Eva was new to this world, and her first priority was cutting ties with her "patron."
It wasn't a relationship. There was no ring, no commitment. It was a transaction. He didn't see her as partner material; she was just a paid companion.
However, even with the original Eva's memories, she realized she knew next to nothing about this man.
Abruptly demanding a breakup felt risky. It might anger him, and who knew what consequences that could bring? She decided to play it safe: observe first, act later.
The patron didn't seem particularly attached to her anyway. He liked her face, sure, but that was about it.
After all, nobody genuinely likes an airhead, especially not a picky, arrogant rich man.
He only visited this small villa—which he rented specifically for her—once or twice a month.
But as for her looks? Undeniably flawless.
Eva wasn't your typical blonde sweetheart. No gold locks, no blue eyes, no porcelain skin.
She had a mane of jet-black hair that tumbled in thick, loose waves—pure, atmospheric, and oozing allure.
Her eyes were a light amber, the kind that could trick a man into thinking he was in love just by looking into them.
And her skin was a stunning light olive, glowing with health. Think Megan Fox, Jessica Alba, or Jennifer Lopez.
Judging by her complexion, she likely had some Latin or Native American heritage. In Western beauty standards, she screamed health, vitality, and sex appeal.
Her features were sharp, deep, and three-dimensional.
She wasn't "cute." She was a siren.
In a sea of cookie-cutter blondes, Eva's exotic, dangerous beauty was a knockout.
That was probably why the patron kept her around. She was a fresh flavor.
Eva got out of bed and headed downstairs to find something to eat. As she reached the landing, she overheard the maids gossiping in the kitchen.
"I noticed Miss Codi swiped some of the silverware yesterday. Probably pawned it for gambling money again."
"Did you tell Mr. Scott?"
"I did. But you know him. He didn't say a word."
"God, how long is he going to put up with this?"
"I don't know what he sees in her. She's greedy, lazy, and useless. Just a pretty face."
"He doesn't even seem that into her. I mean, come on, what man would actually like a brainless gambling addict?"
Eva didn't want to hear any more. She deliberately stomped her feet as she walked. The gossip instantly died.
She felt a wave of helplessness. The original owner really had hit rock bottom; even the help looked down on her.
It seemed everyone knew exactly what kind of person she was.
But she had bigger fish to fry. She hadn't been given a second chance at life just to waste it on petty squabbles.
In her past life, she had wasted so much time on nonsense like this, all to maintain her vanity and "face." Looking back, it was just the insecure posturing of high-society wives. Caring about others' opinions was a symptom of inner weakness.
She wasn't going to get hung up on it.
Just as she was heading for the fridge, a car horn honked in the driveway.
"Mr. Scott is here, Miss Codi," a maid announced nervously.
Mr. Scott...
Alexander Scott.
That was the patron's name. But no one knew where he came from. Eva suspected he wasn't Irish.
In her memories, his features looked Nordic. Cold, silent, distant. He had a habit of looking down at people from the corner of his eye.
He was a mystery—wealthy, but with no clear source of income or background.
While Eva was still digging through her memory, Alexander walked through the door.
Elegant. Gentlemanly. Like he'd just stepped out of a British period drama.
That was her first impression, even if he probably wasn't British.
He wasn't young—maybe ten years older than Eva—but he carried an air of arrogance. Disdainful and detached.
He saw Eva standing there dazed, glanced at her once, and didn't even break his stride as he walked into the living room.
Arrogant, Eva noted instantly.
She followed him in but sat far away.
She still had her androphobia—her fear of men. She didn't want any physical contact with Alexander; she wasn't sure she could control her reaction if he touched her.
Alexander pulled a cigarette from a silver case, ran it under his nose to catch the scent, and said flatly, "How have you been?"
His tone was casual. He didn't mention the stolen silverware or the gambling.
He knew all her dirty little secrets; he just chose not to bring them up.
"Not bad," Eva replied, keeping it vague.
He lit the cigarette, smoke curling around his long fingers. "I'm leaving Ireland soon. I won't be coming back."
Eva blinked. This silent, arrogant man was telling her this? It sounded final.
"Okay," she said. "You never really looked like you belonged in Ireland anyway."
Alexander ignored the comment. He was always secretive, never even revealing his nationality.
His ice-blue eyes fixed on her. "This is where it ends. Our relationship. I hope you're not the type to make a scene."
Eva didn't look devastated.
If this were the old Eva, she'd be wailing right now, threatening suicide, begging him to stay.
But she wasn't the old Eva. She knew the truth: men are unreliable.
Why beg a man to stay when he was never going to be there for you anyway?
She took a sip of water to moisten her throat. "Fine. Let's end it here."
Alexander looked at her with a probing gaze.
In his mind, Eva was a noisy, shallow girl who used her looks to get what she wanted.
They'd been together for six months. He knew she was vain, addicted to gambling, and empty-headed. She threw the money he gave her away at the casino tables every month.
He had kept her around because she was beautiful and amusing.
But now that he was dumping her... why did she look so relieved? Why wasn't she begging?
He flicked ash into the tray. "Per our agreement, I've wired a hundred thousand euros to your account. It's what you're owed."
Eva ran her finger around the rim of her glass, eyes averted.
She was calculating.
This must have been part of the original arrangement.
Rejecting the money out of pride would be stupid.
A hundred thousand euros wasn't a fortune. For an aspiring director, it wouldn't even cover a low-budget film.
But for someone broke and alone, it was a lifeline.
It was her exit money. Without it, she'd be on the streets, unable to pay her tuition.
She was vulnerable right now. This money solved her immediate problems.
"I appreciate your generosity," she said.
He smoked coolly, but his curiosity got the better of him. "I hope you don't lose it all at the tables in two days."
Eva glanced at him but stayed silent.
"What? Cat got your tongue?" he tilted his head.
She looked him in the eye. "I'll use it wisely. Tuition, mostly. Film school is expensive, and a part-time job won't cover it. Besides, I've quit gambling."
Alexander rubbed his thumb against his finger, a faint smirk in his eyes. "So you haven't forgotten your 'director dream'?"
He was mocking her. Or maybe just amused by her delusions.
He knew she used the "director" label to make herself seem deep and ambitious. In reality, she was just selling a persona.
Eva met his gaze, calm and steady. "You're right. I still want to be a director."
She had no other skills. The only thing she knew how to do was make movies—a skill she had honed in the final years of her previous life.
She had talent. She had passion.
Calling it a "dream" felt a bit cheesy for someone with two lifetimes of experience.
Let's put it this way:
In this life, she craved success. She wanted to be a great director, relying on nothing but herself.
"If you want to be a director, I can give you some advice," Alexander said, shifting his posture. His gaze was unreadable.
Eva looked at him, intrigued. "I'm listening."
This was the first time Alexander had seen Eva so humble. And not just humble—her entire aura had shifted.
She wasn't manic or loud anymore. She was calm, measured, self-contained.
He suddenly stood up and walked toward her.
Eva froze. Her phobia kicked in, alarm bells ringing in her head.
He spoke as he walked, sounding like a veteran of the industry. "In this business, pretty isn't enough. You have to be smart."
He stopped right in front of her. Before she could retreat, he reached out and clamped his hand around her jaw.
It was a familiar gesture. He used to do this often—tilting her face up to admire it like an object.
But this time, Eva reacted instinctively. She slapped his hand away and shoved him back hard.
"Don't touch me!" she shouted.
She stunned herself.
It was a pure reflex. She couldn't control it.
Her androphobia wasn't getting any better. Her stomach churned with nausea; she wanted to vomit.
But then she saw Alexander's face.
He was shocked. He clearly hadn't expected the submissive Eva to fight back.
He looked down at his hand. There were scratch marks from her nails, beads of blood forming.
His eyes turned icy.
His pupils constricted. He looked like a predator that had just been provoked.
Eva hadn't expected this. The man who had been relatively cordial a moment ago now looked terrifyingly cold.
A muscle in his cheek twitched.
He looked like he wanted to kill her.
He actually might kill me.
She didn't want to die again right after respawning.
She waved her hands frantically. "Wait! Let me explain. I didn't mean to!"
Alexander's face was a mask of suppressed violence.
Does this guy never get told 'no'? Eva wondered. Why is he reacting like this?
She'd met a lot of people in her past life, but she'd never seen anyone this twisted, this volatile, this arrogant.
"I... I've been having a hard time lately," she stammered. "I'm seeing a shrink tomorrow. I think it's just stress."
She stopped talking and watched him warily.
She hoped he wouldn't snap.
To be fair, a man as high-and-mighty as Alexander probably rarely lost control.
Sure enough, his expression slowly smoothed out.
The rage faded into a cold, indifferent mask, followed by that familiar, sneering smile. "I think you do need a doctor. You're acting like a complete lunatic."
You're crazy. You're not fit to be around me. That was the subtext.
Eva swallowed hard and stayed quiet.
She knew when to fold. She wasn't going to be a hero when she was defenseless.
Alexander gave her a look of utter disgust. "Pack your bags. You're moving out tomorrow."
He turned and walked out.
Eva heard the door slam, then the roar of an engine.
He was gone.
She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. That was terrifying.
For a second there, she really thought he was going to strangle her.
In her memories, Alexander had never been like that. He was always cold, distant, occasionally amused.
But underneath that cool exterior lay something dark and violent. One wrong move, and the monster came out.
She didn't need to be told twice. She wasn't waiting for tomorrow.
She was packing her bags now.