Too Lazy to be a Villainess novel Chapter 264

Chapter 264: A Tyrant’s Tears

[Lavinia’s POV — Imperial Chambers—Later]

The warmth of Papa’s chamber felt almost foreign after the void. I slumped against his broad shoulder, letting my small frame sink into the comfort I hadn’t realized I craved. My hand rested on Marshi’s head—he was asleep on my lap, his breaths shallow and even. Everyone else had left, leaving the two of us alone.

Just Papa and me.

I lifted my eyes, hesitant, voice barely a whisper. "Were you... scared, Papa?"

For a moment, there was silence. The kind that stretched and pulled at the edges of the room, heavy with unspoken words. His hand moved slowly to brush back a strand of hair from my face.

"Scared?" he said softly, voice low and roughened with the memory. "Any father would be. Seeing his child... locking herself away in a void... not knowing if she’d ever come back. Any father would be scared, Lavinia."

I swallowed, feeling the weight of his words. My voice trembled as I ventured further, "And... what about the previous life? The one before this one?"

He flinched, a sharp, almost physical reaction, like I’d stabbed him straight through the heart. His breath hitched slightly, and for a moment, I saw him as just a man... vulnerable, broken. Then, a thin, haunted smile formed at the edges of his lips—pain etched into every line of his face.

"I... I died," he whispered, voice cracking. "Every day... with you. Every single day, Lavinia."

I couldn’t speak. My throat tightened, my chest aching as if the void itself had taken residence inside me. Tears began to slip unbidden down my cheeks.

"I..." My voice faltered, heavy with grief and guilt, breaking under the weight of everything I had felt, everything I had lost. "When I... when I found the truth... Papa... I felt like... my world shattered. I felt everything was a lie."

His hand cupped my cheek, warm and steady. His thumb brushed lightly over my tears, and the room felt impossibly still—save for the tremor of raw emotion lingering between us.

"Lavinia..." he said softly, each syllable heavy. "My world... it shattered too. The last life... every moment I saw you... lying there... cold, silent... gone... I died with you. But..." His voice trembled now, thick with unspoken remorse. "I... I suppose... it was all... my fault. I should’ve never separated you from me."

I pressed closer into him, sobbing quietly, letting myself feel the weight of every lost second, every stolen moment, every pain we had endured across lifetimes. His arms wrapped around me, tighter than ever, and I realized that no matter how much anguish had been carved into our souls, this—this moment—was ours alone.

"I..." I whispered again, my broken voice trembling with both love and grief. "I don’t know how to... forgive you, Papa... but I... I can’t hate you. Even after everything."

My tears soaked into his chest as I pressed closer, my small hands clutching his tunic like I could anchor myself to him, to reality, to the one constant I had ever known.

He bent his head slightly, brushing a trembling hand over my hair, feeling the damp strands stick to his fingers. His voice was rough, almost strangled with emotion, yet steady with conviction.

"I think... I should be glad, my child. Glad that you... are not hating me. Because losing you... again... losing you would have been... nothing but death. A death I could never survive."

I hiccuped, shivering as his hand patted my head over and over, soft and grounding, a rhythm I could cling to. Every pat was a promise. Every touch a lifeline.

I couldn’t; I simply couldn’t hate him. Never.

The room felt impossibly small—suffocating in the best way—but at the same time, impossibly infinite, as if the world itself had shrunk to just this moment. My tears soaked into the fabric of his tunic, his steady heartbeat beneath my forehead the only rhythm I needed to believe in again.

He tightened his arms around me, his chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths, whispering against the top of my head, "You’re here... you’re here with me. And as long as you are... I can endure anything, my daughter. Anything."

I pressed closer, letting the weight of my fear, my pain, and my anger spill into him, into the one person who had always carried it all silently.

"Papa... I..." My voice cracked, choked with sobs. "I was so scared... so lonely... but... I never stopped... missing you in that Void."

His lips trembled, and I felt warm tears fall, soaking the top of my hair. I clung to him tighter, shivering against his chest, wanting to never let go.

And then... PLOP! Something wet fell onto my head.

I blinked up at him—and froze.

Papa. Was crying.

This... this was the first time I had ever seen my tyrant of a father cry. My lips trembled, disbelief and awe colliding. "Papa... why...?"

He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead, his voice hoarse but steady. "Thank you... for not leaving my side, my child... even after all this. You... you are everything I have."

My lips wobbled. "But... why are you crying? A tyrant should never cry!"

He blinked at me, flatly. "Am I... crying?"

I nodded. "Yes... and... and YOU LOOK SO UGLY WHEN YOU DO!!!!"

Marshi, who had been sleeping in my lap, gasped. Papa froze, staring at me like I had just insulted the very foundations of the empire. Then... with terrifying swiftness, he flicked my head.

"Ow... what?" I rubbed my forehead.

. . .

. . .

He froze. My laughter echoed against his chest. Then, with a grumble like a caged beast, he muttered, "Liked her? I... hated her! Every fiber of my imperial being... hated... that... infuriating woman. And yet..."

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