Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

Don put on the most charming smile he could muster, stepping forward as he welcomed Ms. Claire. "The more, the merrier," he said, his eyes meeting Samantha's as he approached.

"Need any help with those?" he asked, gesturing to the stack of documents she was holding.

Samantha gave him a warm smile, the kind that radiated through her eyes. "Thanks, honey," she replied softly, handing over the documents with a grateful nod.

As Don took them, Ms. Claire's gaze followed his movements, and she offered him the smallest of smiles. "I hope I'm not imposing," she murmured, her voice low and elegant.

Before Don could respond, Samantha let out a sweet short laugh while shaking her head. "Heavens, no!" she said, her tone light. "With how close our daughters are, we're practically family."

Samantha's warmth was incredibly intoxicating, so much so that Ms. Claire, though usually composed, found herself nodding ever so slightly more. "Well, you're not wrong," she agreed, allowing a tiny smile to break her usual reserve.

Samantha's gaze then shifted to Don, her hand brushing his shoulder as she gave him an affectionate smile. "Excuse me a moment; I need to freshen up a bit," she revealed politely.

Ms. Claire maintained her small smile and nodded, her gaze lingering as she replied, "Take your time. I'll keep myself entertained with Don's company." Her words were said slowly, with emphasis put on each word in an alluring way.

Samantha didn't seem to mind this and cast a last warm look toward Don. "Make sure Ms. Claire feels right at home, alright?"

"I'll try my best," he replied, giving a light shrug as he spoke.

Ms. Claire raised a brow at his response. "Oh, I don't doubt that."

'I know she's just speaking casually, but she makes it sound so close to flirting,'

Don thought, resisting the urge to smirk.

'This woman really has a way with words.'

Unaware of his thoughts, Samantha took a step toward the stairs, then turned back briefly. "By the way, where are the others?"

"The girls?" Don shrugged. "They're doing who knows what in Summer's room. Aunt Amanda's in the bath."

Samantha gave a small nod and her expression relaxed. "Oh, good. Then everyone's here," she said, and with a last glance, she added, "I won't be long." Her figure then disappeared up the staircase.

Ms. Claire turned to Don with a slight tilt of her head. "Shall we?"

Don nodded, gesturing toward the living room. "Right this way," he said, leading her to the softly lit area. "We can wait here while the others get ready and the food's being served."

He placed the stack of Samantha's documents on the coffee table, then turned to Ms. Claire as she made her way to the sofa.

But before she could sit, he stepped forward, holding out a hand. "Would you like me to take your coat?"

She paused, looking at him with a slight smile. "Not at all," she replied, her gaze appreciative.

With a careful motion, Don moved behind her, his fingers lightly brushing her shoulders as he eased the coat from her.

Her pale, elegant shoulders and upper back were revealed, looking incredibly stunning in the dark slit dress she wore.

The dress wasn't overly bold, but its simplicity and perfect fit made her look as if she were headed to a high-end event. Don felt a slight urge to let his gaze wander but kept his eyes forward, laying the coat over his arm.

"How did the negotiations go?" he asked, moving to drape her coat over the armrest of the sofa, seeing as there was no coat rack nearby.

Ms. Claire settled into the sofa, crossing her legs with a graceful shift as she leaned back. "They reluctantly agreed to your demands," she said with a light shrug, "and even threw in a few bonus perks—likely to buy a little favor." Her voice was calm and her expression unfazed, though she seemed satisfied.

Don nodded thoughtfully, his eyes catching the subtle way she smoothed out a nonexistent crease in her dress. "I see," he replied before pausing for a moment and then asking, "Would you like anything to drink? Wine, water?"

Ms. Claire tilted her head slightly, briefly pondering the offer. "Well, we did secure the terms you wanted, and more importantly, you had quite the performance at your evaluation today. I'd say it calls for a little celebration. Wine will do—but don't think I'll be drinking it alone," she replied, her voice inviting.

Don smiled at the response and nodded along. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Elsewhere, along the long stretch of the highway bridge connecting Santos City to Cape Coral City, an all-black Escalade cruised down the road, its dark body almost matching the evening shadows.

The sun was sinking fully beneath the horizon, casting an orange glow over the sea to the right, its light reflecting off the water in glimmering patches as the last traces of daylight faded.

In the back seat, Harold Barclay sat, one hand tapping away on his phone with visible impatience, the other clutching a glass of whiskey and ice.

"Dammit… why won't she answer?" He muttered under his breath, sounding very frustrated. Without hesitating, he hit the call icon again, his thumb pressing firmly against the screen.

As the phone rang, he lifted it to his ear, his fingers drumming restlessly against the glass in his other hand, the ice clinking with each tap.

Finally, with a

**click**

, the call connected, and a mature female voice echoed into the back of the Escalade. "What is it, Mr. Barclay?"

Harold heaved a sigh, irritation evident in the lines deepening across his forehead. "Victoria. Finally. Where the hell have you been?"

"Busy," she replied. Her response was calm, almost indifferent. "And I wasn't supposed to be working today. So is there a reason you're calling?"

At this, Harold's frown deepened, his expression darkening as he felt the unmistakable sting of mockery in her words. A brief silence followed, but she quickly broke it, "I'll just assume this is about the boy."

"What else would it be about?" he asked as if it should've been obvious.

Yet, Victoria's tone remained calm and measured. "You don't pay me to assume, Mr. Barclay. You tell me the problem, and I solve it to the best of my ability. That is my job, as I understand it." Although she spoke without overt condescension, the way her words carried an unruffled confidence got on Harold's nerves, making her sound almost superior.

"Can't you take an obvious guess, given the circumstances?" Harold questioned, the veins in his neck straining with his rising anger.