Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

There was a brief pause on the line after Harold asked his question, and then Victoria's response came, unhurried. "So I can be held accountable if I guess wrong?" she asked. "I don't see what's so hard about telling me the problem, rather than having me guess. Or do you think I'm wrong?"

For a moment, Harold found himself struck by the blunt logic in her words. It was true: it was Victoria's day off, and there was no guarantee she'd heard about Don's performance.

Still, to a man like Harold, such things were trivial. He was the one with the authority; so to him, what he said should be done without hesitation or questioning.

But here he was, being made to feel like a fool.

A muscle twitched in his jaw, and a vein pulsed visibly on his forehead as his grip tightened around his phone, his fingers turning a little white. Yet he didn't yell.

Instead, he drew in a slow breath, his anger practically simmering under the surface as he spoke in a low, harsh tone. "Never mind," he muttered. "I'll handle it myself."

With a quick motion, he cut the call, the silence in the car feeling all the heavier in the absence of her voice. He then angrily he tossed his phone onto the floor of the car, watching it bounce before lying still.

He took a long, calming breath, raising his glass and taking a deep sip of whiskey. The liquid burned as it went down, but he barely felt it.

Instead, he turned his gaze to the window, his reflection faint in the growing darkness. He straightened his suit jacket, running a hand over the lapels as if smoothing away the wrinkles in his temper, and muttered to himself, "If you want something done right… you have to do it yourself."

Back at the Brights' residence, Don and Ms. Claire sat comfortably in the living room, each holding a glass of wine.

The soft glow of the television flickered in the background, showing the evening news, but neither of them paid it much attention.

Don sat in the recliner to Ms. Claire's right, his glass resting loosely in his hand as he considered how to start a conversation.

Ms. Claire wasn't the type he could charm with a casual quip, and he could tell she wasn't particularly playful, either. She struck him as someone who valued conversation that engaged the mind, but Don knew he wasn't exactly an expert in that department.

Still, he figured he'd give it a try.

As Ms. Claire took her first sip of wine, her hand holding the glass with the grace of someone used to fine gatherings, Don took the chance to ask something simple. "So, how did you and my mom run into each other?"

Ms. Claire didn't answer right away.

She first lowered her glass carefully onto the coffee table, leaning forward just enough to give Don a glimpse of her poised figure, framed elegantly by the lines of her dress. She then sat back, crossing her legs with ease, her gaze steady as she turned to look at him.

"We met in passing, actually," she began, her tone calm. "When I pulled into the gate of the Chanel Hills community. Sylvia loves coming over to spend time with your sister, so Samantha and I run into each other fairly often." She smiled faintly while speaking.

"She almost always offers to join in a meal and I almost always decline, but today, Samantha wouldn't take no for an answer. She insisted I join you all for dinner. Usually, she's content to take my 'no' and move on, strange…" Ms. Claire let the thought hang, her smile deepening as she swirled her glass gently. "Lately, she seems… different."

She glanced at Don with an inquisitive look, as if hinting at something. She then added a bit more directly, "Come to think of it, Samantha has been different since you returned."

Don met her gaze and nodded, choosing his response thoughtfully. Agreeing felt natural, especially since he'd noticed it too. "She has, yeah. I think she feels a bit more at ease now that I'm back." He let a small, genuine smile show. "And if anything, I'm glad she insisted on inviting you."

Ms. Claire raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "Oh? Why's that?"

Don smiled, feeling the conversation taking a pleasant turn. "Well, aside from enjoying good wine and conversation, it's nice seeing her open to making friends again. From what I can tell, she doesn't have many around here."

A slight, understanding smile appeared on Ms. Claire's face as she took a measured sip of her wine. "She and I share that in common, then," she said, her tone soft but thoughtful.

Don sensed he was making good headway, ready to steer the conversation forward when he heard faint footsteps coming down the stairs. His attention shifted, his ears perking up as he recognized the lively voices—Summer and Sylvia, by the sound of it.
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Within moments, both girls appeared, Sylvia grinning as she jogged lightly to the dining area, her expression bright with excitement. Summer, trailing close behind, called out, "Winter! You seen Don?"

Winter's voice replied calmly from the dining room, "He's entertaining a guest in the living room."

Summer placed her hands on her hips, tilting her head in slight confusion. "A guest?" Her brow furrowed as she glanced around, clearly not expecting company.

Sylvia, meanwhile, moved through the dining area and peeked into the living room, her gaze lighting up when she spotted Ms. Claire. "Mom?" she called out happily, stepping fully into the room. "When did you get here?"

Summer, following close behind, stopped just at the entryway, her expression more reserved as her eyes settled on Ms. Claire. She hesitated to follow Sylvia, hanging back as if unsure whether to enter.

Ms. Claire raised her glass, taking a polite sip before replying, "Not long ago dear. I was invited to stay for dinner."

Sylvia looked from her mother to Don, then back to her mother, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. "Is it… for work stuff?" she asked.

Ms. Claire gave a small nod. "That's part of it," she replied before tilting her head toward her daughter with a mild look of reproach. "But before we sit down, why don't you tidy yourself up a bit? It wouldn't do to present yourself like that at the table."

Sylvia's cheeks flushed slightly, realizing her uniform was indeed a bit rumpled. She shot her mother a quick, embarrassed glance, muttering, "You didn't have to say it like that…" Her eyes darted to Don for a split second before she turned back toward the dining room, looking flustered.

Summer, on the other hand, rolled her eyes and gave Don a knowing look, narrowing her gaze as she pointed two fingers from her eyes to his, giving him the universal

*I've got my eye on you*

gesture. Don could only speculated as to why she was doing that.

Sylvia quickly made her way out of the living room and grabbed Summer by the arm, whispering in her ear, "Why didn't you tell me I was a mess?" as they disappeared around the corner.

Silence settled over the room as the two left, broken only by the sound of Winter stepping out from the dining area.

She gave a polite nod to Don and Ms. Claire before announcing, "Dinner is served, everyone may begin taking their seats."