Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives - Chapter 1570

Chapter 1570: Personal (Magic Castle Bonus)
Villain Ch 1570. Personal

Allen pulled into the driveway with the low, purring hum of his bike echoing off the front gate. The sun was still warm on his back, but the breeze had shifted just enough to carry the first hints of rain. The smell of asphalt, exhaust, and distant blossoms lingered in the air.

He slowed as he rolled into the garage. A grin curled across his lips.

He killed the engine, kicked the stand, and dismounted in one smooth move. The soft clink of his riding gloves landed on the shelf where he always kept them. Helmet next—still warm from the ride.

In his hand? A white paper box sealed with minimalist gold branding and a ribbon. Chocolate cake. The trending kind. From that absurdly viral little store near the old district that always had a line out the door by 9 a.m. He didn’t even do lines—but today, he made an exception.

This wasn’t for him.

Or Emma.

It was for his dad.

Jordan Goldborne.

Allen made sure to pick a cake big enough for three.

Because Emma also loves chocolate. Hopefully, Chef Michael decided not to hate him because of this cake.

He stepped lightly up the hallway, still in his hoodie, trying not to track in anything from the outside. His gait was relaxed. Calm. A little smug from how well the morning had gone.

But then…

He stopped.

Just before the archway leading to the living room.

Voices. Low. Controlled. Male.

Allen leaned just enough to peek in.

There he was.

Jordan. Sitting comfortably on the main couch, legs crossed, hands steepled under his chin. His posture was relaxed, but the kind that came with total control. His eyes—sharp, still—were locked onto the two men across from him.

Allen slowed his steps.

Two suits. Polished. One held a tablet, the other a tidy stack of untouched documents.

Business meeting, Allen thought at first.

Another high-stakes conversation about mergers, property, maybe an internal audit. Something textbook.

But the energy was off.

No contracts on the table. No stock reports. No tension about market shifts or quarterly losses.

No—this wasn’t that.

Jordan wasn’t asking for projections. He was listening. Not like a CEO… but like someone pulling threads.

And then Allen heard it—his name.

The tone wasn’t professional. It was personal. Quiet. Surgical.

And just like that, Allen realized. They weren’t talking about business.

They were talking about him.

Jordan’s voice came through, calm and even. Eyes on the tablet’s screen. “So… this is Allen’s stepfather?”

The man with the tablet nodded. “Yes, sir. Local contractor. Mostly residential work. Roof installations, solar panel upgrades, and the occasional renovation. Not a massive firm, but sustainable. Steady middle-class income.”

The other guy chimed in. “Has a good reputation in his neighborhood. Quiet type. Keeps his head down. Pays taxes. Never had complaints filed against him as a tenant or business owner.”

Jordan hummed. “Good father, too?”

They glanced at each other. Then one shrugged. “By standard appearances, yes. Good husband. Good neighbor. Community barbecues. His wife—Carla—hosts weekend luncheons sometimes. They’re seen as friendly people.”

Allen’s throat dried slightly.

His grip on the cake box tightened—not enough to crush it. But close.

He stepped back slightly into the hall shadows, letting their words drift out naturally.

The second man continued, voice a little softer. “Most people in the area don’t even know Allen exists. The neighbors only know them as a three-member household.”

Jordan raised an eyebrow. “So Allen’s completely out of the picture.”

“Yes, sir,” the first man said. “To them, they have one son. Evan.”

There was a beat of silence. Long. Heavy.

Allen exhaled through his nose from behind the wall, still hidden, still holding the goddamn cake box like a fool.

Of course.

He already knew this.

He knew.

This wasn’t new intel. This wasn’t a revelation. He’d accepted years ago that Carla and Jason had scrubbed him out of their neat suburban life like a stain on white carpet.

But hearing someone else say it—so calmly, like they were just reading it off a report—somehow still made his jaw tighten.

The man with the tablet flipped through something. “Evan’s the golden boy. Good grades. Good college track. Clean record. Perfect image.”

Jordan’s voice was unreadable. “Evan’s Allen’s half-brother, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” the man replied.

“Good kid,” the other added. “Nothing to worry about.”

Allen leaned against the wall, closing his eyes for a second. Yeah. Evan was a good kid. Still messaged him every once in a while. Still called him ‘bro’ even when their parents pretended Allen didn’t exist.

That was Evan.

The only reason Allen hadn’t burned the whole house down.

Jordan tapped a finger against his armrest. “I heard about this guy already. At least from the last report. Your files align—but I want to know what you’re not writing down. What’s off-paper. Maybe… something like where he works. Who visits. Something personal.”

The man with the tablet hesitated. “Sir, are you saying you want… deeper surveillance?”

Jordan’s eyes didn’t blink. “I want understanding.”

The other man leaned forward. “You seem very invested in this man. May I ask… did he do something to Allen? Did he… abuse Allen?”

There was a pause.

A strange, thick tension that coated the room like invisible fog.

Then Jordan gave a low, quiet laugh.

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t theatrical.

But it sent chills straight down Allen’s spine from the hallway.

That laugh—calm, smooth, calculated—was something Allen had done before. He’d felt it rise up in his throat when someone underestimated him.

But Jordan’s?

Stronger.

Sharper.

It wasn’t just confidence.

It was certainty.

Allen swallowed hard. ‘Damn… I’m really his son.’

Jordan leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “No. If I knew for a fact that man laid a hand on Allen? You wouldn’t be able to track him. You wouldn’t be able to find him.”

The room went silent.

Both men nodded, like they’d expected the answer but still needed to hear it.

“True,” one of them said. “Fair point.”