Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives

Villain Ch 1641. Too Excited

Vivian hesitated. She wanted to say something casual. Something bored. Maybe throw a smirk. A quip. But… nothing came out.

Because the truth was—she was also excited.

Way too excited.

After what happened in the game last night—the way he’d pinned her against the throne hall’s table, the way his voice growled in her ear, the way she’d almost—

She swallowed. Hard. Her thighs pressed a little closer together just remembering it.

She wasn’t supposed to feel this much in the real world. It was just a game, right? Just roleplay. Just fantasy.

So why did her body ache for his touch now? Why did she feel like a livewire just thinking about being near him again—in person?

Mila was still talking, her hands flailing in that excited puppy energy that Vivian couldn’t even be annoyed by.

“—and when he walks out wearing that sleek all-black outfit with the cuffs rolled? Ugh! I might pass out. Or accidentally grab his tie. Not even sorry.”

Vivian managed a soft laugh. “Try not to drool, okay?”

Then—

Commotion.

The air shifted.

A low hum in the background. Raised voices. A few faint camera clicks.

Vivian’s and Mila’s heads turned in sync.

And then—he appeared.

He wore a dark slate shirt—open at the collar, tailored to fall just right against the lean muscle beneath. Rolled cuffs. Matte black watch. Simple but stupidly clean trousers. Sunglasses low on the bridge of his nose, reflecting the sky like twin portals to somewhere colder.

He didn’t walk. He moved. Smooth. Fluid. With that lazy kind of menace that made people clear a path before he even said a word.

Reporters tried to catch him. They didn’t stand a chance.

His guards boxed them out like human fortresses. Allen didn’t even look at the cameras. He didn’t need to.

Mila actually froze, hand half-raised to adjust her hair. “Oh… my God.”

Vivian’s pulse jumped. Her stomach tightened. Her breath hitched and stuttered against her chest like a missed note.

She didn’t say anything.

She couldn’t.

Because somehow, despite seeing him in-game, knowing every dark smile and teasing whisper—this Allen, in real light, under the sun, with that expression behind the shades—was almost too much.

He looked like the Devil Emperor pretending to be human for a day.

Danger. Polished. Measured. Barely leashed.

Mila whispered, “I know you’ve done shoots with him before, but damn.”

Vivian licked her lips. “Yeah…”

Her voice sounded far too breathy.

Mila looked at her. “Wait… are you blushing?”

Vivian turned away. “Shut up.”

They watched as Allen walked past the chaos without a single word. Toward the dressing trailer.

He didn’t even glance their way.

But they felt him.

Like gravity.

Like the sun.

Like something they could burn in.

Vivian exhaled.

Yeah.

This shoot was going to be a problem.

Mila’s voice broke the silence gently. “Should we… touch up again?”

Vivian didn’t take her eyes off the trailer. “We should probably get into costume first.”

Mila sighed, tugging lightly at her hair. “Those barely count as costumes. It’s like… a suggestive office fantasy but with less fabric.”

Vivian huffed a dry laugh. “True.”

But her gaze didn’t shift. She was still staring at the trailer Allen had disappeared into, like she could still see the shape of him just beyond the tinted glass.

Her voice softened, as if pulled out by gravity. “But…”

Mila tilted her head. “But what?”

Vivian didn’t answer right away. Something shifted in her posture. A flicker of something vulnerable. Still, powerful. Like a woman keeping the door shut not because she’s weak, but because she knows what happens when it opens.

Mila followed her gaze, then looked back at her.

Then she said it. Quiet. Simple. No drama.

“You love him.”

Vivian blinked, lips parting—but Mila continued.

“Just like I do.”

Vivian glanced at her then. Surprised, but not offended. Just… quiet. Their eyes met. One full of adrenaline and fluttering nerves, the other tempered and dark and dangerous.

“That’s obvious,” Vivian admitted softly.

Mila’s lips curled in a sad smile. “Then… tell me. What does it feel like? Being loved by him?”

Vivian was silent for a moment.

Then she smiled.

It wasn’t a happy-go-lucky smile. It was something older. Something rich and curved like red wine in candlelight.

“Happy,” she said. “But not in the soft way. Not flowers and picnics and text messages.”

Mila leaned closer, listening.

“He’s… different,” Vivian continued. “He sees you. Not just the best parts. The deep parts. The buried ones. The sides you learn to tame. Or hide.”

Mila’s brows furrowed slightly.

Vivian looked at the ground for a second, exhaling through her nose.

“He lets me be that. The dark side of me. The raw part. The one who laughs in chaos. The one who wants more. The side that—” her voice dipped, barely above a whisper, “—wants to burn a little.”

Mila frowned. “The dark side?”

Vivian nodded slowly. “Funny, huh?”

She looked up again, eyes catching the light. “He could be cute. Cold. Charming. Scary. But when he’s really him… when his eyes go flat and he stops pretending to be nice—”

She stopped.

Her throat tightened.

Because all she could see was last night.

Glass Maw.

The slaughter.

The monsters screaming.

The shadows pulling like living hunger.

Allen at the center of it all, covered in blood and light, standing like a king of wreckage.

His smile sharp. His voice low.

His gaze?

Beautiful.

Unapologetic.

Godlike.

And she loved it.

She loved that version of him. The one who didn’t explain himself. The one who whispered her name like a secret between wars.

But she couldn’t say it aloud. Not to Mila. Not yet.

So she just smiled. And let the silence answer.

Mila gave her a flat stare, one brow raised with practiced sass and just enough warmth to show she wasn’t actually mad.

“You didn’t finish your sentence,” she said, arms crossing as she leaned back against the trailer wall.

Vivian’s eyes flicked toward her. Calm. Measured. But there was something behind them—something that flickered like an old flame caught in wind.

“I know,” she murmured.

Mila tilted her head. “So?”

Vivian looked away, out toward the ruins set, where a stylist was adjusting some poor assistant’s collar like they were prepping for battle, not a shoot. The morning sunlight hit the broken stone columns just right—like a ruined empire still too proud to collapse.

“I don’t want to finish it,” Vivian said.

Mila’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Why?”

Vivian’s lips curled—not into a smirk this time. Something smaller. Wistful. Bittersweet, even.

“Because it’s not something I can explain.”

She took a breath. Let it stretch between them.

“You need to understand it yourself.”

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