The acoustics of the alcove were perfect for eavesdropping.

The heavy curtains muffled the noise of the party but trapped the voices inside.

"You look tired, Viv," Aldric's voice was soft. Concerned. "Running the estate alone... it takes a toll."

"I am perfectly capable," Vivienne replied. Her voice was tight. "Damien helps."

"Damien is a boy," Aldric dismissed. "He needs a father. A present father."

"You chose to leave," Vivienne said.

The anger was leaking through now. "You chose the debts. You chose the scandal."

"I made mistakes!" Aldric interrupted.

The volume rose slightly. Passionate. Theatrical.

"I was lost, Viv. I felt... stifled. I didn't know how to handle being married to a legend. It's not easy, living in your shadow."

Marcus rolled his eyes.

The victim card. Classic.

"So you stole from the treasury and ran away with a baron's daughter?" Vivienne asked.

"She meant nothing," Aldric said quickly. "She was a distraction. I was in pain. I'm back now. I'm a different man."

There was a rustle of fabric. Movement.

"I want to come home, Viv," Aldric said. "I want to fix us. I want to be the husband you deserve."

Silence stretched.

"And the debts?" Vivienne asked. Her voice was quieter. "The creditors in the Free Cities? Are they part of the husband I deserve?"

A pause. The air in the alcove seemed to change pressure.

"We are a family," Aldric said. His tone shifted. The charm was thinning.

The desperation was peeking through. "Families help each other. My reputation is your reputation. If I am ruined... it reflects on Damien. On you."

There it is, Marcus thought. The pivot. From love to obligation.

"I paid your debts when you left," Vivienne said. "I sold the summer villa. I am not doing it again."

"It's an investment!" Aldric insisted. "I have opportunities here. I just need a start. A reinstatement of my allowance. Access to the Guild contacts. I can rebuild."

"No," Vivienne said. "We are divorced, Aldric. It's over."

"Is it?" Aldric asked. His voice dropped an octave.

It wasn't warm anymore. It was heavy.

"You haven't remarried. You wear the colors I liked. You're alone, Viv. You're getting older.

Who else is going to understand you? Who else knows the real you?"

"I'm leaving," Vivienne said.

There was a scuffle of feet. Then a sharp stop.

Marcus risked a glance through the gap in the curtain.

Vivienne had tried to step toward the exit.

Aldric had moved. He stood directly in her path.

He wasn't touching her. He didn't have to.

He was larger, broader. He loomed over her. He placed one hand on the wall beside her head.

It was a cage made of a man.

"Don't walk away when I'm pouring my heart out," Aldric said.

He sounded hurt. But his body language was pure aggression.

"I'm trying to save us. I'm trying to save you from becoming a lonely, bitter old woman."

Vivienne shrank back. She pressed against the back wall of the alcove.

This was the woman who fought dragons.

This was the woman who cleared A-rank dungeons solo.

But she wasn't facing a monster. She was facing the man who had spent ten years systematically dismantling her self-worth.

"Please move," Vivienne whispered.

"Just listen to me," Aldric said. He leaned in. "I know you still care. I can see it. You're trembling."

He reached out to touch her face.

Vivienne froze. She looked terrified. Not of physical harm, but of the emotional landslide.

Marcus stepped back from the curtain. His blood was boiling.

It wasn't the hot, reactive anger of a fight.

It was the cold, clinical rage of a professional who saw a pattern he hated.

He had heard of this dynamic a hundred times.

In offices. In living rooms. The subtle erosion of boundaries. The weaponization of shared history.

He looked at his hands. They were steady.

He had a plan. He was supposed to be invisible. He was supposed to let the plot happen.

But the plot was hurting someone.

Damien materialized from the shadows. He moved silently, like a phantom.

He stood beside Marcus. He didn't look at the alcove. He looked at the floor.

"He used to do that when I was a child," Damien said softly.

Marcus looked at him. Damien's face was pale. The usual smirk was gone.

"He would corner her in the library," Damien continued.

"He would talk for hours. About how she was difficult. How she was unlovable. How he was the only one who could tolerate her moods."

Damien's hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"She would go in as the Crimson Viper," Damien said.

"And she would come out... gray. Just gray. She would give him the money just to make him stop talking. Just to make him smile again."

Marcus looked back at the curtain.

He could hear Aldric's low murmur. It was a drone of manipulation.

"Why didn't she leave sooner?" Marcus asked.

"Because of me," Damien said. "He told her that if she left, he would take me. He told her she was an unfit mother because she was an adventurer. He said the courts would give him custody."

Damien looked up. His green eyes were wet.

"She stayed for ten years," Damien whispered. "She let him eat her soul piece by piece so I wouldn't have to grow up with him alone."

Marcus felt a sharp pain in his chest.

It was empathy.

He looked at the curtain. He imagined Vivienne inside.

The legendary warrior who could dodge a lightning bolt but couldn't dodge guilt.

"He's doing it again," Damien said. "He's finding the cracks. He's going to break her."

"Not tonight," Marcus said.

"Marcus," Damien warned. "If you go in there... if you interfere... the attachment level will skyrocket. You are trying to push her away."

"I know," Marcus said.

"If you save her," Damien continued, "she won't just like you. She will imprint on you. You will become her safe harbor. It will destroy Operation Redirect 2.0."

Marcus looked at his friend. He saw the terrified boy hiding inside the cynical transmigrator.

He thought about the plan.

The maps. The code names. The logical, strategic effort to save the world.

Vivienne wasn't invincible. Right now, she was drowning.

"Screw the operation," Marcus said.

He adjusted his cuffs. He straightened his cravat. He summoned the persona he used to wear like armor back on Earth.

The calm authority. The unshakeable professional. The man who stood between the vulnerable and the sharks.

"Damien," Marcus said. "I need you to run a containment pattern. If anyone tries to enter the alcove while I'm in there, distract them. Spill wine. Start a fire. I don't care."

Damien looked at him. A small, genuine smile touched his lips.

"I'll sing," Damien threatened. "Loudly."

"Perfect," Marcus said.

He stepped toward the alcove. He didn't sneak. He walked with the heavy, deliberate footsteps of a man who owned the building.

He reached for the velvet curtain.

He wasn't thinking about the plot.

He wasn't thinking about the demon invasion.

He wasn't thinking about which heroine belonged to which brother.

He was thinking that Count Aldric Blackthorn was about to have a very bad performance review.

Marcus gripped the fabric. He took a breath.

"Showtime," he whispered and swept the curtain aside.

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