Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives - Chapter 1849: Harem Vacation [Part 1]
Chapter 1849: Harem Vacation [Part 1]
Villain Ch 1849. Harem Vacation [Part 1]
The breakfast ended.
The dishes were cleared. The plates scraped clean. The air still smelled faintly of butter and burnt cinnamon, with coffee bitterness lingering on the table like a passive guest who refused to leave. Allen pushed back from the chair, stood, and glanced once toward the sunlight pouring through the Goldborne mansion’s eastern balcony.
It was time.
He didn’t say anything. Just moved.
The luggage was already packed—he’d double-checked it last night, stuffing everything from his usual VR gear, extra battery, extra clothes since they might stay longer, spare VR gears since who knew they were too passionate and broke the gear, and a few, uh, private items. You know. Emergency use only.
The car waited outside.
Not a car, actually.
A fucking limo.
Allen stared at it for a full three seconds, almost waiting for someone to prank him. Chrome-black body, tinted windows so dark they looked like polished obsidian, and that over-the-top Goldborne crest etched into the side like it had been embroidered by angels on cocaine.
The door opened before he reached it. Inside? Velvet seats. Polished glass fixtures. A bar on one side with drink dispensers. There were sushi trays in the mini-fridge.
This was excess.
Allen sighed, dumped his bags in the back, muttered something about “overcompensating,” and climbed in. The interior had mood lighting. He didn’t even know limos had mood lighting. The ceiling sparkled like someone had embedded a galaxy in there.
He flopped back in the seat and covered his face with both hands.
“Alright,” he muttered to himself. “Cool. Chill. Normal. Just a demonic war criminal on vacation. Totally normal.”
And then it began.
The pickup route.
First was Azura.
She was waiting like a queen on a throne. Leaning against the wall of her apartment complex like the building belonged to her. Luggage beside her, small as always—Azura packed light, fought hard, and loved harder.
The moment she saw the limo, her smile curved like a knife finding the soft spot between ribs.
“You really are going soft,” she said as she climbed in. “Gold-trimmed seats? Allen, I didn’t know you’d been infected by luxury.”
He deadpanned. “Get in.”
“I’m already in,” she said, sliding close beside him. “This feels nice. You smell like coffee and self-doubt. I like it.”
“Kill me.”
“Later,” she whispered.
Next: Bella.
She literally screamed.
“Oh my—holy hell—is that a limo?!”
Allen watched from the window as Bella half-ran, half-bounced down her apartment steps. She circled the car twice before opening the door and poking her head in.
“Are you kidnapping me? Because I will absolutely allow it if snacks are involved.”
“We’ve got mochi and wine,” Allen said dryly.
Bella squealed. “Say no more.” She flung herself inside and promptly claimed the opposite seat, already rummaging through the drink section.
Then Jane, who raised a brow the moment she saw the limo.
“Compensating for something?” she asked.
“My patience,” Allen replied.
Jane smirked. “Fair.”
Then Vivian. She whistled. “Oooh. Leather seats. You’re spoiling me, Emperor.”
“I’m spoiling myself.”
“Even better.”
She climbed in with the grace of a cat burglar and immediately curled up next to Azura. That was going to be a problem later.
Alice appeared.
Not like, poofed out of nowhere—though honestly, the effect was close. One moment the sidewalk was empty, the next, she was there. Silent. Smiling. Like she’d walked through a shadow and reappeared beside the limo.
Bella yelped, nearly dropping her phone.
“Alice! Can you stop doing that?!”
She clutched her chest like she needed a defibrillator. “I swear one day I’ll punch you out of pure survival instinct.”
Alice just leaned in and kissed her cheek. “You’d miss me if I stopped.”
She slid into the backseat. Her fingers brushed the interior.
“Ooh. Velvet?” she asked, eyebrows raised. “Classy. I approve.”
Larissa showed up next.
No fanfare. No words. Just a nod to everyone as she got in—calm, unreadable, high-cheekboned power in heels.
She glanced around, took in the setup, then pulled out her phone without a word.
Shea and Zoe were last.
And of course—Shea made an entrance like she was walking a red carpet and dodging paparazzi at the same time.
Sunglasses oversized, outfit somewhere between “summer model” and “international DJ with a private yacht.”
Shea popped the car door and posed in the reflection like she was checking angles for a social media post. While Zoe behind her.
Bella rolled her eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”
Shea just smiled under her shades. “I like to dress for the life I want, not the one I tolerate.”
Alice snorted. “And what life is that? Main character in a telenovela?”
“No,” Shea replied smoothly. “Final boss in a romcom.”
Everyone paused.
Then Alice grinned.
Zoe made a small sound that might’ve been a laugh.
Bella sighed and muttered, “I need new friends.”
Too late.
The limo pulled away.
The moment she stepped in, she tilted her glasses down and looked Allen dead in the eye.
“Where’s the champagne?”
Allen just pointed at the bar.
She poured herself a glass without breaking eye contact. “Good boy.”
The limo rolled out.
By the time they hit the private airport, the girls were already buzzed.
There were snacks, drinks, feet on seats and brushing legs.
“Okay, now this is a vacation,” Bella mumbled, mouth full of chocolate strawberries. “I can feel my trauma melting.”
Jane raised her glass. “To delayed emotional consequences.”
“To ignoring our trauma with luxury and sex,” Vivian toasted back.
“To Allen’s vitality,” Shea added.
“To Allen’s abs,” Jane said flatly, sipping wine.
Allen sighed. “…I’m right here.”
“We know,” they said in unison, giggling.
The jet.
The fucking jet.
It was sleek. Black. Branded. Goldborne family insignia on the tail. Interior? Better than most penthouses. Reclining leather seats, soundproofing, a full dining setup mid-cabin, and even a goddamn jacuzzi in the back.
Allen paused at the foot of the stairs.
He’d never flown before.
Not even economy.
He’d taken buses and trains. For most of his life, planes were things other people took.
This? This was… something else.
He climbed the steps slowly, each one echoing like it mattered.
