Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives - Chapter 1962 - Capítulo 1962: Fast Food Date
Capítulo 1962: Fast Food Date
Villain Ch 1962. Fast Food Date
They walked side by side out of the Cyber building. The glass doors whooshed shut behind them, sealing away the world of meetings and dev decks and esports politics.
The city air was cooler now. Dusk painted everything with burnt orange and pale lavender. Lights blinked to life along the street like lazy stars in a man-made constellation. The kind of evening that hummed quiet, like the calm before a song started.
And maybe it was weird.
Two heirs from what used to be rival families, Goldborne and Sterlinghart, walking shoulder to shoulder, no bodyguards, no assistants trailing behind, no cameras clicking.
Just them.
Just people.
Mila inhaled and let the air out in a soft sigh, her voice breaking the moment. “I love this.”
Allen glanced sideways. “Because of me or the burgers?”
She smiled, cheeks rising. “Both.”
“Both?” he repeated, letting a smirk curl at the edge of his mouth.
She grinned wider, playful and soft all at once. “You especially. Since I don’t want you mad.”
He snorted. “I won’t get mad over something like this.”
She cocked a brow. “Who knows. You Goldbornes are unpredictable.”
He shrugged. “We’re allergic to drama. Ironically.”
That made her laugh. A light sound, barely above the traffic hush, but real. It warmed the air between them.
They kept walking. The burger place was literally just next door. A retro-styled fast food joint with chrome edges and neon signs that flickered on with a buzz. The scent hit them before they even reached the door. Grease, salt, pepper, melted cheese. Pure sin.
But before they reached the threshold, Mila slowed just a bit.
“I’m happy you gave us a chance,” she said.
Allen looked at her.
She was looking ahead, not at him, like she needed to say it without being watched too closely. Her fingers curled around the edge of her jacket.
“Now Noah doesn’t really see you like a threat anymore,” she added. “And James… well, he’s not glaring at every mention of your name. That’s progress.”
Allen’s gaze lingered on her profile. “But I could tell they still want to pull strings.”
“Yeah,” she admitted quietly. “They do. Sometimes they talk like I’m still a project. Like I’m meant to marry someone for alliances or merge stocks or… whatever plan they had when I was fifteen.”
Her lips pressed together for a moment. “But I told them this is mine. Us—this? It’s not about business. It’s not strategy. This relationship is going to belong to me.”
Allen stopped in front of the glowing menu board outside. The reflection of red neon flickered against his eyes. Then he reached out and gently took her hand.
“I’m glad you made that decision,” he said.
She looked at him. Eyes wide, lips slightly parted like she hadn’t expected him to say it so simply.
But it was true. He was glad.
Because he’d known too many people who wore masks to survive. Too many who let others decide who they’d love or who they’d hate. Mila choosing her own path? That mattered.
The door jingled as they stepped inside, still hand-in-hand.
And yeah… it was definitely weird.
They didn’t belong here.
Not because they thought they were better, but because everything about them screamed different. Allen in his designer jacket and expensive watch, Mila with her limited-edition heels and sapphire-stud earrings. Their clothes practically whispered money even when they weren’t trying to.
People glanced their way. Some double-took.
Maybe it was the contrast. Maybe it was the hair. Or maybe… just maybe… it was recognition.
A whisper ran through the line.
“Is that—?”
“Wait… isn’t that—?”
“Holy shit, that’s Mila Sterlinghart and Allen Goldborne—”
But Allen ignored it. Mila did too. They stood in line like everyone else, studying the glowing screen of combo meals and value menus.
“What are you getting?” she asked, tilting her head.
He stared up at the screen. “Probably double cheeseburger. Large fries. Vanilla shake.”
“Wow. You went full gremlin.”
“You said something greasy.”
She smirked. “I didn’t think you’d commit that hard.”
“I commit to everything,” he said.
Mila bit her lip to hide her grin.
When it was their turn, they ordered. Paid like normal people. Waited like normal people. Sat at one of the red vinyl booths that stuck slightly if your skin touched the seat too long.
The tray clattered down between them. Burgers, fries, shakes. The holy trinity.
Allen unwrapped his burger and bit in. “Wow!”
Mila laughed at his expression. “You okay there?”
“I hate how good this is,” he muttered, chewing.
“You’re welcome.”
They ate. They talked. Fries were stolen. Sauces mixed. Allen flicked a straw wrapper at her. Mila retaliated by stealing half his shake.
And for a while… it was just easy.
Just greasy food and fizzy drinks and two people figuring things out.
At one point, she leaned her head on his shoulder.
“I used to think you were cold,” she said quietly.
“I am.”
“No,” she shook her head gently. “You’re… cautious. That’s different. You don’t freeze people out. You just wait to see who won’t run away.”
He looked down at her, eyes softer than usual. “You’re not scared off?”
“I like danger.”
He smirked. “And I like women who steal my fries.”
“Then we’re doomed,” she said sweetly, stealing another one just to prove a point.
Allen let her. Didn’t even argue. Just dipped one of his own fries in her ketchup. She giggled, relaxed against him.
“You know,” she murmured, “if you ever want to run away from the Goldborne empire for a night… I’ll bring the milkshakes.”
He turned his head, close enough that his breath brushed her ear. “And if I want to stay?”
“Then I’ll stay too.”
He exhaled slowly, like it untied something in his chest.
“…Good,” he said. “Because I think I want to.”
She smiled, eyes glinting.
“Then you better get used to sharing your fries, Goldborne.”
People were still watching them. A couple phones discreetly aimed their way. A server kept pretending to clean the same table near them for fifteen minutes.
And one of them? Was Jacob. INeedAHotGF.
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