Villain of Fate: The Tyrant System-Chapter 72: The Email That Shifted the Board

The Email That Shifted the Board

The email was related to the Lunar Citadel, but it wasn’t about the murder case; it was about drugs.

"Quick, call Director Walker over."

Charlotte Bonds slammed her palm against the desk, the sharp crack echoing across the Valemont West Side Police Station.

Her colleague nearly dropped the stack of files he was holding. "Y-Yes, Captain!"

He ran.

Charlotte didn’t blink. The light from the monitor reflected off her bright teal eyes, turning them cold and sharp as blades.

On the screen—shipment records, coded transfers, storage locations disguised as "maintenance rooms." Someone had fed her something precise. Not rumor. Not guesswork.

Evidence.

Her long azure hair was tied high, a few strands falling loose around her pale face. She brushed them back impatiently. Dark circles shadowed her eyes—she hadn’t slept properly in three days—but they did nothing to dull her beauty. If anything, they gave her an edge. Her lips were naturally full, tinted faint rose; her nose straight and refined; her jawline soft yet firm with determination.

Even in uniform, her figure was impossible to ignore. An E-cup bust pressed against the tailored fabric of her police shirt, narrow waist cinched by a black belt, long legs wrapped in fitted trousers that outlined the strength in her thighs. She carried herself with the quiet authority of someone raised in power but hardened by discipline.

Director Walker arrived moments later.

A square-faced man in his forties, stern but fair. He looked at her, then sighed.

"Charlotte... I hate to say it, but you’re a beautiful young woman working late every day. Those dark circles are making you look like a panda."

His tone was half reprimand, half fatherly concern.

"Just look at this first."

Charlotte slid her chair aside without a word.

Director Walker leaned in. His brows furrowed. The lines on his forehead deepened.

"If this is real..." he muttered.

"It’s real," she said quietly. "My gut says it is."

Director Walker straightened immediately.

"Call a meeting. Now. Form a task team. I’ll lead it personally."

His voice carried authority. The station moved like a stirred beehive.

Two hours later, after heated discussion and tactical planning, the investigation team left to act.

Charlotte stood up as well.

"I’m coming."

"No." Director Walker’s voice cut through.

"Eat. Sleep. You look like you’re about to collapse."

"I’m fine."

"You’re not." He softened slightly. "You’re too valuable to burn out. That’s an order."

Her jaw tightened—but she nodded.

Frustrated, she changed into casual clothes and stepped out of the station.

The evening air of Valemont carried the scent of fried noodles and traffic fumes. She walked to her usual roadside stall opposite the station.

Simple. Cheap. Familiar.

She wasn’t picky.

As she approached, someone called out—

"Officer Bonds."

She turned.

A man stood a few steps away.

Black hair, neatly styled but not overly polished. Black eyes that held something calculating beneath a surface smile. He wore a simple white shirt with sleeves rolled up and dark trousers—clean, understated. A leather folder tucked under his arm.

Charlotte studied him for a moment.

"Evan, right?"

She remembered him.

Not from a bus incident.

Three weeks ago, during a warehouse inspection near the docks, she had encountered a group of Freelance Warriors harassing a migrant worker over unpaid debt. Before she could intervene, this man had stepped forward.

Calm. Controlled.

He hadn’t thrown wild punches. He’d dismantled them methodically—precise strikes, efficient movements. No wasted energy.

When she arrived to arrest the men, he had simply adjusted his cuffs and said, "I don’t like bullies."

It was too smooth.

Too rehearsed.

And that smile—always slightly off.

"I thought Officer Bonds wouldn’t remember my name."

Evan smiled, lips curling in that faintly wicked arc.

He carried a stack of medical supply boxes.

"Working part-time now?" she asked lightly.

He chuckled.

"No. The clinic down the street is short on volunteers. I help deliver medicine when I can. There’s an elderly community nearby. No one checks on them."

He said it like it cost him nothing.

Charlotte studied him.

He was handsome—undeniably so. Sharp features. Clean jawline. Broad shoulders beneath the simple shirt. The kind of man women noticed without meaning to.

But something about him never sat completely right.

"Are you here to eat?" he asked. "How about we eat together? I’ll drop these off and be right back."

"No need. I’ll take it to go. I still have work."

She smiled politely and turned toward the stall.

Evan didn’t press.

He simply nodded.

"When pursuing someone," he thought to himself as he walked away, "push too hard and they pull back."

He delivered the boxes around the corner—into a storage locker he rented under a false identity.

The medicine? Legitimate.

The reason? Fabricated.

Presentation mattered.

As he walked back toward the street, his expression shifted.

Charlotte Bonds.

Azure hair. Teal eyes. E-cup curves wrapped in discipline and power. Narrow waist. Long legs that moved with confidence.

She ranked near the top in Valemont.

But more importantly—

Her background.

The Bonds household was not among the four major business families.

They didn’t need to be.

They controlled politics.

Half of Valemont’s administrative appointments traced back to the Bonds network—protégés, former aides, loyalists cultivated over decades. Her father was a senior policy architect in the capital. Her uncle held regional oversight authority. Her aunt chaired judicial review boards.

To control Valemont—

You needed the Bonds household.

And to control the Bonds household—

You needed Charlotte.

"She’s cautious," Evan murmured to himself. "Good. Makes it more interesting."

He smirked faintly.

Two staged encounters weren’t enough.

But seeds had been planted.

Soon, she would begin noticing him.

Soon, she would trust him.

And when she did—

He would decide what to do next.

Charlotte exited the stall with a small takeaway box in hand.

She glanced across the street.

Evan was gone.

A strange feeling tugged at her.

She couldn’t name it.

She opened her phone, staring briefly at the anonymous email again.

Drugs.

Lunar Citadel.

And now this man appearing again in her orbit.

Coincidence?

Or something else?

She shook her head.

"Don’t overthink," she muttered.

But instinct rarely lied.

Across the street, hidden behind a tinted car window, Evan watched her walk back toward the Valemont West Side Police Station.

His smile deepened.

"The game begins."