Novel Full Chapter 1719: Emotional Support Dessert
Chapter 1719: Emotional Support Dessert
Villain Ch 1719. Emotional Support Dessert
The door clicked open like it owned the timing of the entire evening.
Azura barely had time to set down her fork before the sound of leather shoes tapped against the floor just outside the dining room. Then came the faint rustle of a coat being removed, the distant clink of keys being set in a crystal tray, and a low exhale. Not tired. Just… aware. Present. Like the man was already ten steps ahead of the room he was walking into.
Jordan Goldborne entered.
He didn’t need an entrance. The air adjusted around him. The way the room subtly straightened.
Emma sat up.
Even Allen gave the smallest shift in his chair—not submission, not discomfort, just acknowledgment. That was Jordan’s power. That quiet gravity. Black button-up still immaculate after whatever business meeting he had just bulldozed through, sleeves rolled up with intent. His coat draped over his arm. His presence hit like a dark ripple across velvet water.
Then his eyes landed on her.
“Oh,” he said, stopping just inside the threshold with a small curve to his lips, “you stayed for dinner.”
Azura froze halfway in the act of picking up her teacup again. “Uncle.”
Jordan raised a hand, not to silence but to settle. Then, like the king he was, he moved around the table in that slow, unhurried pace that didn’t need to ask for permission. He pulled out his usual seat at the head and sat down like it was a throne. Not one of tyranny, but power. The kind that made you want to answer questions honestly. Or lie better.
“Seems like you started without me,” he said, glancing briefly at the tart.
Emma waved a fork. “No, Dad. This dessert is emotional support.”
Jordan raised a brow. “Emotional support?”
“For Azura,” Emma added sweetly.
There was no need to clarify what.
Jordan turned toward her fully. “Ah,” he said, voice dipping into that lower register that vibrated beneath the skin. “Right, you found out Allen is the Emperor.”
Azura swallowed. Hard. But she nodded.
Jordan didn’t speak right away. He didn’t rush. He just… studied her. Not with the warmth of a father or the teasing of an uncle. This wasn’t the man who bought her ice cream once after a tournament loss. This was the strategist. The Devil’s Handler. The one people suspected moved continents behind the curtain.
Kai appeared again, quiet as ever, bowing slightly by the entrance. “Shall I bring the food now, sir?”
Jordan didn’t even look at him. He raised one hand, fingers still, palm down.
“Wait.”
Kai bowed again and vanished like he had never been there.
The room went still. The kind of still that wasn’t awkward, but intentional. Like the air had braced itself.
Then Jordan leaned forward. Just a little. Elbows resting on the edge of the table. Fingers laced together, face partially shadowed by the golden chandelier light.
Eyes locked to Azura.
“So,” he said, the weight of the evening now balanced on his voice, “what do you feel about it then?”
Her breath caught. The whole room watched her now. Even the clink of a fork Emma had been playing with stopped. Allen didn’t blink.
This wasn’t a casual question.
Azura could feel it. Not just the heat of the earlier embarrassment or the leftover tremor in her pulse.
This was different. This was… formal. Measured. Like she was standing before a tribunal. But one that smiled softly while deciding your fate.
She met his eyes—dark, piercing, thoughtful. “It surprised me. A lot,” she said slowly, voice tighter than she wanted. “But it also… made sense. In a terrifying, hindsight kind of way. His timing. His ability to control the board. It all fits now.”
Jordan gave no reaction. Just waited.
“And I guess,” she continued, “it made me feel stupid. For not seeing it sooner. When he’s—”
She stopped.
The words were there. They wanted to come out. The things she felt. About Allen. The things that had tangled and frayed ever since he’d looked at her like he saw past her armor, kissed her like the war didn’t matter.
But she couldn’t say it.
She wouldn’t.
Jordan raised one finger. “I was asking you as a player, Azura. Not as Allen’s cousin.”
The words hit like a cold hand pressing to her spine.
Azura blinked. “Oh.”
Jordan nodded. “You can give me the family-friendly feelings later. Right now, I want your strategic mind. Not your personal chaos.”
Emma winced. “Ouch.”
Allen said nothing, eyes unreadable now.
Azura inhaled deeply, adjusted in her seat. Right. Okay.
As a player.
Then fine. She could do that.
She squared her shoulders slightly, voice clearer now. “As a player, it changes everything. It means the threat wasn’t external. It was internal the whole time. The Devil Emperor wasn’t a raid boss. He was a co-player. A participant. One of us. It makes every major event in the last months retroactively terrifying. Because now I have to go back and reanalyze every war event and slaughter he made.”
Jordan nodded once. “Good.”
She blinked. “Good?”
“You’re not panicking,” he said. “You’re evaluating. That’s what makes a decent leader. Or a threat.”
Allen sipped his tea.
Azura felt a bit of that earlier flush return to her cheeks, but this time not from embarrassment.
From realization.
This man wasn’t trying to scare her. He was testing her.
“Then…” Jordan continued. “What do you think the other players would do, if they found out?”
Azura frowned. “Depends on how it’s framed. If he’s seen as a betrayer, they’ll riot. If he’s seen as a master strategist, they’ll worship him. If both? The world splits.”
Jordan smiled faintly. “Excellent summary.”
Emma leaned in. “So, what do we do?”
“We keep it quiet,” Jordan said, tone like law. “Because she’s right. The second this goes public, the internet will combust and then rebuild itself into a war zone.”
Azura exhaled. “So… I just keep pretending?”
“Yes,” Jordan said. “Don’t announce. If anyone suspects you know, they’ll try to exploit you.”
“Sounds lovely,” she muttered.