Villain Ch 1973. I Return Favors

It wasn't fair.

The way his voice could wrap around a word like that...slow and low, like it had weight. Like it meant something. Mila's breath caught again. She swore her knees were seconds from signing a resignation letter.

She hated this.

She hated how good he was at being soft and dangerous. How every time she thought she'd figured him out, he flipped the page. Changed the tempo. Twisted the script. Now his lips hovered near her jaw, not kissing but not pulling back either. She could feel the heat from his breath, could almost taste the tension that crackled in the space between them.

Then his hand moved.

Subtle.

But not invisible.

It drifted from her waist, fingers trailing over her lower back, tracing the edge of her dress like he was reading Braille. No pressure, just enough touch to make her spine tighten and her breath hitch.

Her voice came out breathless. "Allen..."

"Hmm?" he murmured, but his fingers were already moving again. Up her back. Barely touching. Like a breeze. Like silk.

It wasn't fair.

That his touch could be so light and still feel like it was claiming something.

Like he wasn't just holding her.

He was marking her.

Without words. Without promises. Just intent.

"You touched me," Allen whispered, brushing his lips against her ear, "I need to pay your kindness."

Mila's eyes fluttered shut.

What did that even mean?

Her heart thudded. Hard. Loud. She wasn't sure if it was the champagne, the music, or the man practically breathing sin into her ear...but the whole room tilted just slightly. Everything got warmer. Closer. Like the air itself wanted to press her into him.

"Is… is that how it works now?" she asked, voice shaky, trying to sound teasing.

He smiled. She could feel it against her skin.

"With me? Yeah," he said. "I return favors. Generously."

Her cheeks went nuclear. Her hands were still on his chest, and she could feel how steady his heartbeat was. Like he wasn't affected. Like this was just another mission briefing for him. Another chess move.

But she knew better.

Because when his hand slid back down again, trailing lower this time, stopping just at the top of her hip… she felt it.

The restraint.

He was holding back.

Not because he wanted to.

But because he respected her space.

Which somehow made it worse.

They were still dancing. Slowly. The world still spinning around them in shadows and gold lights and jazz that sounded like the rhythm of secrets. But Mila wasn't hearing it anymore. All she could hear was her own breathing. Her own pulse. And his.

She could feel his pulse through his shirt.

When had they gotten this close again?

She didn't even remember closing the distance.

He moved first. Of course he did. Allen always moved first when it mattered. He took her hand...her trembling, traitorous hand...and gently guided her back to their private table. She followed like gravity had changed direction.

She didn't even sit.

Just stared at the plush velvet booth. Then back at him.

Because something had changed.

The look in his eyes wasn't teasing anymore. It was sharp. Focused. Calm, but with that undercurrent of something darker.

Domination.

Not the loud kind.

Not the cliché kind.

But the quiet, undeniable kind that came from a man who knew exactly who he was...and didn't need to prove it.

That kind of confidence? It was intoxicating. And dangerous.

They stopped beside the table. Allen didn't sit. Didn't speak.

Mila swallowed. Her mouth was dry. Her skin felt too tight. Her fingers curled into her palm, nerves dancing.

And then she said it.

"I… can we go somewhere more private?"

Her voice barely made it out. It wasn't flirty. Wasn't bold. It was scared. And honest. Because this wasn't about sex. Not really.

This was about trust.

About intimacy.

She wanted to be alone with him not just because she wanted more kisses. More touches. But because she wanted to know. If this was real. If he wanted her the way she wanted him.

Allen looked at her. Just looked. His expression unreadable. Then he glanced at his watch.

"We're here for a while," he said simply.

Mila blinked.

That's it?

She stepped back just slightly. Not enough to run. But enough to feel the chill between them.

"Oh," she said.

The word hit the air like a dropped glass.

She didn't know what she expected.

Maybe a kiss. A nod. A "yeah, let's go."

But not… that.

He looked back up at her. Still calm. Still unreadable.

Her heart sank. She tried to smile. She really did.

"Right. Makes sense. I mean… no rush. We're just…" She trailed off. Her hands trembled again. "I was just...nevermind."

She turned away slightly. The edge of the table dug into her thigh.

Stupid.

She was stupid.

Why did she think this was something more?

Maybe he liked kissing her. Maybe he liked teasing her. But maybe that was it. Maybe he wasn't ready to let her in. Not fully. Not beyond this… slow dance version of flirting.

And that hurt more than it should've.

Allen stepped closer. Just a breath behind her.

"I didn't say no," he said.

She looked back at him, confused. "What?"

He studied her. His eyes were softer now. Like he could read every crack in her mask.

"I said we're here for a while," he repeated.

She blinked. "You planned something?"

"Of course I did," he said. "You think I bring people here just to dance?"

Her breath hitched. "Allen…"

His hand came up again, brushed a strand of hair from her face, then curled behind her neck. His thumb grazed the spot just below her ear.

"I meant what I said earlier," he murmured. "You're not a game to me."

She stared at him. Every part of her heart wanted to believe that. Wanted to cling to it like gospel. But a part of her...the scared part, the old part, the part built from every time she'd been let down before...still doubted.

"I just…" she started, then bit her lip. "I don't want to be convenient. Or temporary. Or… another VIP guest memory."

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