Villain Ch 1798. Not Merciful
The kitchen was quiet now. The kind of silence that felt earned—not awkward or hollow, just… peaceful. The kind of quiet that wrapped around you like a warm blanket on a cool night.
Just him. Grapes. A stool that didn't creak under the weight of seven sweaty bodies. And a kitchen that smelled faintly of citrus polish, fresh herbs, and something savory being prepped by Chef Michael in the other room.
He nudged the grape bowl with his thumb, swirling a few of them lazily.
"Huh," he muttered. "Feels weird to just… chill."
Kai was probably in the formal dining hall, setting up some kind of Michelin-tier table setting with six forks and a folded napkin shaped like a phoenix or something. That man didn't half-ass anything.
Allen popped another grape in his mouth, chewing slowly. Then muttered—
"I wonder if Dad's coming home late."
Yeah. That thought killed the vibe a little.
Jordan Goldborne wasn't just his father. He was the Jordan Goldborne.
