Villain Ch 1975. A Night to Remember [Part 1]

The kind of kiss that tasted like promises.

The kind that felt like silk sheets and heat and thunder rolled into one.

And this time, she kissed him back with all of it.

With the ache.

With the trust.

With the fact that for the first time in a long, long time… she felt chosen.

When they pulled apart, her voice was soft. "Thank you."

"You haven't even opened your gifts yet," he teased.

"I don't care about the gifts."

"Liar," he said gently, tucking her hair behind her ear. "You like being spoiled."

"…Maybe," she whispered.

He leaned in again, brushing his lips over hers.

"You deserve it."

Her legs were barely holding her up now. Emotion, lust, heat...it was all swirling.

Allen stepped back. "You can take a bath first. Or open your presents. Or sit on the bed and cry. Your choice."

She snorted through her haze. "You're such an asshole sometimes."

He winked. "A thoughtful one."

And yeah… maybe she was in trouble.

The good kind.

Mila stood in the center of the glowing suite, warm lights licking every corner of the air like it was dipped in honey. Her heels shifted against the soft petal-strewn floor. She stared at him. At the bed. At the bath. At everything. And yet—he didn't pressure her. Didn't say a word about what she should do next.

He just stood there. Cool. Collected. That signature Allen smirk in place, like he was confident she'd figure it out on her own.

"So? Bath or gifts first?"

"I'll choose the gifts," Mila muttered, folding her arms like she wasn't shaking inside.

He gestured to the stack by the bed, palm up like a dealer laying out cards.

She knelt beside the closest one. The box was matte black with a silky gold ribbon that matched the damn lighting in this place. She pulled the bow apart, slow, savoring it even though she was pretending to be casual.

The moment the lid came off, her mouth parted.

A dress.

Not just a dress.

A slinky, midnight-blue satin slip with a soft shimmer that caught the golden light like magic. Delicate straps. A low back. A slit that looked criminal. Alongside it, nestled in velvet, was an accessory—a necklace, fine silver chain with a single teardrop-cut sapphire. Simple. Elegant. Lethal.

"Oh," Mila breathed, lifting it carefully. "This is… wow. I mean… this is nice. Like… really nice."

Allen stepped closer. "I'm glad you like it."

She laughed a little. "I guess your assistants know how to pick."

He tilted his head. "I chose that."

Her eyes snapped up to him. "You what?"

"I picked it."

"No," she said immediately, holding the fabric up in front of her. "That's impossible."

He stepped forward again, just enough to close the gap and look her dead in the eye. "It's more impossible that I'd make my assistant run around trying to guess your size. And what kind of dress you like. While also hunting down a necklace that matches the undertones of your eyes in evening lighting."

Mila opened her mouth.

Then shut it.

Damn him.

Damn him for being right.

"You stored this before?" she asked slowly.

"I bought it before," Allen replied. "I saw it, and I thought it'd look good on you."

Her stomach fluttered.

He said it so casually. Like it was normal. Like he didn't just admit to seeing a dress at some point in the past and thinking of her immediately. Not any other girl. Her.

"I'm full of preparation," he said with a shrug. "Spontaneous or not. That's why the staff needed a bit more time. They had to take this from my room."

She stared at him, the dress limp in her hands, her throat closing slightly. The air smelled like rose petals and expensive cologne and that stupid bath oil that was making her dizzy. The scent of care. The scent of intent.

Before she could overthink it, she dropped the dress back into the box and stepped into him.

She hugged him.

Hard.

No words. Just arms wrapped around his torso, face buried into his shirt, and all the tight parts in her chest finally unclenching.

He stood still for a beat.

Then his arms came around her. Steady. Warm. That stupid scent of his, masculine and clean, wrapped around her like a second skin.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He didn't say anything. He just squeezed her tighter.

She pulled back a little. Looked up at him.

"So…" she started, smirking through watery eyes. "I guess the only thing you forgot is the bouquet of flowers."

Allen blinked once.

Then smiled.

"Oh," he said. "That."

He took her hand and tugged gently.

She followed, heart racing for some reason, even though he'd already done more than enough. Her heels clicked quietly against the polished floor as they moved toward the glass doors. He opened them and led her onto the balcony.

It was chilly up here.

Not freezing. Just enough that the air kissed her shoulders and made her want to lean closer to him.

She didn't have to wait long.

He reached behind one of the lounge chairs and pulled out something wrapped in soft cloth.

A bouquet.

Huge. Wild. Beautiful. Cream roses, pale pink peonies, bursts of lavender and eucalyptus leaves. It looked fresh but also… oddly magical. Like something you'd find in a dream sequence of a movie right before someone proposed.

"Allen…" she said, stunned. "You…"

He handed it to her. "It's a little extra. I know."

She took it, staring at the mix of flowers, the way the colors seemed to glow under the city lights.

Then…

The bouquet lit up.

Not just from the reflection.

Tiny lights blinked on. Soft, warm flickers nestled between petals like fireflies had fallen in love with the arrangement.

Mila gasped.

"What—"

But it wasn't just the bouquet.

The walls around the rooftop started glowing too. Slowly. Like they were holding their breath. Shapes appeared on the glass barrier surrounding them. Floral patterns. Stars. Abstract colors that moved like paint in water.

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