(Hehehe, is Milord jealous? I can smell that sour tang from way over here.)

(Hmph! What’s so great about humans? Weak as insects—so boring. Milord, look at me! As a proper succubus, I’m way more fun.)

(Shakubas, your sheep butt’s all worn out—scram!)

(I think this human’s kinda cute. Soft, fragrant, with silky black hair… no wonder Milord’s interested.)

While Amelia and Yifia chatted, several concealed demons drifted into the living room.

Too wary of Amelia’s aura to approach, they huddled at a distance, giggling and teasing without a shred of dignity.

Their chattering and sudden bursts of laughter made the hidden System wince hard… *Ugh, why so many demons today? If only I were blind like my host.*

After all—if it could see them, they might spot *it* too.

*Guess I stay silent from now on. No sound. Ever.*

*As for my host, surrounded by demons…*

*Pfft. As long as the clueless girl can’t see them? She’s untouchable.*

Yifia, still buzzing with excitement over her upcoming performance, barely registered Amelia’s subtle shift in mood. She simply nodded, beaming.

Her glistening black eyes sparkled like starlight; her smile radiated overwhelming sweetness.

But that nod ignited the fuse. Amelia’s violet eyes narrowed—deep, shadowy, like a bottomless abyss. The faint curve of her lips slowly vanished.

*This toy’s lost its charm.*

*Might as well drag her soul into the abyss while I still care.*

*Later, I can savor the quiet wails of her trapped spirit.*

*Should be… pleasant.*

Amelia’s fingers traced the cup handle calmly—but a flash of anger sent her magic surging.

Thick black energy solidified into a visible haze, dimming the room. Within the spreading domain, trapped souls writhed, compressed and twisted. Their agony molded the darkness into grotesque, wailing faces.

Even the lurking demons shuddered under the pressure, their forms flickering unstably.

Amid their shrieks, the System trembled violently, silently praying its host would gain *some* common sense in the next life.

*The Villainess Heiress is moving!!!*

*We’re all doomed.*

“Thanks to Jesina’s help, I’d never have found such great ingredients~”

Blissfully unaware of the danger, Yifia lifted her sack toward Amelia. Just imagining Amelia tasting her cooking sent her heart racing!

Eagerly, she added, “Amelia, thank you for everything. I’m poor—can’t offer gems—but my cooking comes from the deepest gratitude. Please accept it!”

“Cooking?”

Amelia paused, curiosity halting her intent.

The sack opened. Cookware. Fresh ingredients. Rare spices. No further explanation needed.

The fuse was snuffed out.

Still, she asked gently, “Yifia… were you busy with this these past two days?”

“Mm-hmm! I wanted to give you the *best*! Jesina saved me—those shopkeepers would’ve emptied my pockets and sold me trash!”

Yifia huffed. She’d thought buying spices would be simple.

But Eastern spices were rare. Prices steep.

Shopkeepers preyed on commoners—overcharging, swapping quality, then calling the patrol at the first complaint.

Corifine Street catered to nobles. Commoners weren’t banned… just met with cold stares.

Jesina’s guidance spared Yifia the scam. Polite service. Smooth shopping.

But as she left, she saw a commoner get ruthlessly fleeced… then dragged off by patrol.

*Tsk. The Westis Empire’s class divide is disgustingly twisted.*

“Though Jesina *never* stops talking… Oh! Amelia, she’s your biggest fan at Pris Academy! Ever since spotting you at the divination house, she won’t shut up about how elegant and beautiful you are—though honestly, she’s *way* too loud about it, even…”

As Yifia rambled, Amelia blinked softly. Her mood lifted like clouds parting for sunlight—darkness erased in an instant.

All irritation vanished. Her toy remained delightfully sincere.

*“I wanted to give you the best.”*

…Perhaps Jesina wasn’t so unbearable after all.

*Fine. She lives.*

The demons, released as Amelia retracted her domain, sighed in relief—then, under the System’s exasperated stare, immediately swarmed closer again.

Clearly, Milord’s gossip outweighed mortal peril.

“Perfect timing! Let me cook dinner for you, Amelia!”

Amelia led Yifia to the kitchen without refusal, instructing the staff to assist.

The head chef—far less welcoming than the pastry team—smiled politely while Amelia watched. The moment she left? Cold snorts. Glaring resentment. A silent storm of disapproval toward the uninvited guest.

Yifia didn’t care. She wasn’t staying.

This was *her* moment.

Time to make Amelia eat with pure, satisfied joy.