Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

The sun hovered low over the western edge of New Coral City, spilling long shadows over the towers and glass fronts that made up the elite heart of the district.

Orange bled into gold across the skyline, diffused by the salt-thick air that rolled in off the coast. The penthouse terrace caught every inch of it—one of those oversized, overdesigned platforms developers loved calling a "sky veranda."

Andrew Barclay stood at the edge of it, sandals planted just shy of the rail, a glass dangling loosely from his fingers.

His shirt fluttered faintly in the wind—brown linen, casual but expensive, with a pair of aviators clung to the collar like a punctuation.

He didn't move much. Just stared, jaw tight, brows sunk into a scowl that hadn't left his face since the news cycle turned on his last name.

Beside him, Ashley leaned into his shoulder. The breeze caught the hem of her sundress, teasing it around her legs, but she didn't bother fixing it.

Her left hand held a wide straw hat to her side, fingers gripping the brim with slow, unconscious rhythm. Her right hand remained linked with his—soft pressure, thumb brushing against the inside of his palm.

"Hey…" she said, her voice quiet. "It's going to be okay, alright?"

The words hung there, just long enough to sour.

Andrew's frown deepened. His hand slipped out of hers.

"No, it's not," he snapped, stepping forward. His sandals made a dull scruff against the tiles. "Stop trying to make it seem like everything's just fine, okay?"

Ashley's expression flickered. Not surprised. Just tired.

"My family's name is all over the damned news," Andrew continued. "I can't go fucking anywhere anymore without cameras shoved in my face. At the gym. On the street. Some guy tried to livestream me at lunch yesterday like I'm some kind of freak show."

Ashley exhaled through her nose. Her fingers tightened on the hat, the edge of it bending slightly.

"You could just distance yourself, you know," she said gently. "You're capable, Andrew. You don't need to be your father's—"

"I'm not his slave, okay?!" he barked.

She didn't even flinch. Instead, she stepped away from the railing, arms crossing beneath her chest, eyes narrowing—not in anger, but in that exhausted way you look at someone repeating the same self-inflicted wound.

"Then why are you in New Coral, huh?" she asked. "Why am I the one sneaking into buildings like I'm having an affair with some married politician?"

Andrew opened his mouth, but the sound that came next wasn't his.

Bzzzt. Bzzzt.

His phone vibrated against his hip.

He pulled it out, saw the name flash across the screen, and clamped his jaw shut so hard the muscles near his ear twitched.

Ashley watched him, her stance unmoved. "Lemme guess," she said dryly. "Your dad?"

He didn't answer. Just turned his back, pressed the phone to his ear, and murmured, "Yes…?"

A pause. Then: "Okay. I'll be right there."

The call ended with a flick of his thumb. He stared at the phone like it had insulted him.

Behind him, Ashley had already turned toward the suite's open glass doors. Her sandals clicked lightly against the tile as she walked away.

"Why am I not surprised," she muttered without turning around.

The words were quiet. But they landed.

Andrew stood there for a few more seconds, glass still in hand, wind pulling at his shirt. The sunset didn't look any better now. If anything, it looked smug.

He hated that it still smelled like her perfume even after she'd gone.

———

The elevator chimed with a soft ding as Don stepped into the Bright Penthouse. The smell of roasted coffee beans still lingered faintly in the air, along with something floral—probably whatever air freshener Samantha insisted on using that week.

The faint sound of arguing drew his ears before his eyes caught anything. Raised voices. Quick, emotional Portuguese. One of them was crying—loudly. The other was yelling about betrayal, or maybe debt. Something dramatic.

He didn't even need to check.

Living room.

Sure enough, as he rounded the corner, the glow of the flatscreen lit the room in soft flickers. On the sofa sat Samantha, tucked into a blanket, her face tilted slightly toward the screen with a hand absently clutching a mug she hadn't sipped from in a while.

Her soft blue eyes shimmered at the corners, like they hadn't decided whether to laugh or cry.

Don approached quietly, letting the telenovela characters scream it out in the background. He leaned over the back of the sofa and said, casually, "Hey, Mom."

Samantha blinked, her gaze pulling from the screen. When she turned, her whole posture shifted. The blanket was tugged around her shoulders, glasses adjusted, lips parting in an immediate, surprised smile.

"Oh—hi, sweetie," she said, voice soft with that faint upward lilt only reserved for people she cared about. She shifted to make room beside her, patting the cushion. "I didn't hear you come in. Want to join me? Your aunt Amanda gave up ten minutes into the first episode—she said everyone was too loud."

Don smirked and stayed standing, arms loosely crossed over the backrest. "Tempting. But I might pass. I don't think I've recovered from last time."

Samantha laughed gently, then leaned in a bit, peering around him. "Where's Winter?"

"She'll be up soon," Don replied, glancing toward the hallway. "She's collecting a package for me."

Something flickered in Samantha's expression—just a twitch of the brow, a faint pink warming her cheeks.

Her voice came slower. "Is it… that camera you said you wanted to buy?"

Don nearly smiled.

He liked that it was the first thing she thought of.

"No," he said with a shake of his head. "Something else."

It was subtle, the way her face fell. Not dramatic. Just a tiny shift. But Don noticed. Of course he did.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the camera. Matte black. Compact. Sleek enough to look pricey but plain enough not to scream for attention.

"I already got a camera," he said, handing it to her. "Picked it up on the way here. Winter vouched for it—says it's the best for professional-quality photos without needing all the bells and whistles."

Samantha held the device delicately, turning it over in her hands. Her eyes softened. "I see…"

She hesitated. He could hear it in her breath.

"Well, good," she said finally, with a little fake cough to mask her nerves. "Ahem. Fabio came by earlier. I already arranged the clothes he brought in your room. I hope that's alright. I think you'll like them."

"Thanks," Don said. Then added, "What about yours?"

She looked up, confused. "My what?"

Don lifted the camera. "Your clothes. Now that I've got this, I'm ready to turn you into a star."

Click

The shutter fired before she could react.

Her blush bloomed instantly.

"Donnie!" she laughed, adjusting her glasses in a flustered motion. "You better not post that. I hope you're not planning to put me online…"

Don took another shot, this time grinning. "No way. You only need one fan. And that's me."

She covered her face for a second, laughing again in that breathy, embarrassed way. "You're too much."

She let her hands fall slowly and avoided his eyes. Her voice dipped quieter.

"We can… uhm, have your little photo shoot later. Okay? When everyone's gone to bed."

He nodded once. "Sure thing."

The camera was pocketed again. The moment held just long enough before he broke it.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go see what your grumpy daughter needed help with."

He turned to leave.

Samantha's voice followed. "No fighting, you two!"

"No promises," Don called back.