Villain Ch 1971. Maybe I'm Romantic

Her forehead lightly pressed against his chest. The heat from his body… the quiet rise and fall of his breathing… It melted something in her.

"I still don't get you," she whispered. "You act like some lazy consultant, but then you drive like a movie villain and show up with perfect timing."

Allen's voice dropped to her ear. "Maybe I'm romantic."

She laughed softly. "You? No way."

His lips brushed her hair. "You'd be surprised."

They moved slow. Too slow for strangers. Too slow for something this new. But nothing about tonight felt new. It felt like catching up with someone she should've met long ago.

"You know," he said after a moment, voice a little lower, "when you kissed me… I thought you lost your mind."

Silence.

She didn't have an answer.

Didn't want one.

"Maybe…" she finally said.

She leaned in closer. Let her body press against his. Let the music fill in the spaces between their silence. She wasn't the kind of girl to fall this fast. Or at least, she told herself that. But Allen didn't feel like a fall.

He felt like gravity.

Like home.

And she didn't want to resist it anymore.

Their dance slowed. Her hand slid up to his shoulder. His hand moved lower, caressing her lower back, guiding her closer until their breaths matched.

"I'm scared," she murmured suddenly. "Of this."

He stilled just a little. But not fully.

"You think I'm gonna hurt you?"

"No," she whispered. "I think I'm gonna fall too fast and you'll disappear."

Allen pulled back just enough to look at her. And something in his eyes flickered. Like pain. Like guilt.

"I won't disappear. I can." He exhaled. "But I don't want to. That's something, right?"

She nodded. Because yeah… it was something.

The music faded. Another song began. But they didn't stop.

Not yet.

Not when the world outside was so loud and this moment felt so damn quiet.

Mila buried her face against his collarbone and whispered, "I don't know where this goes."

Allen didn't pull away. He let her stay there, let her voice tremble a little against the fabric of his shirt, let her be honest without turning it into something sharp or dramatic.

"I know," he said, voice warm against her temple.

They swayed, slowly. His hands were still at her waist, hers draped over his shoulders, the champagne still tingling at the edges of her thoughts. His cologne, clean and faintly spicy, filled her lungs with every breath. He even smelled like trouble. The best kind.

Then his voice dipped a little lower. More serious. Like the teasing armor had cracked just a bit.

"I gave you a chance," he said. "For us. And you really took it."

She blinked. Pulled back enough to see his face. "Allen…"

"You did what you said. You took my side," he said, eyes locked on hers. "You didn't let your family control you. You stood up. As yourself. You never faked it with me. You didn't lie."

She swallowed. His gaze was so steady. So open. It made her feel… seen. More than that. It made her feel chosen.

"You gave me something real," he continued, brushing his knuckles down her arm. "So I won't lie to you either."

The music wrapped around them like silk, soft piano and breathy vocals slipping through the speakers above. The lights dimmed slightly, or maybe it just felt like that because the world outside them was getting blurrier.

"I want this," he said. "Not just tonight. Not just a maybe. I want you."

Mila's heart thumped so loud she was sure he could feel it under his hands.

But before she could even form a reply, Allen leaned in. His lips didn't crash into hers. No dramatics. No sparks for the crowd.

He kissed her cheek again, first. Soft. Gentle. A reminder. A warning.

Then his mouth barely ghosted along her skin, tracing down to the edge of her jaw, lingering there—so close, too close. The air between them buzzed, hot and electric. Mila's breath hitched.

She didn't move. Couldn't.

His lips skimmed the corner of her mouth, not quite kissing, not quite pulling away. Just hovering. Waiting. Teasing. Like he wanted to watch her fall apart from the anticipation alone.

Then he kissed her. On the lips.

No words. No permission asked.

Just heat. Pressure. A slow burn that started at her lips and flooded through her chest.

He kissed her like he already owned the moment, like the world had gone quiet just for this. Like he knew exactly how to make her forget how to breathe.

And Mila?

She didn't just kiss him back.

She melted.

It wasn't the soft tease he gave her earlier. It wasn't testing the water. This one had weight. Heat. Intention. Like he'd been holding back and finally decided he was done waiting.

His lips moved slow but sure, coaxing rather than demanding, like he was learning the shape of her mouth with every second. His hand slipped to the back of her neck, fingers warm and grounding. Mila melted into him, kissed him back like she was afraid she'd regret it later, but needed it now.

It was unfair.

How right it felt.

How easy it was to forget everything else.

The press. The family names. The rumors. The consequences.

Right now, there was only the way he tasted faintly like champagne. The way his breath hitched when she kissed him back deeper. The way his other hand curled around her lower back and held her like she mattered.

When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathing a little heavier.

Allen's forehead rested against hers. His eyes still half-lidded, but glowing with something soft. Something unguarded.

"I'm keeping that one too," he murmured.

Mila couldn't even think. Couldn't speak. Her lips were still tingling. Her heart was wrecked. Her whole body felt like she was floating and melting all at once.

So she did the only thing that made sense.

She smiled.

And this time?

She didn't stop.

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