Novel Full Chapter 1726: Not Vulnerable
Chapter 1726: Not Vulnerable
Villain Ch 1726. Not Vulnerable
Sophia followed from a distance. Quiet heels on colder concrete, silk scarf pulled high enough to hide her face from the rare midnight pedestrian. Her eyes stayed locked on Allen’s back, sharp and calculating under the glow of each passing streetlamp.
She’d done this before—followed people. She was good at it. Light steps, quiet breath, patient timing. Most people didn’t look behind them unless they were paranoid.
Allen, of course, was paranoid. But that didn’t mean he was perfect.
He’d just left that girl’s apartment. Azura, wasn’t it? The cousin. The one who somehow survived Allen’s distance and still got close. Disgusting.
Sophia clenched her jaw.
She hadn’t planned this part. Not tonight. She just happened to be nearby. That’s what she told herself.
Just nearby.
Just watching.
But then she saw him leave, alone, and all the thoughts she’d been pushing down clawed their way back up.
‘This is your chance.’
She followed.
Goldborne’s mansion wasn’t far. His real one. Not the gaming estate—no, the real one. The one with guards and retinal scanners and an absurdly large koi pond. But Allen’s name wasn’t stable yet, was it?
He was still the new young master.
Still the maybe heir. The surprise son. The late-coming shadow to Jordan Goldborne’s empire.
There were rumors. People whispered about him. About how fast he rose. How cold he was.
And rumors like that… they made him vulnerable.
Sophia smirked to herself. It was simple.
She didn’t need to sneak into the mansion. She just needed to force him to take her inside. If she showed up with him—claimed to be a friend, a guest, whatever—and if he refused, she could make a scene. Cry. Beg. Call him out. Loud enough for the neighbors. The staff.
Jordan might ignore it, but the others wouldn’t. Not with the press still sniffing around the Goldborne succession issue.
One loud emotional breakdown and Allen would have no choice but to drag her inside just to shut her up.
And once she was inside?
He’d have to talk.
Perfect.
But then something weird happened.
He turned.
Not toward the house.
Not even in the direction of the upper district.
She slowed.
What?
Where the hell was he going?
This wasn’t the path home. Not even close.
She frowned and kept following. Her heels clipped softer now, almost silent. She tugged her coat tighter around her. The streets here were narrower. Less pristine. Fewer cameras. Too quiet.
Allen’s pace didn’t change. If anything, he looked relaxed. Unbothered.
‘What are you doing?’
Was he meeting someone?
One of his girls?
Her chest tightened. No. If he was, she’d ruin it. She’d walk right in between them, sit on his lap, kiss him if she had to. Make the other girl leave.
She was his first.
He always had been.
She followed closer now.
And then… he turned again.
This time into a small alleyway. Tight. Walled on both sides by old brick and climbing ivy. No lights. No movement.
She stopped at the corner.
Her heart pounded. Not fear adrenaline. This was it. He was trying to hide something. Do something sketchy. Maybe meet with someone from the underworld. She could use that too. Blackmail him if needed. Or threaten to expose him.
All roads still ended in her winning.
She inched closer.
But as she turned the corner—ready to step in, ready to find him mid-sin—
She found…
Nothing.
No one.
The alley was empty.
Her breath hitched.
“What?” she whispered.
She stepped forward, looking around, eyes narrowing.
No shadows. No sounds. Just damp pavement, the distant hiss of a leaking pipe, and the hollow echo of her own confused breath.
He was gone.
She spun, looked behind her. Looked up.
Nothing.
No footsteps. No retreating figure. No open door.
“Allen?” she said softly.
Silence.
She took a step back.
A cold breeze slipped down the alley and kissed the back of her neck.
Something about this didn’t feel right.
He was just here.
There was no way he ran. No way he vanished. She’d been watching.
Unless…
Her stomach twisted.
He knew.
He knew she was following him.
That’s why he turned. That’s why he went off the path. That smug bastard led her here.
He trapped her.
Sophia’s breath caught in her throat. She spun again, looking for him, any shadow, any whisper of movement, but it was too quiet now. Her throat felt tight.
She stepped back once more, heels clacking on the cold stone.
And for the first time in years…
She felt like prey.
She bit her lip and turned, fast-walking back toward the street, heart hammering, fury building behind her ribs.
Fine.
Let him play his stupid game.
She’d find another way in.
‘I guess I’ll wait for him near his house and ambush him when he’s near or trying to get in,’ she thought, arms folded, breath curling out in small puffs under the chilly night air.
That smug little plan made her lips curl. A smirk bloomed—slow, confident, delusional. Wherever Allen was hiding, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t dodge her forever.
She was Sophia. She didn’t get left behind. She didn’t stay discarded. Not for long.
If Allen thought he could just ghost her? After everything? They shared?
No. He’d lost his damn mind. She was going to remind him exactly what she meant to him. And if she had to cry, scream, throw herself at his gates… so be it. The Goldbornes were all about image, weren’t they?
She tilted her head slightly, adjusting her angle on the empty street. Her eyes flicked to the far end where the estate gates shimmered under expensive security lighting. Still no movement. But that was fine. He’d come home eventually.
What she didn’t know… what she couldn’t know… was that Allen was already watching.
Seated low on a rusted emergency stairwell two buildings down, one leg bent, one arm resting lazily over his knee. A massive delivery crate sat just to his right, perfectly blocking him from her line of sight. From her angle, the alley looked abandoned. Clean.
But his eyes were locked onto her. Cold. Flat. Calculating.
That smirk on her lips made his stomach twist.
She hadn’t changed.
Allen exhaled slowly, the breath misting in front of his face. His voice, when it came, was quiet. Detached.
“Hm… seems like I need a little help,” he murmured.
Your gift is the motivation for my creation. Give me more motivation!
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