NOVEL NEXT Chapter 1818: I Know That Look
Villain Ch 1818. I Know That Look
The air outside was cool, crisp with early morning humidity clinging to Allen's skin like invisible frost. Not that he cared. His boots crunched softly over the mansion's stone path as he crossed through the main gates, hands tucked in his pockets and mind replaying last night on loop.
He rolled his shoulders.
Still early. He could make it back in time for breakfast.
The mansion greeted him. Everything inside smelled like lemon-polished wood and the tail end of whatever breakfast Kai was prepping. Probably something fancy.
Allen moved quickly—quiet steps, calculated pace. He didn't want to be seen like this.
And yet—
"Good morning, sir."
Ah. Of course.
Kai.
The butler emerged from the hallway, bowing respectfully. Polished shoes. Impeccable collar. That eternal, polite expression that said 'I see everything, but I won't say it unless you make me.'
Kai fell into step behind Allen like a shadow. "Shall I prepare a special breakfast for you today? Something restorative perhaps? You seem…"
His nose twitched ever so slightly.
"…tired."
Allen didn't stop walking. "I already ate."
Kai tilted his head, smile faint. "Then perhaps just tea? Or a protein supplement?"
Allen paused.
"…Actually, yeah. That sounds good. Tea. And—protein shake."
"Very well, sir." Kai sniffed again. This time, more deliberately. His smile didn't fade, but his voice dipped just a little. "Forgive me, but… is that blood?"
Allen's back stiffened slightly. "Yeah."
Kai was silent for a moment. Then, simply. "Shall I prepare the first aid kit?"
"I'm fine," Allen muttered. "Not mine."
Kai didn't flinch. Didn't ask. Just nodded. "Understood. Will you be changing before breakfast?"
Allen glanced down at the wrinkled button-up sticking to his skin in certain spots. "Yeah."
"I'll ensure the tea and shake are waiting for you in the dining room."
Allen didn't look back. "Thanks."
He bolted up the stairs, not running—but walking with the exact speed of someone pretending not to flee.
The door to his bedroom clicked shut behind him. He exhaled and pulled off his shirt in one motion, tossing it into the sink. Turned on the hot water. Watched the steam rise as the dark stains diluted and spiraled away, pink trails of iron and shame.
Not shame from what happened.
Just… the evidence of it.
He ran a hand through his hair. Closed his eyes. The scent of her still clung faintly to his skin—floral, warm, blood, and something else. Something only she had.
He muttered to himself. "You're losing it."
Shower. Quick rinse. Not too hot. He didn't want to linger and get caught overthinking.
But it was hard not to.
Especially when her voice kept echoing in his head.
The way she said his name.
The way she smiled after he kissed her cheek.
He dried off, threw on clean clothes—black collared shirt, dark slacks, minimal effort. Spritzed a little cologne. Grabbed a ring from the tray and slipped it onto his index finger.
Mask back on.
Cool. Calm. Devil-may-care.
By the time he descended the stairs, the mansion had shifted into its morning rhythm. Distant footsteps. Kai's quiet hum somewhere from the kitchen.
And in the dining room?
Emma and Jordan.
Emma was curled in her chair, cross-legged like a lounging cat in silk. She sipped her tea with one hand while scrolling through the pad with the other, hair loosely tied, eyes sharp even in the early hour.
Jordan's attention was on his pad too. Allen could see the stock charts and all.
"Morning," Allen muttered.
"Morning," Jordan replied.
Emma's eyes flicked toward him. She gave him a once-over that could've passed as casual—if it wasn't so precise.
"Rough night?" she asked.
Allen shrugged. "Wasn't bad."
"Mm." She sipped. "You almost missed breakfast."
"Got busy."
"Came back looking like you got jumped in an alley."
He smirked. "Didn't say I didn't."
Emma leaned back, letting her eyes narrow. "You smell like... blood and guilt. Did you kill someone or just deflower a civilian?"
Allen's hand paused over his teacup.
"…Wow," he said slowly. "Jumping straight into it, huh?"
"I'm bored," Emma replied. "And I know that look."
"What look?"
"The 'I committed emotional terrorism and now I'm pretending I didn't enjoy it' look."
Allen sipped his tea. "You're projecting."
Emma didn't smile, but her eyes glittered. "So? Was it her?"
He didn't answer.
Which was an answer.
Emma's jaw dropped theatrically. "Oh my god. You actually—"
"Shh." He shot her a look.
Jordan didn't even glance up.
Allen drank his protein shake, grimaced, and set it down. "How did you even guess?"
Emma shrugged. "You were gone. Seemed inevitable."
"…Thanks?"
Emma leaned forward, elbows on the table. "So? How was she?"
Allen raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"
"Come on, I need this. I live for drama."
He exhaled, gaze sliding away. "…She was…"
His voice dropped without meaning to. "Beautiful."
Emma blinked.
Allen didn't elaborate. He didn't need to.
There was a weight in that word. Heavy. Unfiltered. It slipped out without calculation—no smirk, no mask. Just truth.
Emma saw it. Felt it.
And for once, she didn't grin or jab.
She just stared at him for a second longer, her mug forgotten in her hand.
"…Wow," she said, softer now. "Just like that? I thought you would give me some details."
He didn't respond.
Emma leaned back slowly, eyes still on him. "You invited her?"
"…Yeah."
"To the villa?"
"Yeah."
She exhaled, lips quirking—not mocking, just thoughtful. "She's going to be overwhelmed."
"I know."
"She said yes?"
"She did."
Emma's voice turned warm, the teasing gone. "She always liked you, you know. She just didn't know how to handle you."
Allen looked down into his tea. "Not sure I know how to handle me either."
Emma gave him a small, real smile. "Then maybe you're perfect for each other."
He blinked at that.
"She's good for you," Emma continued. "And honestly? You're good for her too. Even if you're a sarcastic menace with a murder aura."
Allen snorted. "Thanks, I guess."
Emma shrugged. "Just don't break her heart."
Allen met her gaze. No joke in his voice now. "I won't."
She held his stare for a second. Nodded once. "Okay."
From the far end of the table, Jordan—still buried in his three-way data streams—finally muttered, "If you two are done with your relationship recap, some of us are trying to monitor live server stress tests."
Emma didn't even blink. She waved a lazy hand in his direction. "Your son's being emotionally reckless."
Jordan waved it off. "He's been doing that for a while now."
Emma raised her mug. "Consistency is key."