Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 571: Slow Days, Fast Plans (Part 6)

The drive was wasn’t long.

The only sounds inside the cabin were the layered engine note and low radio news murmuring from the speakers—"...fundraiser tonight... prominent families in attendance..."—barely audible under the growl.

Streetlights streaked past.

After roughly ten minutes, the coastline came into prominent view.

A luxury hotel rose near the midtown waterfront—multiple levels of glass and stone, lights glowing warmly from nearly every floor.

Don guided the Aston into the parking lot.

Traffic slowed near the entrance—vehicles lining up. Suits. Dresses. Cameras flashing near the front steps.

A valet approached the driver’s side as Don lowered the window.

"Sir, are you here as a resident or to attend the fundraiser?"

Don reached toward the center console and retrieved two tickets.

"The fundraiser."

He handed them over.

The valet scanned them quickly and nodded.

"You can park over there, sir. Have a wonderful time."

"Thanks."

The engine rolled forward again.

Ash lowered her window slightly as they passed the front of the building.

She looked out.

Valets in pressed uniforms. Women in evening gowns stepping out of imported sedans. Men adjusting cuffs. Laughter drifting across the lot. Flash photography near the stairs.

This world wasn’t hers.

Not really.

The lights.

The people.

The expectations.

It made her stomach feel light.

And she hated that feeling.

Another valet stepped into the lane, gesturing for Don to follow him toward a designated parking row.

Ash shifted in her seat.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Don glanced at her briefly.

"Sure. But only if I can ask one as well."

She frowned slightly.

Thought about it.

"...Uhm. Sure."

A second passed.

Then she asked, "Why are you bringing me along for these... jobs you’re doing? You’ve clearly got money to hire pros. Instead of some biker girl, right?"

She paused.

"Is this about trying to get in my pants or something?"

Don didn’t hesitate.

"I could hire pros," he said. "But I wouldn’t trust them as much as I do you."

Ash blinked.

"You don’t work for me just for money, right?"

She looked away.

Memories surfaced—her crew gone, enemies multiplying, no income, nowhere solid to stand and of course... Predator.

She needed Don more than he needed her.

"...Right," she admitted quietly.

"You being good looking is a welcome bonus," Don added casually. "But it simply comes down to this—you’re more reliable than someone working purely for a paycheck. You have stake in this."

He eased the car into the parking space as directed.

"I win. You win."

He shut off the engine.

The sudden quiet made the previous rumble feel distant.

"Is that a good enough answer?"

Ash sat there for a second.

It wasn’t what she expected.

But it eased something in her chest she hadn’t realized was tight.

"Yeah... uhm. I was just curious, is all."

Now she felt awkward.

So she pivoted.

Fast.

"So what did you wanna ask?"

Don unbuckled his seatbelt.

"What’s up with the Chinese princess hairstyle?" He asked plainly.

Ash froze.

Her brows pulled together.

A faint flush spread across her cheeks—whether anger or embarrassment was hard to tell.

"I had to do my hair and only Lily was available, okay!?" she snapped. "I told her it looked fucking ridiculous. Fuck."

She reached back slightly as if considering undoing it.

"Can I just like... undo it?"

Don opened his door.

"Nope."

And stepped out.

---

Roughly an hour later—

The rear of the hotel tower opened into a scene built for spectacle.

Glass doors gave way to a wide terrace that flowed into a decorated pool and bar arrangement before descending toward the beach itself.

The tower loomed above it all—dozens of lit balconies stacked high, reflecting against the darkening sky.

Warm lighting traced the perimeter of the exterior space. Lantern-style fixtures hung from temporary beams erected along the pool’s edge. Tall cocktail tables draped in white cloth were arranged in clusters, gold centerpieces catching the glow of nearby flames.

Beyond the terrace, a private docking inlet curved inward from the shoreline. Several yachts rested there, their silhouettes outlined by soft deck lights.

The beach section had been layered with temporary flooring in key areas—sections of artificial grass and polished wood platforms laid over sand to support bar counters and performance stages.

Live musicians occupied one side—violin and keyboard blending with a mellow drumline. Not far from them, two performers juggled flaming batons, tossing arcs of fire into the night air—whoosh~ whoosh~—each catch landing precisely in gloved palms.

Guests filled the space.

Suits tailored to perfection. Designer dresses in silk, satin, and velvet. Jewelry glinting under open flame and light.

Champagne glasses were everywhere.

Don stood near a small crowd gathered around the fire jugglers. A flute of champagne rested between his fingers. The bubbles rose steadily to the surface, faint fizzing against crystal.

He looked different tonight.

More refined. Less accessible.

Even so, it didn’t stop a few eyes from landing on him.

A glance here.

A whisper there.

Recognition.

"Is that—?"

"I think so."

But the attention didn’t last.

There were too many heavy names in attendance. Celebrities laughing loudly near the pool. Recognized heroes posing for photos near the terrace railing. Politicians shaking hands beside the bar.

Don became just another face among many.

He took a slow sip of champagne.

’I wonder how many of them actually care about Barclay.’

Was this support?

Or simply networking disguised as sympathy?

In the end, it didn’t matter.

He lowered his glass and turned away from the entertainers.

Ash was walking toward him.

Her step was... awkward.

Not clumsy. Not unstable.

Just different.

She didn’t sway her hips deliberately like many of the other women drifting across the terrace. She didn’t exaggerate posture or soften her gait. She simply walked forward. Direct. Shoulders level.

She didn’t need theatrics. Her natural frame did enough on its own—the curve of her hips and fullness of her backside evident even beneath the fitted cocktail dress.

The slit revealed smooth leg with each stride.

Tattoo sleeves wrapped both arms in dark ink patterns, drawing attention from more than a few nearby guests. Some stared openly. Others pretended not to.

Ash noticed every single one.

Her jaw tightened slightly as she navigated through the crowd.

When she reached him, she leaned in just enough to speak without raising her voice.

"That Andrew guy is by the private over there," she said quietly. "His girl’s with him."

Her eyes shifted briefly toward a group of men who had been watching her.

She frowned.

"Can I go wait in the car or something now?"

Don held her gaze for half a second.

Then he handed her his champagne.

"Nope. Come along."

Ash groaned under her breath as she accepted the glass.

"Of course..."

Don walked past her.

She sighed heavily, then turned to follow.

He moved at an unhurried pace, weaving between guests with small nods of acknowledgment when necessary. Ash trailed a step behind, sipping the champagne once and immediately regretting it.

They reached a set of decorated steps descending toward the private section.

Soft lights lined the edges. White floral arrangements flanked either side.

They descended.

Music grew slightly louder. The scent of salt air stronger.

Andrew stood near a bar installation set atop a layered grass platform placed over the sand. The structure was temporary but impressive—wood-paneled counters, hanging pendant lights, bartenders in pressed attire.

Just beyond it, another section housed live performers, string instruments carrying over the ocean breeze.

Andrew wore a tailored charcoal suit, tie perfectly aligned. His posture was upright, engaged in conversation with three other men dressed just as well.

Ashly stood beside him, arm looped through his. Champagne dress. Perfect hair. Practiced smile.

As Don approached, small shifts began to ripple through the area.

One guest paused mid-sentence.

Another nudged his companion subtly. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

Gazes shifted.

Some landed on Don.

Some on Ash.

Then recognition settled on a few faces.

Murmurs grew slightly.

Andrew noticed.

His words halted mid-conversation.

His jaw tightened almost immediately. The smile he’d been wearing disappeared without effort.

Ashly felt it in the way his arm tensed beneath her hand.

She followed his line of sight.

And froze.

Her heartbeat spiked.

Ash.

Her fingers tightened slightly against Andrew’s sleeve.

One of Andrew’s friends leaned closer to another and muttered, "Is that—?"

"Yes."

Their eyes moved back to Andrew.

Even a blind man could tell he wasn’t pleased.

Ash muttered under her breath, "Argh... fuck this. So uncomfortable."

She kept her expression neutral, but the irritation showed in her eyes.

Andrew swallowed once.

Forced his shoulders to relax.

But he didn’t bother with a smile.

"I didn’t expect to see you here," he said evenly.

Don stopped directly in front of him.

Up close, he towered over Andrew and the men around him.

He smiled—charming, controlled—and placed a hand on Andrew’s shoulder.

Firm.

Friendly.

He could feel how rigid Andrew’s muscles were beneath the suit fabric.

"What can I say," Don replied smoothly. "I’m just here to show support to my fellow elite program member."

Andrew didn’t believe that for a second.

’What the hell does he want?’

Ashly avoided eye contact entirely.

Andrew’s friends stood awkwardly, unsure whether to excuse themselves or remain.

Don didn’t give Andrew long to think.

"Besides," he continued calmly, "there’s something I wanted to talk to you about."