Ch. 60 – A Terrible Detective

Rhys snapped sharply back to his senses, the heavy fog of pleasure and dark adrenaline evaporating in an instant.

The true, horrifying scope of what had just transpired hit him like a physical blow. Beneath him, Ariadne was lost to the world, her body still trembling from the aftershocks, giggling softly on the verge of blissful unconsciousness against his desk.

Rhys quickly cleaned himself up and pulled his clothes back on, his hands shaking slightly with a mixture of rage, disgust, and profound self-loathing. He was utterly appalled at his own weakness. He couldn’t believe how laughably easy it had been for her to break his composure—that a few sharp taunts and the mere mention of his old mantle, Omen, was all it took to provoke him into unleashing that dark, conquering beast he had tried so hard to bury.

He knew he had monumentally messed up. A cold, nauseating chill ran straight down his spine as he looked toward the closed office door. Marcus heard everything, he thought, his heart hammering in his chest like a trapped animal. There was simply no way his speedster friend could misinterpret the unmistakable, obscene sounds that had just echoed through the room.

Rhys looked down one last time at Ariadne, leaving her sprawled on the floor in a foolish, disheveled mess, still softly giggling to herself. A look of profound revulsion twisted Rhys’s features—partly because he saw her for the unrepentant villain she truly was, but mostly at himself, repulsed by the dark spark of excitement that was still dangerously humming in his own depths.

Taking a slow, shuddering breath, Rhys pulled himself together as best he could. He slapped on a warm, practiced smile and stepped out into the hallway, heading toward the living room.

On the outside, Rhys looked like he had just survived a brutal, dragged-out war—and he wasn’t entirely sure which side had won.

In the living room, Marcus looked visibly nervous, as anyone would after witnessing a hurricane behind closed doors. He had cranked the TV volume up even higher after returning from the hallway. The moment Rhys walked in, Marcus stood up from the couch, wiping his hands on his jeans.

“Hey, man!” Marcus said, offering an anxious, unnatural smile. “How... how was the business talk? It, uh... sounded like the argument got a little heated in there.”

Rhys blinked, his mind faltering for a fraction of a second. The argument? he thought, completely bewildered. Did Marcus’s pure, innocent mind actually filter that entire sexual disaster into a simple verbal argument?

“Y-Yeah,” Rhys stammered, quickly catching the lifeline and convincing himself of the cover story. He softened his expression into a harmless, reassuring grin to placate his friend. “Yeah, I’m really sorry you had to hear that, Marcus. We were... having a pretty intense debate on the logistics for the catering venture.”

Marcus looked down, appearing somewhat bashful, before the Boy Scout in him mustered the courage to speak up. He blurted out what felt like the absolute worst thing possible.

“Look, I really don’t want to intrude on your business, Rhys,” Marcus began hesitantly, scratching the back of his neck. “But... it sounded like Ariadne was saying something about... ‘break me’... and something about her ‘husband’?”

Rhys’s mind split clean in half. It was only by sheer, miraculous muscle memory that the half controlling his face managed to keep his smile locked in place.

Marcus’s brow furrowed with deep, earnest concern. “I’m guessing... working for a new startup is stressing her out? Like, she isn’t getting enough breaks, and her husband is getting angry at her for putting in so many hours?”

Hearing that, the shattered pieces of Rhys’s brain violently slammed back together as he fully grasped the reality: Marcus hadn’t realized a single thing. His wholesome, naive perspective had completely reinterpreted the entire event into a domestic workplace dispute. It was absurd, but it was absolute perfection.

Before Rhys could fully breathe a sigh of relief, Marcus’s tone shifted, growing unusually serious. “And honestly, man... I heard it get kinda physical in there.”

Rhys’s face completely collapsed. The fake smile vanished instantly as sheer panic flared in his throat. “No, no, Marcus, wait—” Rhys blurted out, desperately trying to wrestle back control of this absurd farce.

“No, Rhys, hear me out!” Marcus interrupted, stepping forward with a fiercely protective look in his eyes. “I was worried if you were actually okay! I know your kinetic storage cells are burned out, and your powers are defective right now.”

Rhys blinked in complete, stunned surprise. Marcus wasn’t worried about Ariadne. He was worried about Rhys.

“When she walked in earlier, I could actually feel the raw energy coming off her,” Marcus explained softly, his eyes dead serious. “Even though she looks like a harmless neighborhood housewife, I could tell she’s extremely powerful. If things got out of hand...”

Rhys stood there, utterly flabbergasted. As it turned out, Marcus was actually far more observant than Rhys had ever given him credit for—he was just an absolutely terrible detective. It made sense, really; Rhys suddenly had a hilarious, glib flashback to their old superhero days when Marcus would routinely miss obvious clues right under his nose while focusing on the wrong threat entirely.

An incredulous, breathless chuckle escaped Rhys’s lips. He raised his hands defensively. “Man... I really appreciate you having my back, seriously. But I promise you, I’m totally fine.”

Rhys carefully fed the lie just enough fuel to keep it from turning into a real fire. He put on a reluctant, embarrassed expression, “confessing” to his friend. “Look... okay, I’ll admit some office supplies and chairs might have gotten tossed around when she got a little emotional, but everything is handled now. She’s just sitting in the back office, cooling off and finishing up the paperwork.”

Marcus’s face relaxed completely, a satisfied, relieved grin breaking out as his mind seamlessly baked Rhys’s lie into his own headcanon.

He literally built the narrative for me, Rhys thought, a dark, smug satisfaction creeping into his mind.

Then Rhys took a sharp mental step back, horrified by his own cynicism. The devil wasn’t just sitting on his shoulder anymore—it felt like it was standing right beside him, holding the reins.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Marcus said cheerfully, glancing at his phone as it buzzed. His face lit up instantly. “Oh! Speak of the devil—Vespera just texted me. She wants to meet up, so I gotta head out!”

Rhys couldn’t even revel in his hollow victory. He forced a friendly, warm expression back onto his face and walked his friend to the door. “Take care, Marcus. Stay safe out there.”

“Later, man!” Marcus said, stepping off the porch and taking off in a blur of golden light.

Rhys watched him disappear into the sky, the fake smile dropping from his face like a lead weight.

A profound, crushing exhaustion settled into his bones. He was failing everyone. He couldn’t save the people he cared about most—Marcus was marching right into Vespera’s trap, and Rhys was helpless to stop it. Worst of all, Rhys kept giving the women he despised—Vespera, Ariadne, Dione—every single thing they wanted from him, losing pieces of his own morality in the process.

He stood in the doorway, staring blankly at the driveway, feeling completely hollowed out.

And then, deep within the quiet, battered sanctuary of his mind, the exhausted, bruised angel on his shoulder finally gathered the strength to scream a single name, piercing through his despair.

Rhys gasped softly, his eyes snapping open.

Ariadne. He had been so caught up in guiding Marcus out the door that he had forgotten the immediate threat still inside. Ariadne was still lying on the floor of his back office.