Too Lazy to be a Villainess novel Chapter 65

Chapter 65: I Was Never Meant to Have This

[Emperor Cassius’s Pov]

Emperor’s memory:

"Papa... I drew our family picture," she said, her voice full of pride, her little feet dashing toward me with that infectious energy only she could carry.

I turned just in time to catch her before she stumbled. A paper flapped in her tiny hand like a bird in flight.

I smiled—without realizing it—and picked her up, settling her on my lap. Her hair smelled faintly of wildflowers and ink, and her cheeks were smeared with streaks of paint. I took the picture from her hand.

It was... a mess.

A mess of color and odd shapes. The lines were crooked, the proportions utterly wrong, and the flowers looked more like clouds with legs. And yet—

It was a masterpiece.

Because in that picture... it was just the two of us.

No one else.

Just me and my daughter Lavinia, holding hands beneath a crooked sun and surrounded by red, gold, and blue smudges she proudly called flowers.

"Look, Papa! We are holding hands—and I added flowers too!"

I couldn’t speak.

So I smiled.

"I see," I murmured, brushing a smear of green from her soft cheek.

And just like that—

It hit me.

A voice I hadn’t heard in decades. A memory buried so deep I’d forgotten it was mine.

"I pray to that lord that you find happiness in the form of a child, my son. I wish you have a daughter who fills the emptiness in your heart."

Her last words.

The last words spoken by the maid who gave me life. A nameless woman who was dragged to execution by my father’s dogs—for daring to give birth to me— his shame.

She looked at me as the guards pulled her away. Her wrists were bleeding. Her dress was torn. And yet, she smiled at me.

I was six.

Too young to understand why she was saying those words. Too numb to know why she sounded so calm—why her eyes were filled with love for a boy who would be left behind in a den of wolves.

I never remembered her face again until now. Until this moment—holding my daughter in my lap.

It’s been nearly twenty-five years, and yet the pain burned like fresh embers. I forgot how soft she sounded. How warm. I forgot because I needed to. Because after that, there was only the whip. Cold floors. Silent nights. Training, punishment, war. No warmth. No hands to hold.

Just blood and rage.

I realized love was weakness and hope was dangerous.

So, I stopped hoping.

I stopped believing.

And decided I never wanted a family.

Never.

I saw what came of that. Saw what love earned you in the imperial palace. Death. Torture. Chains. You don’t cling to people in this place, not unless you want to dig their graves yourself.

When Theon used to beg me to rest, I scoffed. "Shut up and bring more documents," I’d snarl. I preferred the battlefield over the throne room. The sword over the cradle. Scars over tenderness.

People like Regis—the Grand Duke, beloved by nobles and children alike—they were born to be loved. Cherished. Blessed.

But not me.

I had no right to yearn for anything more. I was raised with steel. I bled for every breath I took. I thought—I knew—that love was not for monsters like me.

Until...

"Papa?"

Her small voice pulled me back. She looked up at me with those bright red eyes—my eyes—expectant, proud, utterly unafraid.

"Do you like my drawing, Papa?"

I stared at her for a long moment.

This child... she wasn’t supposed to exist in my world. And yet, here she was. Real. Solid. Warm in my lap, trusting me with all her heart.

I laid my hand gently atop her head, fingers threading through her golden hair.

"...We shall hang it in our treasure room," I said softly.

She gasped. "Really?!"

Her cheeks flushed pink with joy. It hit me like a blade to the chest.

That smile. That innocence.

It wasn’t mine to deserve.

And yet—it was mine.

She gave it freely.

She chose me.

"This is my first drawing, Papa! I made more! Do you want to see them too?"

I gave her the most honest answer I could. "Yes. I would like to see every single one my daughter drew."

Marella, standing nearby, chuckled. "Then I’ll go fetch the rest our princess made."

My daughter, Lavinia, nodded eagerly, still swinging her legs on my lap.

And I—I just watched her.

Wondering.

When did this happen?

When did I allow a child into my world?

When did I let her curl herself around my heart like sunlight cracking through iron?

It started with curiosity, didn’t it?

She smiled.

She saw... me.

In my child.

Maybe that day she didn’t just utter nonsense to comfort her son before dying like a criminal.Maybe she blessed me.

I never thought I’d know what it meant to be loved. Not feared. Not obeyed. Not worshipped.Loved.

A man like me doesn’t lose because of a weakness.He kills for it.

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