Villain Ch 1969. No Family Legacy Night

Allen leaned in just a hair.

"I mean something sweet," he said, his voice low and dangerous in the nicest possible way. "The kind that might melt on your tongue. The kind that goes well with champagne. Or..."

His eyes dropped briefly to her lips.

"The kind that starts with a second kiss."

Mila blinked.

Her face burned so hot she thought she might combust.

"You're shameless," she whispered.

"You kissed me first. It should be for you."

"I should've stopped when I had the chance."

"No," he said, brushing her hand with his fingers, just enough to make her nerves light up again. "You should've done it again."

Her voice cracked. "Allen."

He stepped forward.

Not aggressively.

But with purpose.

"You think I spent all this time walking careful lines, dodging rumors, tiptoeing around the Goldborne–Sterlinghart PR landmine just to not see where this could go?"

"I thought you were being cautious," she said.

"I was." He held her gaze. "But I'm done waiting. You've made your choice. So have I."

Her heart thudded again.

This wasn't teasing anymore.

It wasn't safe banter in the hall.

It was him, real and present and honest in a way that was suddenly terrifying and incredibly hot at the same time.

She swallowed. "So what are you offering me right now?"

He lifted their joined hands and kissed her knuckles. "A night. One that's just ours. No fathers or family legacy."

Mila stared at him, breath caught in her throat.

"I'm not asking for forever," he said. "Just... more than goodbye at a lobby."

She looked down.

Because the truth was?

She wanted that too.

She wanted more than trade shows and studio drop-ins and controlled environments. She wanted to sit across from him somewhere dark and pretty and private. She wanted to see how Allen Goldborne kissed when he didn't stop himself. When he wasn't worrying about her family or his last name or whatever corporate vultures circled above them.

She wanted to see the part of him that was his, not the part he showed the world.

And she trusted him.

Yeah, that was the real kicker.

She trusted him.

"I'll come," she said, finally looking up again.

He blinked, just once.

"Tonight?" he asked.

"Yes."

The elevator dinged softly behind them.

He stepped forward, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Good," he murmured. "Because I will make a reservation."

Her lips parted. "You what—?"

"You kissed me." He smirked. "I took it as a greenlight."

"Allen—"

"Come with me, Mila," he whispered.

And this time?

She did.

He pulled his phone out as they walked, thumb gliding across the screen like muscle memory. Fast. Efficient. Not a word spoken, not a detail shared.

Still, she didn't ask.

She didn't want to know.

If she was being honest, it was kind of nice not knowing. She could pretend this was all part of some planned surprise, and not the kind of calculated, quietly ruthless orchestration only Allen Goldborne was capable of. If she asked questions, it would get too real, too fast.

So she just walked beside him in silence, hand in his, letting her mind spin wildly with the possibilities of where he was taking her and how she ended up agreeing to this.

The elevator dropped them into the basement level of the Cyber building with a smooth chime and a gust of colder air. The industrial lighting flickered to life in wide overhead bars, buzzing faintly as they lit rows of sleek luxury vehicles. A few armored sedans she was pretty sure belonged to security contractors.

Allen's pace didn't change.

Mila's heels clicked beside him, sharp and precise… but inside, she felt anything but composed.

This wasn't like her. Agreeing to sudden night plans with the literal son of her family's longtime corporate rival? This was the part in the drama where her PR team screamed into a group chat. But her heart didn't care.

They walked until they reached the far corner of the lot.

That's when she saw it.

His motorcycle.

Black. Glossy. Sharp like a weapon. It looked fast standing still. She didn't know the model, but it screamed Allen. Sleek, elegant, just a bit dangerous. The kind of ride that could kiss the edge of the law and still be street legal.

He stopped next to it, unhooked the helmet slung over the seat, and tossed it to her with one hand.

She caught it.

Barely.

"Allen."

"Yes?"

"You're not serious."

"I'm very serious."

"I've never been on a motorcycle," she said, adjusting the helmet awkwardly in her hands. "Like—ever."

"Then tonight's full of firsts," he said smoothly, glancing at her with a glint of something very not innocent in his eyes.

Mila's face burned.

He really wasn't pulling any punches tonight.

She looked at the helmet, then at him.

He'd already thrown on his jacket. Black leather, of course—and kicked the stand up. He sat on the bike like he was born there, legs planted, hands resting on the bars like he was barely containing speed.

Mila didn't move.

Allen looked at her again, his voice softer now. "You trust me?"

She met his eyes.

And damn it, she did.

Even when her instincts screamed about PR disasters and hair tangles and brake systems she didn't understand, she trusted him.

She exhaled, long and slow, then slipped the helmet on. It was a little too big, but it settled snugly enough around her face.

"Alright," she muttered. "But if I die—"

"You won't," he said, holding out his hand. "I've got you."

She took it.

And climbed on.

It was awkward at first. Tight skirt, nerves, zero experience, but once she was seated behind him, arms locked tight around his torso, her body molded instinctively to his.

She felt his warmth through the jacket.

The way his spine curved under her palms.

The engine roared to life, deep and guttural.

And Mila?

She let herself breathe.

Whatever this night was turning into, it wasn't going to end quietly.

And honestly?

She didn't want it to.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.