Villain Ch 1951. You Ghosted Us
Allen pulled off the VR visor.
The simulation faded from his senses like mist lifting off a battlefield. Ghosts gone. Screams gone. The banquet of the damned nothing more than faint heat in his palms and a low ring in his ears.
He blinked.
The ceiling above him wasn't some haunted crypt, but sleek, cream-toned leather with dim overhead lighting. The quiet hum of engines reminded him where he actually was.
Private jet.
Cruising at 42,000 feet.
Still thirty minutes before landing.
He turned his head toward the window out of habit. Clouds rolled by beneath the wing like crushed marble. Tranquil. Untouchable.
And then he froze.
Because they were all looking at him.
Eight women in travelwear sat in a semi-scattered arrangement—some with blankets, others still half reclined in their massage seats—but all wide awake, silent… staring at him like he'd just confessed to murder.
Or worse.
He blinked again.
"…What?"
