In the room, Moen lay on his luxurious bed. The comfort was almost overwhelming. He began to meticulously review tomorrow’s schedule in his mind.

"First, it’s about preparing my outlook."

As the son of a duke, participating in the only coming-of-age ceremony of Moen's life, his entrance naturally had to be dazzling enough to captivate the entire crowd. He needed to attract every gaze to him like the eye of a storm just by standing there.

Thus, even before dawn tomorrow, over ten seasoned maids would attend to him, preparing him from head to toe. Every single strand of hair would need to be in its perfect place.

Honestly speaking, when Moen saw that lavish men's ceremonial outfit in the afternoon, adorned with all sorts of precious metals and nearly blindingly radiant, he had already felt a wave of suffocating despair.

Tomorrow, his greatest challenge might not be dealing with Celicia but rather enduring the twenty-kilogram weight of that opulent outfit.

"Next, I'll accompany Father to greet the guests."

The purpose of the coming-of-age ceremony was to formally announce to the aristocracy that Moen Campbell was officially stepping into the social scene. As the duke's heir, he could now participate in and host various events, as well as directly express admiration and affection for a noble maiden of equal standing, potentially forming sacred matrimonial bonds.

Of course, given that Moen was already engaged to the empire’s third princess, that last point didn’t apply to him. Nevertheless, tomorrow, every aristocrat in the capital would don their finest gowns and bring along their most impressive offspring to this grand occasion.

This wasn’t just a banquet—it was a staircase leading upward.

All the nobles would wield their exquisite clothing as shields and their smiles as swords, all striving to ascend higher.

"Then there’s dealing with those aristocrats."

This was the least concerning part. The instincts of the original owner of this body should be enough to help Moen navigate through it.

All he had to do tomorrow was paste on a smile.

"And the last one... there it is."

Moen’s hand unconsciously reached under his pillow, touching the two vials of potion hidden there.

This was the centerpiece of tomorrow's events.

"First, I must win Celicia's trust and get her to be alone with me."

This wouldn’t be difficult, because Celicia, no matter how hard she tried, could never imagine that Moen Campbell had the nerve to drug her.

As her fiance, inviting her for a private drink should be easy enough.

"The second step is to drug her."

This was the most challenging part.

If discovered prematurely, all efforts would turn to dust.

"But it should work out."

After all, this was the trajectory predestined by this world’s storyline. Heaven itself was supposed to assist him in achieving this goal.

All he needed was a moment of distraction to slip the potion into her drink.

"Lastly, all that’s left is to await destruction, isn’t it?"

Moen chuckled wryly to himself.

"A transmigrator like me, willingly seeking a route to destruction, is probably one of a kind."

"I just hope nothing unexpected happens."

The candlelight went out.

Outside the window, moonlight poured down, its beams filtering through the intricate tree branches and casting fragmented shadows on Moen's handsome face—shadows as unfathomable as fate.

A gentle breeze stirred the night, swaying the scattered patterns of light and shadow as if offering prayers for tomorrow to go smoothly.

...

The next day.

After three hours under the maids' meticulous care, Moen finally stood before the banquet hall doors. Dressed in the twenty-kilogram ceremonial garment, he was ready to greet the guests alongside his dignified father, the duke, whose presence was as commanding as a lion’s roar.

Moen’s golden hair was impeccably groomed, every strand in place. His face, adorned with light touches of makeup, shed its youthful immaturity for a more refined maturity. Paired with the absurdly heavy yet magnificently tailored outfit, Moen emanated an extraordinary aura of noble elegance. He was like a newly risen sun, brilliant yet dazzling, drawing every gaze irresistibly towards him.

Today, even as he glimpsed his reflection, Moen couldn’t help but be awestruck by his own handsomeness.

Despite his striking appearance, the young noblewomen approaching to greet him still lowered their heads and avoided eye contact, as if terrified of drawing his attention.

"Sigh, the original owner's reputation really is abysmal," Moen lamented inwardly.

The name Moen Campbell, in the eyes of noble maidens, was synonymous with terms like "infamous scoundrel" and "stud horse in human form."

The fact that his reputation could overshadow the golden title of "duke's heir" spoke volumes about just how terrible it was.

"Moen, look over there!"

As Moen sighed in frustration, the Duke of Campbell—his father in this world—suddenly slapped his back, almost knocking the breath out of him.

"Look who's here."

Without further guidance, Moen instinctively turned his gaze.

The nobles gathered around him for greetings and flattery also turned their heads, as did the noblewomen too timid to look directly at Moen. All eyes shifted in unison toward the same spot, as if an unseen spotlight had suddenly illuminated the darkness.

Beneath this spotlight was a young woman.

She possessed silky, silver-white hair as pure as moonlight cascading down her back, while her exquisitely sculpted features seemed like a masterful work of ice, flawless beyond reproach. Her delicate eyelashes, pale as frost, framed a pair of cerulean eyes colder than an icy lake and as profound as an abyss capable of ensnaring one’s soul.

Her attire was a simple yet elegant white gown, understated but regal. From the moment she appeared, she became the storm’s new eye, commanding the attention of every person present.

"This is... Celicia."

Celicia Leopold, the third princess of the Oripolt Empire, the Blessed Daughter of the Frost Goddess, the Ice Witch.

The very originator of Moen Campbell's predestined ruined ending had finally arrived—at this precise moment.

"It's truth that words and memories can never fully capture the beauty of a person."

Even with prior mental preparation, Moen was stunned when he saw her.

In his previous life, as one of Celicia’s most devoted fans, Moen had frequented online forums and found countless fan art creations of her. Many were masterpieces of such high quality that he would immediately save the images, spending days and nights obsessively admiring them.

But now, seeing her in person, he realized that even the finest artwork couldn’t capture her true charm.

"It’s been a while, Lord Moen."

While Moen was momentarily lost in thought, Celicia gracefully approached.

"It’s been a while, Princess Celicia," Moen quickly snapped out of it, responding with a gentlemanly bow.

"You’re especially radiant today," he complimented.

"Am I? Thank you for the kind words," Celicia replied, lifting the edge of her dress as she performed a flawless curtsy, her etiquette impeccable yet carrying a chilly undertone that kept others at a distance.

"But it's rare to hear such kind words from you, Lord Moen."

"Haha, surely, Princess Celicia, you're teasing me. Your words make it sound as if I am some unruly rogue who cannot even control his words," Moen replied with an easy chuckle.

But... wasn’t that precisely the case?

A trace of doubt flitted across Celicia's icy-blue eyes.