Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

Chapter 691: Same City, Different Structure (Part 5)

As the members of the new governing board filed out to conduct the press briefing, many of the elites remained on the upper floor.Some gathered near the mounted screens along the walls to observe the proceedings, while a handful of those closely aligned with the board followed them downstairs, positioning themselves as visible support behind the podium.

Don paid the briefing little attention. From the murmurs and half-glances around him, most others did the same.

Networking remained the true order of business, and he dove back into it alongside Charles.

Through Charles's introductions, Don met a steady stream of influential figures: a sharp-eyed CEO whose company handled major reconstruction contracts, a board member from one of the city's top corporations with interests in logistics and supply chains, and a talent scout for the national superhuman athletics committee who sized him up with professional interest.

More followed—executives, investors, and consultants whose names blurred together after the tenth handshake or so.

Don maintained a polite mask through each exchange, offering measured responses and firm grips while keeping his expression composed.

Many viewed him as little more than Charles's promising associate or sidekick, their interest polite but secondary. Still, he forged several connections that felt potentially useful in the days ahead.

After several minutes of this, fatigue began to creep in.

Charles continued working the room with practiced ease, but Don excused himself and drifted toward one of the refreshment tables.

He had just picked up a glass when Miss Claire approached from the side.

She moved with her usual grace, reaching for a drink as though the table had been her destination all along. Only after securing her own glass did she speak, her voice low and directed solely at him.

"You really didn't have to step in back there," she said, a slight smile touching her lips. "But I do appreciate it."

She took a small sip before adding, "This will now make it twice that you have saved me from an unfavorable conversation."

Don smiled but kept his gaze forward, nursing his own drink.

She did the same, the two of them standing side by side without facing each other directly. "It likely won't be the last time," he replied evenly, "considering how many people seem not to like you. But I suppose that's the mark of a successful person."

Miss Claire's smile deepened faintly. "Quite the glib tongue you have. But thank you… for everything. Especially that last bit with Duarte."

He shrugged, feigning mild ignorance. "I don't know what you mean."

"I'm sure you don't." Her tone carried quiet amusement as she took another sip.

Before either could say more, a slight commotion drew their attention.

Don looked to his left, toward a cluster of people a short distance away. Miss Claire followed his gaze.

There, a slightly stocky young man in a pristine but now rumpled suit swayed unsteadily.

His stance wobbled, words slurring noticeably despite the hour still being just past mid-morning. The refreshments available were not strong enough to explain it.

Miss Claire's voice remained unimpressed. "That would be Bertram Jebediah Matthews Jr., son of Bertram Matthews Senior, our new police commissioner."

Don studied the man. "From the way you say it, I take it he's someone you wouldn't associate with."

"Not even if I was desperate and without funds," she answered, tone flat. "I'd sooner work as a stripper in a red light district somewhere than have any form of association with that man."

The bluntness from her carried weight. Don raised an eyebrow slightly. "Why is that?"

Miss Claire chose her next words carefully, speaking low enough to avoid casual eavesdroppers. "Allegedly, he has a bad habit of getting drunk and using his position of power to have his way with women in lesser positions."

She took another sip. "I once had a client who wanted to take him to court, but as you can imagine, when your father—at the time deputy commissioner—cases with little to no physical evidence tend not to go anywhere. Even when evidence exists…"

Another sip. "The father has been accused more than once of making it disappear."

She did not elaborate further, but the implication settled clearly.

Around them, older gentlemen ignored Bertram outright while composed women who rejected his advances received grunts, insults, and crude gestures.

"I've seen sluts hotter than you anyway on the Internet," he slurred at one before stumbling toward another who tried to slip away with visible disgust.

Don watched the scene unfold with detached interest.

In any world, power shielded certain behaviors. He simply had not expected to witness it so openly here.

Where others saw a drunk embarrassment, he saw an opportunity.

"I have something to do," he told Miss Claire. "Excuse me."

She raised a curious brow but offered no objection. "Okay."

Don set his glass down and moved away from the table, weaving through the crowd until he found a quiet corridor.

He stepped into a side room used for storage—desks and chairs stacked neatly against the walls—and closed the door behind him. "This should work."

He pulled out his phone and typed a message to Winter.

A few seconds later her reply appeared. He sent another, received confirmation, and a small smile formed as the final response solidified his thoughts.

He then slipped the phone away and returned to the main area, heading back toward the refreshment table without rejoining the networking circles.

Instead, he observed Bertram from a distance as the young man stumbled toward yet another woman who could not escape quickly enough, her face twisted in clear revulsion.

As Don stood by the refreshment table, nursing another glass of chilled water that did little to cut the subdued warmth of the upper floor.

Conversation continued around him, broken occasionally by polite laughter or the soft clink of glasses.

He kept his attention subtly fixed across the room on Bertram Jebediah Matthews Jr., who had already been rejected by two more women and now argued loudly with the partner of his latest target, his voice carrying in slurred bursts.

A lovely woman in her mid-thirties approached the table with slow steps, her elegant dress swaying gently.

She carried herself with the confidence of someone accustomed to these circles, her features refined and attractive in their own right.

Don felt no spark of interest. Before she even reached him, her gaze had already sized him up in a way that made her intentions clear.

"Why is a fine gentleman like you drinking alone?" she asked, voice smooth and inviting as she stopped beside him.

Don offered a polite but distant smile, eyes still drifting elsewhere. "Just lost in thought. I'm more of an observer than anything."

The woman caught the hint quickly enough. She lingered only a moment longer before excusing herself with a graceful nod and moving on.

Don returned his focus to Bertram, who had already stumbled toward another target, drawing irritated glares from those around him.

A short while later, Ash appeared on the floor. She paused near the entrance, scanning the room with clear discomfort.

Her ripped jeans, hoodie, and heeled boots stood out greatly against the sea of tailored suits and formal dresses.

She looked undeniably attractive, the casual style accentuating her figure in a way that turned a few heads, yet the mismatch only seemed to make her withdraw further into herself.

Her shoulders tensed as she glanced down at her phone, reading the message Don had sent moments earlier.

She lifted her head, eyes finding him across the room, but she did not approach. Instead, her gaze shifted toward Bertram.

Disgust flickered across her face before she schooled it.

She took a deep breath and moved into the crowd, not heading straight for him but positioning herself nearby as he continued arguing with the woman's partner.

With practiced casualness, Ash bumped his shoulder, causing his drink to slosh over the rim.

"Who the hell—" Bertram turned angrily, but the words died as he faced her. He cleared his throat, attempting to straighten up and look more presentable. "Excuse me, I don't think we've met."

Ash swallowed hard, forcing a smile that did not reach her eyes. "I don't think we have. My name is Ashley. Nice to meet you."

Bertram's gaze dropped immediately, lingering far below her face. "May I just have the pleasure, beautiful—I mean lovely… I mean you are lovely…" He fumbled, clearly affected by both alcohol and proximity.

Ash shook her head when he offered her a drink. "No thank you."

She hesitated, glancing toward Don's direction from the corner of her eye. "I was trying to get some network, but I can't seem to find any in this room. I'm going to try and check the other rooms."

Bertram seized the opening like a starving man. "That's not a problem. You can use my phone."

"No thank you," Ash replied, keeping her tone innocently uncertain. "I'm just going to look around. Hopefully I don't get lost."

"Then let me help you," he said quickly, puffing up. "I've been here many times. My father is the police commissioner, you know?"

The statement made Ash visibly uneasy, but she nodded and started walking down the corridor Don had used earlier.

Bertram followed closely, nearly tripping over his own feet. She entered the same storage room, door left ajar, pretending to check her phone for signal.

Bertram glanced behind him once before stepping inside and closing the door.

"Are you getting any signal?" he asked, rubbing his sweaty palms against his trousers.

"Nope. Unfortunately not."

"Well, I'm sure it'll appear soon enough. I know for a fact this room has a very good network."

The lie sat heavy in the air, but Ash played along, leaning against one of the stacked desks and tugging lightly at the collar of her hoodie.

The motion made her breasts shift noticeably beneath the fabric.

"It's a little hot in here," she murmured.

Bertram gulped audibly and closed the distance, eyes fixed on the curve of her waist where the tight jeans hugged her hips and accentuated the smooth lines of her abdomen. "Would you like to sip some of my drink to cool you down?"

He reached out. Ash slapped his hand away hard. "Don't touch me."

Bertram stumbled back, surprise cutting through the haze of alcohol. Before he could recover, the door opened.

"What the hell is going on here?" Don asked, stepping inside with clear anger in his voice.

Bertram's eyes widened, sobering noticeably. "Nothing's going on!"

Ash immediately moved away from him and pressed against Don's side. "He tried to rape me!"

"You lying bitch! This is some kind of scam!" Bertram protested, voice rising.

Charles entered behind Don, his tone calm but firm. "I don't think she is."

"You set me up!" Bertram accused, looking between them.

Charles raised an eyebrow. "How can that be when there are two witnesses?" He shook his head. "Who do you think people will believe? The man known for preying on women, or myself?"

Bertram knew exactly who Charles was. The weight of the Monclaire name hit him fully.

His face paled, and without further resistance he dropped to his knees, hands raised. "I'm sorry! I swear! I wasn't trying to rape her. I was just… I was just…"

Charles and Don exchanged a brief glance. Charles raised his brow slightly. "Shhh. There is no need to explain. But if you're truly sorry… there is something you can do."

Bertram looked up desperately. "Anything! Just don't tell my father!"

Don watched the scene unfold with quiet disbelief.

The man had crumbled instantly. The power of the Monclaire name was more potent than he had fully appreciated.

That and Bertram truly was a fool.