very door, his gaze lingered for a split second on a speck of dust on the handle, but he restrained himself. He stepped out, closing the doors behind him, and only then allowed himself to exhale in the hallway.
His heart was pounding like a trapped bird.
"For the first day—it was almost effortless,"
But no matter how hard Victor tried to lie to himself, with every minute spent in the dining room, that self-suggestion was working less and less.
Victor stood in the hallway for a long time, unable to move. Finally, he forced himself to look around. The corridor seemed endless.
Deciding that he needed to properly study the house that had become his new reality, Victor moved forward. Getting lost in his own hallways would be the height of absurdity.
The Hellsworth estate, once majestic, now resembled a decrepit invalid. Wallpaper was peeling, and portraits were overgrown with cobwebs. He walked through the old gallery. His ancestors stared down, just as arrogant and probably just as rotten.
To the right was the small parlor. That was where the "previous" Victor spent his endless nights, literally drinking away the remnants of the family gold. The air there still felt sticky from spilled wine and stale breath. But the left side was much scarier: a dark, unwelcoming staircase that led to the cellars. It exhaled cold and something unpleasant.
Rumors said the old Lord locked up unwanted people there. They were left alone with darkness and rats. This made Victor's skin crawl and gave him prickly goosebumps.
A maid with a basket appeared from around the corner. The moment she noticed Victor, she practically fused with the wall, turning a sickly shade of blue. The clean sheets leaned at a sharp angle, nearly brushing the dusty floor below her. Victor stopped, his gaze piercing the untidy basket.
"Straighten your back."
"F-forgive me, my Lord..."
"Quiet. Extra noise irritates me as much as your slouching."
He fastidiously touched the edge of the fabric, tucking it inside. The sight of the fold caused him almost physical pain.
"If I see you lugging laundry like a bag of trash again, you'll go to the river. You'll wash it in the freezing water until your fingers turn blue. Dismissed."
The maid bolted, dissolving into the shadows of the corridor.