Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives Chapter 1506: I Want to Control The Narrative Before Someone

Chapter 1506: I Want to Control The Narrative Before Soone Else Writes it for

Villain Ch 1506. I Want to Control The Narrative Before Soone Else Writes it for

Emma grinned. “So basically, you fard the sa flaming nightmare monster for hours and still think seven runs was lucky?”

Allen chewed thoughtfully, then shrugged. “It was a 5% drop rate,” he said between bites. “Technically, I was lucky. I could’ve been stuck there all night.”

Jordan nodded with a grunt, folding his tablet shut. “Sounds about right.”

Allen picked up another piece of toast and leaned back slightly, savoring the crunch. The avocado was fresh, seasoned with just a hint of lemon and salt. Kai had outdone himself. Again.

Jordan, eyeing Allen’s outfit now, gestured with his mug. “You’re dressed up.”

Allen took a slow sip of his tea. “Yeah. Picking up Vivian, then heading to the agency.”

Jordan’s brows lifted a bit higher. “The agency?”

“Urban Enigma. Mr. Bell wants to see ,” Allen said, casually tossing the words out like they weren’t a big deal.

Emma stared. “And you accept that now? I an… that gig ans nothing.”

“I know,” Allen said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “but I’m a new young master now. Everyone knows the na. The Goldborne na. But not .”

He stood, stretching his arms once more and straightening the fall of his jacket.

“Reputation matters. Visibility matters. And right now, everyone’s talking about the new young master of Goldborne. If Bell wants to turn that montum into sothing dia-facing, that’s not a bad thing.”

“You wanna be an influencer?” Emma teased.

Allen snorted. “No. I want to control the narrative before soone else writes it for .”

Jordan leaned back in his seat, nodding slowly. “Smart. Just make sure you don’t spread yourself too thin.”

Allen nodded. “I won’t. I’m just setting things up while the event’s still ticking.”

Emma gave a small hum of approval and shoveled the last of her cereal into her mouth. “Good thinking.”

They didn’t talk about the event after that. Breakfast drifted into lighter conversation. But Allen couldn’t ignore the ticking clock in the back of his head forever.

Eventually, he stood and dusted crumbs from his palms. “Alright. I’m heading out.”

Emma offered him a lazy salute. “Don’t let Mr. Bell talk you into a shirtless perfu ad.”

“No promises,” Allen shot back, already pulling out his phone. He flicked a quick ssage to Vivian.

Allen: Leaving now. On my way to pick you up.

With that, he made his way to the garage. The door hissed open with a familiar sound, and there it was—his bike. Midnight black, polished to a gleam, red trim glinting like blood in the sunlight that poured through the upper windows.

He strapped on his helt, slung his leg over, and fired up the engine. The deep growl echoed in the garage, smooth and satisfying. Like the purr of a dragon deciding not to eat soone—for now.

The city air was crisp as he cut through it, weaving effortlessly through traffic. The streets of downtown blurred past, tall buildings and blinking signs folding into a familiar, beautiful blur.

He slowed as he reached Vivian’s apartnt entrance. She was already waiting outside, leaning casually against the building’s glass wall, dressed all in black—sharp-cut pants, sleeveless top, boots with silver trim, hair tied up in a high ponytail. Stylish, dangerous, calm.

Of course.

She noticed him instantly and stepped forward.

Allen pulled up beside her, lifted the spare helt, and passed it over. “Your chariot awaits, my queen,” he said, voice low and playful.

Vivian smirked as she took the helt, brushing her fingers against his on purpose. “You’re lucky I like fast rides and arrogant n.”

Allen chuckled. “And you’re lucky I like dangerous won who threaten to stab in my sleep.”

Vivian leaned in just a little before slipping the helt on, voice dropping with a smile that tugged at the edge of her lips. “Only if you forget my birthday.”

“I’ve already marked it in five different calendars,” Allen muttered, revving the engine as she slid onto the bike behind him, arms wrapping comfortably around his waist.

“Smart man,” she said into his ear. “Now drive before I change my mind and do stab you.”

He felt the gentle press of her arms around his waist as she settled behind him, light and natural.

They took off again, and Allen kept it smooth. Traffic was light this late in the morning, and the city glead under the spring sun—glass towers flashing in rhythm with his movent.

By the ti they arrived at the agency building, they moved in sync—Allen parking the bike, Vivian pulling off her helt and fixing her hair in a motion so quick it looked rehearsed. They walked side-by-side across the marble lobby, polished enough to reflect their steps. People glanced, but no one stopped them.

Vivian had access.

The elevator ride up was silent, but not awkward. The kind of quiet that ca from focus, not discomfort. Allen checked his reflection in the elevator door—still clean, still composed—and wondered what kind of ridiculous pitch Bell was going to throw at him today.

The doors opened.

But it wasn’t Mr. Bell waiting for them.

Instead, a young agency staffer with nervous energy and oversized glasses blinked up at them.

“Mr. Goldborne, Miss Vivian. Welco,” she said, voice smooth but slightly rushed. “Mr. Bell is currently in a client eting, but he asked to bring you to a different room in the anti.”

Allen’s brows rose slightly. Not unusual for Bell to run late, but he usually liked to make a show of greeting people personally. Still, whatever.

“Lead the way,” Allen said.

The staff nodded and turned down a different hall—not the one that led to Bell’s sleek glass-walled office, but toward a quieter, more tucked-away corridor Allen didn’t recognize imdiately.

The walls here were darker. Soundproofed. Executive level, but not the showroom space.

The room they were led into was simple. Minimalist design. Matte gray table. Two chairs. One holopanel flickering with a muted agency logo in the corner.

Definitely not Bell’s usual flair.