Villain of Fate: The Tyrant System-Chapter 88: Storm Beneath the Patriarch’s Roof

Storm Beneath the Patriarch’s Roof

As for today’s situation, it was naturally his doing.

Ryan De Dominicis stood near the back of the room, half-hidden behind the others, watching the patriarch convulse on the bed. His face was arranged into a mask of worry, but beneath it, something cold flickered in his eyes.

After Young Master Evan’s earlier plan had failed, he had given him another idea.

To directly target the patriarch.

If the old lion fell, the throne would not sit empty for long. Succession would have to be decided immediately. And according to the family’s long-standing rules, authority still favored a male heir.

Without the patriarch’s protection... Bianca would not be able to hold her power.

"Grandfather... don’t blame me for being ruthless. You were just too biased."

The thought brushed across Ryan’s mind like a guilty whisper. His fingers twitched at his sides. For a fleeting moment, shame rose in his chest.

Then ambition crushed it.

Power was heavier than conscience.

"What should we do now? Should we call Senior Miracle Doctor Ravenswood—your grandfather—to try?" Bianca asked bitterly, her voice cracking despite her effort to stay composed.

Her red hair fell messily around her shoulders. The confidence she usually carried like a crown had fractured into raw panic.

Miss. Amara Ravenswood shook her head slowly.

"If I can’t find the problem, my grandfather probably won’t be able to either." Her brows knitted together. "This situation is very troublesome... but there’s someone who can help me."

"Who?" Bianca asked instantly.

"Julian D’Aurelius."

The name landed like a stone in still water.

Amara remembered clearly—at the D’Aurelius household that day—when she overheard Julian’s inner thoughts. He had mastered the Miracle Medicine Record. He had reached divine insight.

If she couldn’t see the root of the illness... perhaps he could.

Bianca didn’t hesitate. She didn’t question why a businessman should be summoned for a medical emergency. Her grandfather’s life mattered more than logic.

She immediately dialed Julian.

At the D’Aurelius Group headquarters, Julian was in his office—controller in hand, leaning back in his leather chair.

Across from him sat Liza Voss.

She wore oversized headphones, long black hair cascading down her shoulders, fingers flying across a mechanical keyboard as she read out financial reports between his rounds of gameplay.

"Quarterly margin—up 3.2 percent... wait, boss, you’re pushing mid again? That’s reckless."

Julian smirked. "Reckless wins games."

On-screen explosions reflected in his golden eyes.

Liza barely moved from her seat these days. From morning till night, she appeared diligent—reporting data, analyzing spreadsheets, organizing files.

And ordering takeout.

Three cups of milk tea already lined the edge of her desk today. Half-eaten fries. A box of spicy noodles.

She looked like a lazy, sugar-fueled nerd.

But Julian knew better.

She was acting.

Every quiet keystroke... every obedient "yes, boss"... it was a performance. She wanted him comfortable. Distracted. Vulnerable.

Let her steal whatever she wanted.

He had already altered everything important.

His phone vibrated.

Bianca.

Julian’s relaxed expression sharpened instantly. He answered.

"What’s up?"

"Where are you now? I’ll send a helicopter to pick you up. My grandfather is in critical condition. Please come quickly."

Her voice was trembling. Urgent. Fractured.

Julian could almost see her eyes—red and glassy.

He stood up immediately, controller dropping onto the desk.

"I’m at the company. Have the helicopter pick me up on the rooftop."

"I’m at the company. Have the helicopter pick me up on the rooftop."

He ended the call and grabbed his jacket.

"Liza, I’ve got work."

She blinked, startled. "Work? Now?"

"Emergency."

He was already moving toward the door.

Liza watched him leave, narrowing her dark eyes slightly. Something serious...

On the rooftop, wind whipped against Julian’s coat as he waited.

Old Master De Dominicis suddenly collapsing?

That wasn’t in the original storyline.

In the novel’s timeline, the patriarch stayed healthy until the end.

Another deviation.

The helicopter blades roared above him, slicing the evening sky. He boarded without hesitation, sitting back as the city lights blurred beneath them.

He stared out the window, jaw tight.

The plot had already fractured. He couldn’t rely on memory anymore.

He would have to think for himself.

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The helicopter descended onto the De Dominicis—estate lawn.

Bianca was already waiting.

Her red hair was slightly disheveled. Her eyes were rimmed crimson.

For once, the proud heiress looked small.

Julian stepped toward her.

"Don’t worry. The patriarch is blessed. He’ll be fine."

His voice was steady. Low.

Bianca gave a small nod, her throat moving as she forced down the lump. "Alright - just get here fast," she said, voice low

Her fingers closed around his, icy in a way he hadn’t felt before, yanking him through the doorway without a word. Then silence.

The mansion felt suffocating.

The scent of incense pressed down, mixed with unease. Down the hallways, relatives stood quiet, their stillness edged with strain.

Far past the doorway, Amara moved needles into skin. A quiet rhythm filled the room where light fell across the bed.

Shimmering under the lamp, fine silver needles lined up where her fingers moved without pause - steady over his chest, then down along the stomach. Each placement followed the last, quiet, deliberate, part of a rhythm only she seemed to hear.

Even without spotting the source, managing the symptoms fell right into her range.

He gasped for air, uneven and thin. White as paper. Under the covers, his body a slight shake ran through him.

All eyes shifted to Julian as he entered.

Some suspicious. Some desperate.

"Why is he here?"

"He’s not a doctor..."

Julian ignored them. He stepped closer to Amara.

"What’s wrong with the patriarch?"

Amara didn’t look up immediately. Sweat beaded along her temple.

"I can’t identify the problem right now."

Her voice was tight. Controlled—but strained.

"I’m planning to use the Thirteen Veins Severing Reversal Technique for treatment... and I need your assistance."

The room fell silent.

Even the faint hum of the medical equipment seemed to pause.

Julian’s golden eyes darkened slightly.

So, it had come to this.