Page 5 of Once A Villain

As a General, I command fear and respect, a combination that grants me the freedom to choose my assignments from any Sovereign section. My reputation spans continents—I’m the one they call when the job is too brutal, too demanding for anyone else. General is the highest rank a field agent can achieve before stepping into the political cesspool of Commanders, but I couldn’t care less about that. Politics and power games bore me. I thrive in the shadows, where blood and darkness reign.

Every Sovereign starts as an Initiate, clawing their way up through violence and death. It’s a brutal climb, but the rewards are worth it—money, power, control. Each of us has a signature, a way of killing that sets us apart.

For me, death is a fucking art form. They call meThe Reaperfor a reason. I don’t just kill—I annihilate.Pure evil—that’s how they describe me. I don’t flinch, I don’t hesitate, and I damn sure don’t fail.

At the peak of the Sovereign hierarchy stand the High Chancellors, the ultimate power. Isaac Gomez, the High Chancellor of the East Coast Section, rules with an iron fist, leaving no room for failure or weakness. Conrad answers directly to him, but even Isaac doesn’t cross me.

The air shifts when I pass; nods of respect, wide-eyed stares, fear bleeding into every glance. My reputation didn’t just grow—it carved itself into this world.

I reach Conrad’s office and push the door open without knocking. He sits behind his desk with a cold indifference, but unease flickers in his eyes.

“Axe,” he starts, clearing his throat.

“I’m here to collect my payment,” I say, dropping into the chair across from him.

“You were fast,” he exclaims, as if surprised.

“I’m a professional. When I take on a task, I see it through.”

“You’ve certainly lived up to your reputation.” His smile is a smirk—arrogant and sly. He’s trying to mask the unease beneath his bravado, but I can see it. “So, what will it be? How much do I owe you?”

“I don’t want your money.”

Curiosity and doubt make him raise a brow. “What do you want, then?”

“Victoria. As my wife.”

His composure shatters, his eyes widening in shock. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Your daughter. She’s my price.”

For a moment, the room is silent, his mind racing to process my words. Then his anger flares.

“Absolutely not. I am not giving you my daughter.”

“You don’t have a fucking choice, and neither does she,” I say, rising from the chair with slow, deliberate movements. “Bring her here. I want to see her face when you tell her she belongs to me.”

“No. She is not marrying you.”

“I’m going to make her mine, and there’s not a fucking thing you can do about it.” With that, I stride out of his office, leaving him seething in his seat.

As I head down the corridor, I catch his barked order to his assistant. “Get Rory here!” The sound of his panic fuels my satisfaction. I settle into a seat in the waiting area, ready for the inevitable confrontation.

Victoria Valentine—Daddy’s little princess, the apple of his eye.

I’ve spent countless hours thinking about how to bring Conrad Valentine to his knees, how to make the bastard bleed for turning the Sovereign into his personal game of chess. He sits on his throne, sending others to die while he stays clean. Comfortable. Untouched. That’s not Sovereign.

Those Sovereigns who died knew the fucking risks. They shouldn’t have been stupid enough to accept a Death Bond from Conrad. It’s no secret he’s drowning in deep shit, throwing out Bonds like candy to clean up his messes. What gets me is that Conrad doesn’t do the killing himself. He’s a fucking coward who’s forgotten what it means to be a Sovereign. He needs a goddamn reminder. And I’m the one to deliver it.

Bastards like him care about two things: power and legacy. Sons are groomed to inherit their roles, if they survive the training. But daughters? They’re molded, shaped, trained to be the perfect obedient little Sluts. That’s their purpose—to serve, to be traded like cattle when the time comes. Fathers like Conrad dangle their daughters in front of other Sovereign leaders, world rulers, anyone who can expand their empires. They marry them off to cement power, alliances—legacy.

But not this time.

I’m going to take his daughter—the bright, untouchable jewel in his fucked-up world—and make her my own personal plaything. A toy to break whenever I see fit. She’ll beg, she’ll bleed, and she’ll suffer—all for my amusement.

I’ll make him fucking watch as I destroy his daughter and shatter every illusion of control he clings to. This isn’t just about ruining his chance to expand his power—it’s about revenge. I’ll remind him, brutally and without mercy, what happens when you forget what being a Sovereign truly means.

The familiar flash of blonde hair and blue eyes stride down the hall. Victoria Valentine. She moves like she owns the place, long legs and toned body on full display. Years of dancing have carved muscle into her slim frame, her crop top showing off toned abs. Tight pants hug her hips, drawing eyes she doesn’t mind having on her.

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