NTR: Minor Villain Wants to Be the Main Villain

The woman stared at him.

Her entire soul was crumbling.

A… nice evening.

A NICE EVENING.

'Oh. My. God.'

What the hell was wrong with her?!

She had been so sure he was about to ask for her body—so sure he was about to say something filthy and degrading.

But no.

He was just a kind-hearted, considerate young man trying to do something sweet for his mother.

And she—she, a mother herself—had assumed the worst of him.

What kind of monster am I?!

Her entire worldview was collapsing right before her eyes.

Tears almost pricked at the corners of her eyes.

"Young man…"

She whispered, her voice almost breaking.

"…Huh?"

Artis blinked.

"That is so beautiful."

…

'What?'

Artis barely held back a smirk.

'Oh, this is too easy.'

She had completely fallen for it.

His wholesome, dutiful-son act had worked flawlessly.

And this woman, who just moments ago had looked at him like he was the scum of the earth, was now on the verge of TEARS because she thought he was a sweet, family-loving man.@@novelbin@@

"Y-you love your mother so much."

She sniffled, placing a hand over her chest.

Artis had to physically restrain himself from cracking up.

If only she knew.

If only she knew exactly what kind of "motherly love" he was talking about.

Here she was, convinced he was about to pay for her body but was greatly wrong.

As if.

Artis would pay to fuck. Where's the fun in that?

He liked the thrill.

He liked the chase.

He liked lonely, neglected housewives—the kind who spent their days stuck in a dull, monotonous life, aching for something exciting, sinful, forbidden.

The kind he could whisper sweet, filthy things to until they were trembling, soaking, begging. The kind who'd call him a bastard while riding him like a bitch in heat.

That? That was real fun.

Buying sex? Boring.

A desperate wife who swore she'd never cheat on her husband—until she was screaming his name?

Now that was a thrill.

Meanwhile, the merchant woman was having a crisis of self-worth.

'My God… why didn't I think about this before?'

She felt stupid.

Of course, a man like him wouldn't want her.

Look at him.

Broad shoulders. Thick muscles. A face sculpted by the gods.

And that cock…

Even soft, it was making a statement under his flimsy pants.

He could snap his fingers and have the most expensive, exotic courtesans in the inner city lining up to suck his dick.

Why the hell would he want her?

'Ugh. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.'

She shook her head in disappointment—completely unaware of just how wrong she was.

"Y-You mean… you want a tour of this town because…because you're taking your… mother out?"

She had to ask again—because surely, she was hearing things.

Her mind still couldn't process that this man—this walking, talking sex—was saying something so… innocent.

She leaned forward instinctively, as if getting closer to his face would somehow help her ears work better.

And that's when it happened.

Her already low-cut dress dipped lower, her soft, full cleavage spilling out even more.

Artis saw it.

Oh, he saw it.

He saw the way her plump tits pushed together, the faintest sheen of sweat between them, the way they looked so damn soft and squeezable.

He saw how one wrong move—one tiny shift—could expose even more.

And yet—

His face remained completely neutral.

Like he hadn't even noticed.

Like he wasn't even remotely interested.

"Did I…"

Artis tilted his head slightly, his voice slow, smooth, mockingly indifferent.

"…Uh… stutter?"

The way he said it—so flat, so casual—like her tits weren't right fucking there.

Like her cleavage wasn't actively trying to escape.

Like she wasn't throwing herself at him.

The merchant woman felt her entire soul leave her body.

Not even a glance?

Not even a twitch of his eyebrow?

What the fuck?

Men—especially rich ones—always looked.

Always.

It was the rule of the universe.

Even the ones who acted gentlemanly still peeked.

But him?

Nothing.

Not a single flicker of interest.

It was like he was completely blind to her perfectly displayed, perfectly bouncy, perfectly fuckable tits.

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"Holy shit. He really just wants me to tour him this market! He doesn't even have any sinful eyes on my at all!'

Right.

"No, no. You didn't."

She stammered, her voice practically vibrating with suppressed excitement.

"I… I can do that…! B-but… this coin? Are you sure?"

Her hands clasped over her chest—whether in disbelief or to keep her bouncy tits from jumping in excitement, even she wasn't sure.

This… this was a fucking miracle.

If this man was actually about to **buy every single flower on her stall—**then holy fuck, she could close up shop early.

No more sitting here, baking under the sun, pretending not to notice perverts ogling her tits while they pretended to examine the flowers.

No more dealing with sleazy bastards who thought that buying a single rose entitled them to a handful of her ass.

No more bullshit.

She could just walk away.

Get paid.

And—holy shit—she could actually stroll around the market like a normal person for once.

She loved watching the scenery, admiring the bustling crowds, checking out new stalls—but she never got to do that.

And now?

Now she was about to get paid to do exactly that.

Paid a fucking gold coin.

A gold coin.

Her brain short-circuited.

A gold coin could clear her family's debt.

A gold coin could buy her a small house.

A gold coin could let her finally start her own fucking bakery, like she'd always dreamed of.

All of that—just for walking around with this man?

Oh, fuck yes.

Forget a tour—she'd fucking carry him around the market herself if he wanted.

She'd sell her soul for this.

Not her body—no, no, not her body—but her soul?

Gladly.

Artis watched her face go through a full emotional orgasm—pure, unfiltered ecstasy.

The way her lips trembled, her eyes sparkled like a sky full of stars, and her entire body seemed ready to explode from excitement—fuck, it was cute.

Almost too cute.

He wanted to ruin her.