Surviving In This Filthy World As A Novel Villain

BANG!

Jed slammed his fist on the table, making Eric jump. "Who do you think you are, huh? You don't get to make demands here."

"I'm telling the truth!" Eric's voice cracked with panic, his hands trembling.

"Really?"

"Yes, really!"

"I don't believe you."

Eric's mind spun into a furious spiral. This idiot! Can he just keel over already? How does a moron like this even work here? He wanted to leap across the table and throttle Jed's smug face.

If they weren't in a police station, he'd have slipped this jerk a dose of his homemade poison and watched him squirm. In all his years, he'd never met anyone who got under his skin like this.

Still, despite his rage, Eric forced himself to focus. "If you know where Sera is, please—just tell her to stay away from the guy next to her. He's dangerous. I'm almost certain he's the one who killed her grandfather." His voice softened, thick with worry. No matter how much Jed pushed him, he couldn't stop caring about Sera.

Jed rolled his eyes, his lip curling in disdain. "Blaming others, huh? Typical. I can't stand people like you—troublemakers who drag everyone down with them… fully delusional and most dangerous type." He huffed, crossing his arms. "You're a proven killer, Eric Vaughn. Why would I trust you over Alex Reid? He's a respected businessman—done more for this city than you ever will. You? You're just a disaster waiting to happen."

Alex Reid. So that was the creep's name. Eric filed it away, a dark smirk flickering in his mind. What a pathetic name for a dead man walking. He'd already slipped Alex three of his custom poisons—nasty stuff, slow and brutal.

Without the antidote, the guy had maybe a week left, tops. But if Sera was still with him, what if that slime tried something? The thought twisted Eric's gut into knots. He wouldn't let that happen—not to her.

Jed leaned back, legs crossed, oozing confidence. "Eric Vaughn, your excuses are done. You practiced medicine illegally—no license, no training—and you killed Mr. Henry's father. We've got it all: the livestream, security footage, Mr. Henry's statement, and proof you're not even close to being a doctor. The evidence is airtight. What's left to say?"

Eric's heart sank like a stone. His face went pale, sweat beading on his forehead as Jed laid out the case. Everything the cop said was real—tangible, undeniable.

But he knew he hadn't meant to kill anyone. Doubt crept in, clawing at his certainty. What's real? What's true? Could his skills—his pride, his passion—actually be the problem?

"No…" he muttered, shaking his head. "No way. My skills are solid. It's not my fault!" His voice broke as he shouted, "I'm not a murderer—I wanted to save people! And Sera—she's still in danger!" Even now, cornered and crumbling, his concern for her burned bright.

BANG!

Jed slammed the table again, towering over him. "Enough! Quiet down!" He circled the table, placing firm hands on Eric's shoulders. His voice dropped, slow and steady. "Look at me. Others might not listen, but I will. Just tell me everything—start to finish."

Eric's racing heart slowed a fraction. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Jed's—deep, steady, almost hypnotic, like they held a quiet promise.

"Oh…" he breathed, caught off guard. But then a wave of nausea hit him.

'What am I doing? Drooling over this guy's eyes like some lovesick fool?' He forced a shaky grin, trying to play it cool, but a dribble of drool escaped his lips. He was a mess—and he knew it.

Grabbing Jed's hands, he clutched them tight, rubbing them with a goofy, nervous energy. "Hey, handsome, what do you want to know? My bank password? Oh, wait—no bank account. How about the size of my—uh—little friend downstairs? That juicy enough for you?"

Jed coughed, pulling back with an awkward laugh. "Uh, no… wait what the fuck… Let's… keep it to the facts, you delusional?"

Jed's face hardened, shadows pooling under his sharp cheekbones as he flipped open the manila file with a flick of his wrist. "Here's how this works: I ask the questions, you answer. That's it." His voice was low, edged with steel.

"Okay, okay!" Eric Vaughn latched onto Jed's hand like a lifeline, his fingers gripping tight.

A goofy, dazed grin spread across his face, and a thin line of drool slipped from the corner of his mouth, glistening under the harsh fluorescent light.

He looked like a man teetering between panic and absurdity.

….

The clock struck midnight, casting long shadows over Dawson home. The old villa stood like a relic of forgotten times, its weathered walls steeped in history and whispered secrets.

Some geass like substance clung to the faded brick, and the faint glow of lanterns spilled warm light across the cobblestone path.

Inside, the current head of the Dawson family, stepped through the creaky front door with his wife, at his side.

The air smelled of aged wood and nostalgia. Ahead, in the dimly lit living room, his father—the head—sat slumped in a high-backed armchair, facing away from them.

His white hair gleamed like frost under the soft lamplight, and his frail frame seemed to sag under the weight of his years.

At a glance, he was just an ordinary old man—nothing striking, nothing grand. Even up close, he remained stubbornly… normal.

"You're here," the head rasped, his voice trembling with age, cutting through the stillness.

"Yeah," he replied, his tone clipped. He was a sturdy man with a square jaw, looking forty but carrying fifty years in his tired eyes.

He dropped onto the wooden sofa nearest the armchair, studying his father's weathered profile.

"Dad, that guy's a total wreck. Two days ago, we burned through a fortune in favors to get him out from detention, you know that. And what does he do? Not even forty-eight hours later, he's locked up again, this time for killing some innocent guy on the street!"

He'd never imagined someone could be that reckless—until he saw it himself. It was like watching a train crash in slow motion.