Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 568: Slow Days, Fast Plans (Part 3)

Don stopped in front of Samantha’s door.

He knocked once.

Light. Knuckles brushing wood.

A second later, footsteps approached from inside—soft against the floor.

The door slid open.

Samantha stood there wrapped in a white bath towel secured just above her chest, another towel twisted around her damp hair.

A few strands had escaped, curling along her neck. Droplets of water still clung to her shoulders and collarbone, trailing slowly down her skin. The towel dipped just enough to reveal the upper swell of her cleavage.

She smiled the moment she saw him.

"Donnie..." she said softly. "You’re back."

"Yep," he replied. "And I couldn’t wait to see you."

He stepped closer without hesitation, lifting one hand to cradle the side of her face. His thumb brushed lightly against her cheek before he leaned in.

Their lips met.

She stiffened at first—more from surprise than reluctance—but then rose onto her toes, pressing into the kiss. One hand caught lightly at his shirt.

It was deep, warm, and brief.

When he pulled back, Samantha’s cheeks were flushed, eyes lowered for a moment.

"I got you something, by the way," Don said casually.

He lifted the white paper bag with golden trim.

"Close your eyes."

She hesitated, then obeyed, hands clasping together in front of her chest.

"I hope it’s not something naughty..." she murmured, voice small and slightly shaky.

Don leaned closer, lips brushing near her ear.

"Something tells me you wouldn’t mind if it was..." he said quietly. "But no."

Her breath hitched.

’Goodness... my heart always beats so fast when he teases me.’

She heard the faint rustle of paper. A small click.

"Open your eyes."

She did.

Her hands flew to her mouth.

"Oh my—!"

Her voice caught.

In Don’s hand was an open jewelry box.

Inside rested a silver necklace adorned with delicate blue gemstones set between fine diamonds, the centerpiece catching the light from the hallway.

Beside it sat a small silver watch—slender band, face framed with matching blue stones and tiny diamonds that mirrored the necklace’s design.

Samantha blinked rapidly.

"This is so beautiful, sweetie..." she whispered. "You shouldn’t have..."

Her eyes shimmered slightly as he stepped closer, holding the box nearer.

"They go great with your eyes," Don said. "I just had to get them for you."

He met her gaze evenly.

"What’s the point of money if I can’t spoil my woman?"

The confidence in his voice made her swallow.

Warmth spread across her chest.

He tilted his head slightly. "Do you like it?"

"I love it," she said immediately. "Thank you."

She paused, then glanced over her shoulder into her room. The lights inside were soft, bed neatly made, a few outfits laid across it from earlier.

"Uh... why don’t you come in," she added, cheeks pink again, "so you can help me try it on? I’d love to see how it looks with some outfits."

Don smiled faintly.

"Why not."

He stepped inside.

---

The following day shifted back to work.

Family time receded. Plans returned.

After coordinating with Gary and Elle, Don had settled on a course of action regarding Barclay—one that would weaken him while strengthening Don’s own position.

At 11 PM that night, Don wasn’t in his room.

He was in an uptown club known for discretion and indulgence.

Music pounded through the space—bass heavy, vibrating through the floor—THUMP~ THUMP~ THUMP~. Colored lights swept across the dance floor in constant motion, flashing over bodies packed tightly together.

The interior was all dark surfaces and gold accents. Polished railings. Marble bar counters. Leather seating in shadowed corners.

Women in skimpy costumes danced inside elevated cages along the walls, gripping the metal bars as they moved.

On the main floor, men and women alike moved wildly under the lights, drinks sloshing from raised glasses. Powder lines were prepared openly on high tables. Pills passed from hand to hand without much concern.

Bouncers stood near every entrance—massive, suited, arms folded, eyes scanning without expression.

The bar stretched long along one side, bartenders moving quickly, bottles clinking—ice shaking in metal tins.

Above it all was the VIP level.

Less crowded. Guarded access.

Private lounge booths lined the railing, giving a clear view of the chaos below. A separate bar up there offered complimentary top-shelf drinks. Lighting softer. Music slightly muted. Conversations carried out at closer range.

Don, however, sat in the regular section.

All black.

Designer trousers tailored clean along his legs. Black loafers polished but understated. A black-and-gold button-up shirt sat open at the collar. Aviators hung low enough under the shifting lights to obscure his eyes. A black cap shadowed his face further.

Unless someone was actively searching for him, they wouldn’t recognize him.

He sat at the bar nursing a drink, glass resting lightly between his fingers.

His gaze drifted over the dance floor—women laughing, moving freely, hair falling loose over shoulders.

In his ear, an earpiece.

He shifted his eyes upward toward the VIP level.

"Try and be quick, okay?" he said quietly.

A response came almost immediately.

"I heard you the first time... Boss."

Ash’s voice.

Don took another slow sip of his drink, eyes never leaving the upper floor.

Don smiled faintly at the voice in his ear.

"I’m waiting then."

Upstairs, near the private bar of the VIP level, Ash stood alone.

Designer spiked boots hugged her calves, metal tips catching the colored lights overhead. Fishnet leggings traced long lines up her legs before disappearing beneath a tight black leather short that fit her like it had been measured to the millimeter.

Her top was dark green and black, structured, hugging her frame without looking forced. It was still her—just elevated.

She looked like she belonged.

That didn’t stop the stares.

Men glanced, then looked again. Women did the same, some assessing, others admiring. In a place where most faces were familiar, a new one drew interest.

Ash ignored them. 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

She sat at the private bar, one leg crossed over the other, elbow resting lightly on the counter.

A few seats away, one other guest nursed a drink.

The bartender approached once he’d finished serving.

"What will you be having, miss?" he asked, accent thick, vowels rounded. Romanian.

Ash barely turned at first.

Her attention was elsewhere.

Across the VIP floor, in a semi-enclosed lounge section with velvet seating and low tables, Andrew Barclay sat surrounded by his usual circle—men in tailored jackets, watches heavy on their wrists, drinks in hand.

But Ash’s gaze wasn’t on Andrew.

It was on the woman beside him.

Ashly.

She wore a short designer dress that caught the light each time she shifted—a metallic champagne tone, thin straps framing her shoulders, fabric hugging her curves before flaring slightly at the hem.

High heels elevated her posture, long legs crossed as she leaned close to Andrew, smiling at something he said.

Flashy. Expensive. Intentional.

Ash finally glanced at the bartender.

"Uh..."

Her eyes flicked toward the wall of bottles behind him.

She recognized almost none of them.

"Would you like a recommendation?" he asked politely.

"Yeah. Sure."

She turned back toward the lounge area.

Don’s voice came through her earpiece.

"At least try to act like you belong there."

Ash frowned slightly.

"Tsk. Easy for you to say. I’ve never—"

"Here you go, Ma’am," the bartender interrupted gently, placing a cocktail in front of her. Pale liquid. Garnish perched on the rim. Ice clinking softly—clink~.

She reached for it.

Before her fingers could close around the glass, someone slid into the seat beside her.

Tall. Well dressed. Clean-cut. Suit fitted just right.

"Evening, Mihai," he said casually to the bartender before gesturing lightly toward Ash. "I’ll have whatever the lovely lady here is having."

Ash didn’t look at him.

At that exact moment, Ashly stood from Andrew’s lounge.

She leaned in, whispering something into his ear. Andrew smirked and gave a small nod.

Ashly excused herself.

The bartender began preparing a second drink.

"You can have mine," Ash said suddenly, pushing the glass toward the man without even looking at him.

She rose from her seat.

"Uh—wait, can I have your—"

She was already walking.

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Ash followed Ashly across the VIP floor and through a side corridor leading to the women’s restroom.

The bathroom matched the club’s theme—black marble counters, gold-framed mirrors, low lighting reflecting off polished surfaces. Individual stalls lined one wall, doors matte and seamless. A faint scent of expensive perfume hung in the air.

Ashly moved directly to one of the sinks, placing her small handbag on the counter. She opened it and retrieved a pack of wet wipes, dabbing lightly beneath her eyes, adjusting her makeup in the mirror.

The door swung open behind her.

Ash stepped inside.

The heels of her boots clicked once against tile—tok~.

Ashly’s eyes lifted through the mirror.

She noticed immediately.

Ash was taller by a noticeable margin. Broader shoulders. More presence. Even dressed to fit the environment, there was something grounded about her that didn’t match the polished surroundings.

Ashly’s movements slowed.

She kept wiping at her cheek, pretending not to notice.

Ash walked to the sink beside her and turned on the faucet briefly, letting water run—shhh~.

Then she looked at her reflection.

"So..." Ash said evenly. "How’s it feel to date a dad and the son at the same time?"

No build-up. No softness.

Just words.

Ashly’s eyes widened instantly.

The wipe slipped slightly in her trembling fingers.

"I—I have no idea what you’re talking about," she said quickly, voice rising. "Get the hell away from me."

She snapped her handbag shut and moved fast toward the door.

Ash didn’t move.

"Oh?" she said calmly. "So you wouldn’t mind if I shared the evidence I have with your little boyfriend out there?"

Ashly froze.

Her hand hovered inches from the door handle.

Her shoulders trembled.

Slowly, she turned.

Her eyes were glossy now. Panic sat openly on her face.

"What the hell do you want?" she asked, voice cracked, barely holding together.

Ash watched her without blinking.