Ch. 41 – One Thing After Another

Lira stopped dead in her tracks, the ceramic plate trembling slightly in her hands as her bright blue eyes darted between Ariadne and the front hallway. Deep, bewildered confusion washed over her radiant face.

“Wait... Ariadne?” Lira asked, her voice tilting upward in genuine bafflement. “How... how are you still here? Rhys just told me you left through the front door a second ago!”

In that terrifying, agonizing second, Rhys felt his entire mind shatter into a million jagged pieces. His breath hitched in his throat, his blood running completely ice-cold. This is it, he thought, a suffocating wave of pure, unadulterated panic seizing his chest. It’s over. I got caught in the most pathetic, obvious little lie. He could already picture the horror on Lira’s face when she realized her retired hero husband had been lying to her face while his former mortal enemy was crouched under the dining table.

Then, with terrifying composure, Ariadne spoke up.

She offered a gentle, self-deprecating laugh, smoothing down the front of her cream sweater as if she hadn’t just spent the last five minutes thoroughly unravelling Rhys’s sanity.

“Oh, I am so silly, Astraea!” Ariadne chimed, her voice dripping with seamless, innocent charm. “I actually walked out to my car, but then I realized I had completely forgotten my sunglasses on your porch! I just slipped back inside to grab them. I didn’t mean to startle either of you.”

Lira’s tense shoulders visibly relaxed. The absurdity of the explanation somehow washed over her, her trusting nature effortlessly filling in the blanks. “Oh! Goodness, I see,” Lira chuckled softly, shaking her head. “I must not have heard the door click open again over the sound of the kitchen fan. Well, since you’re still here, you absolutely have to stay for breakfast! I just plated a fresh serving!”

Ariadne turned her gaze toward Rhys. A slow, wicked, intensely knowing smile spread across her lips, her pale eyes dancing with unspoken, filthy triumph.

“Thank you so much, Astraea, you are far too sweet,” Ariadne purred, never breaking eye contact with Rhys’s pale, rigid face. “But I actually... already had my fill of breakfast. Quite a hearty meal, in fact. I really must be going, but Rhys...” She paused, her voice dropping into a velvety, lingering register. “...I will definitely be in touch very soon regarding my ‘catering’ order.”

With a subtle, coy wave, Ariadne finally turned on her heel and glided out the front door, the heavy oak entrance clicking shut behind her.

Rhys sat frozen at the table, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird, his world spinning wildly as he tried to upright his shattered reality. He stared blankly at his cold plate of bacon and eggs, his hands still trembling beneath the table.

Lira walked over, setting her plate down and placing a soft, cool palm against his forehead. Her brow furrowed with deep concern. “Rhys? Sweetie, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. You’re completely pale.”

Rhys swallowed hard, forcing his hoarse voice to work. “I’m... I’m fine, honey. It’s nothing, really. I think... I think all this sudden talk about the old catering business is just starting to get to me a bit. I have a lot more... ‘clients’... than I thought.”

Lira’s expression softened into a warm, consoling beam. She sat down beside him, taking his hand and squeezing it tenderly. “Oh, Rhys! That’s a wonderful thing, though! It means people remember how amazing you are at what you do. You shouldn’t stress about it!”

“Yeah... right. A wonderful thing,” Rhys murmured glumly, forcing a weak smile. Wanting nothing more than to bury the nightmare of the last ten minutes, he quickly changed the subject. “Let’s just... enjoy our morning together, okay?”

For the next hour, Rhys almost managed to convince himself that the storm had passed. They finished their food, laughed over coffee, and leaned into the quiet, domestic bliss he so desperately craved.

Then, the doorbell rang again.

Rhys flinched, his body tensing instinctively. But before he could even rise from his seat, the front door swung open—unlocked, as usual—and a booming, familiar voice called out into the foyer.

“Hey! Anyone home?!”

It was Marcus.

Rhys let out a heavy, exhausted sigh, though a tiny fraction of his anxiety eased. It was just his best friend. Marcus strolled into the sunlit living room, practically glowing with an obnoxious, energetic aura, a goofy, blinding grin plastered across his face.

“Man, am I glad I caught you guys awake!” Marcus beamed, throwing himself onto the plush armchair across from Rhys. “Rhys, brother, I have to tell you about the night I had. You are not going to believe this.”

Rhys leaned back against the couch, putting on his best supportive-friend face while internally wincing. Marcus was ready to regale him with his side of the story regarding his “date” with Vespera at the VIP club. Rhys had to sit there in suffocating, agonizing silence, listening to Marcus tell his blissfully ignorant version of events.

“First of all, dinner was incredible,” Marcus gushed, gesturing animatedly with his hands. “Vespera was so charming, Rhys! And seriously, thank you for texting me advice throughout the night. When she suggested going to that exclusive VIP club afterward, I knew I was doing something right!”

You poor, sad fool, Rhys thought bitterly, a wave of profound pity and shame washing over him. She didn’t take you to that club to be with you. She took you there to trap me.

“And the club!” Marcus continued, entirely oblivious to Rhys’s internal agony. “Man, the music was pumping, we got these crazy high-end magical cocktails, and we hit the dance floor. It was wild! Though, it was the weirdest thing... while we were dancing, I could have sworn I saw a guy across the bar who looked just like you. Same build, same hair, everything!”

Rhys’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his face completely blank. “That’s crazy, Marcus. You were probably just seeing things in the dark lighting.”

“Yeah, right?!” Marcus laughed, waving a dismissive hand. “There’s no way you’d be at a place like that. Anyway! Unfortunately, the drinks caught up to poor Vespera. Man, for a dark villain mastermind, she really cannot hold her liquor!”

The gullible idiot, Rhys thought, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief second. Vespera hadn’t been drunk at all—she had faked being sick just to get Marcus out of the way, orchestrating it so Rhys’s best friend would willingly stand guard outside the bathroom stall while she and the other three women thoroughly ruined him.

“She asked me if I’d be a gentleman and guard the VIP restroom door for her while she freshened up,” Marcus said proudly, puffing out his chest. “And of course I did! I stood out there like a fortress. Nobody got near that room!”

Rhys felt sick to his stomach. “Right... very chivalrous of you.”

“And then!” Marcus leaned forward, his voice dropping into an intrigued, starry-eyed whisper. “This is the best part. When she finally came out, she looked totally exhausted, poor thing. So I offered to fly her home myself! I carried her all the way to her penthouse balcony. And when I set her down... Rhys, she beamed at me, leaned in, and kissed me right on the cheek!”

Marcus sat back with a triumphant, dreamy sigh, interlocking his fingers behind his head.

Rhys stared at him, stunned into utter silence. He waited for a punchline, a reveal, or a twist. “So... that’s it?” Rhys asked after a long, baffling pause.

“Yeah! Sounds like something straight out of a movie, right?!” Marcus grinned proudly.

Rhys was at an absolute, utter loss for words. His mind reeled as he processed the reality: his best friend was completely unharmed, entirely oblivious, and falling terrifyingly, head-over-heels in love with a woman who was actively manipulating him like a chess piece. Vespera was going to utterly destroy this man.

Wanting to nip this dangerous obsession in the bud for Marcus’s own good, Rhys cleared his throat and tried to end it right there. “Well... I guess that’s where the story ends then, Marcus. If that’s all that happened after a whole night at a club... she must not really be interested in you, man.”

Marcus blinked, his goofy grin turning into a confused, amused chuckle. “What do you mean, ‘that’s where it ends’? Rhys, we’ve been talking non-stop for the past week!”

Rhys’s heart dropped into his stomach. “You... what?”

“We text literally every single day!” Marcus exclaimed happily, pulling his smartphone out of his pocket.

A wild, sickening blur of scenes played out in Rhys’s head as Marcus rapidly recanted their recent interactions—the flirtatious banter over text, the long, late-night phone calls where Vespera listened to him ramble, and finally... the “spicy” photos.

“Look at this!” Marcus beamed like a giddy teenager, shoving his phone directly into Rhys’s face. “She sent me this last night!”

Rhys snapped out of his daze, staring at the bright phone screen in horror. The image showed Vespera lying back on a plush velvet couch, dressed in a tantalizing, sheer obsidian outfit, posing seductively for the camera.

Rhys froze. He looked closer at the photo.

The plush velvet couch. The dim, amber wall sconces. The specific marble molding on the wall behind her.

A wave of crushing, absolute shame slammed into Rhys like a freight train. He recognized that background instantly. It was the private lounge of the VIP club—taken on the very night Vespera had backed him onto that couch and forced him to submit.

Vespera had been secretly taking photos during their scandalous escapades.

And even worse... she had expertly cropped and edited the photos to completely remove Rhys from the frame, leaving only her own seductively posed form, and was now casually sending them to Marcus as “flirty texts.”

Rhys stared at the screen in speechless, suffocating horror. His best friend was sitting right beside him, grinning like an idiot at a photo that had been taken while Rhys was actively being corrupted by the very woman in the picture.

“Isn’t she incredible?” Marcus gushed, staring down at his phone with absolute adoration.

Rhys opened his mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t burst Marcus’s bubble. Telling him the truth would shatter his friend’s heart, destroy his pride, and reveal Rhys’s own deep, unforgivable shame. It was a level of cruelty Rhys couldn’t bring himself to inflict.

“Yeah, Marcus...” Rhys rasped out, forcing a hollow, painful smile. “She’s... something else.”

Right on cue, Lira walked back into the living room, carrying a tray of iced tea. “Who’s ‘something else’?” she asked lightly, setting the glasses down.

Marcus happily launched into his story all over again, and the conversation gradually settled back into a comfortable, easy rhythm. For a few minutes, Rhys let himself sink into the couch, mentally exhausted, praying that the rest of his day off would pass without any more heart-stopping surprises.

DING-DONG.

The sharp, sudden chime of the doorbell rang through the house once more.

Rhys snapped to attention, his breath hitching instantly. His heart began to race wildly against his ribs. No. Not again. There are way too many people showing up unexpectedly today... and somehow, every single time, it gets infinitely worse.

“Oh, I’ll get it this time, honey!” Lira announced cheerfully, stepping away from the coffee table before Rhys could even move.

Rhys sat frozen on the couch, every muscle in his body coiled tight with extreme tension. He strained his ears, listening intently as Lira opened the front door.

From the foyer, the familiar, deep, rumbled voice of a man joined Lira’s cheerful greeting. Rhys’s brow furrowed in deep confusion. It wasn’t a villain, and it wasn’t a League hero.

A moment later, Lira walked back into the living room, leading their guest inside.

Walking right beside her was Durin—a quiet, stocky, heavily bearded dwarf man with kind, earthy eyes and broad shoulders.

Rhys’s stomach dropped out of his body.

Durin was Rhea’s husband.