Ch. 61 – A Parting Gift

Rhys rushed back inside, his boots thudding heavily against the floorboards as he made a straight line for the private office. His heart was hammering against his ribs, a frantic rhythm driven by the sheer necessity of putting an end to whatever game Ariadne was playing once and for all.

He threw open the office door, bracing himself for her smirking face.

Instead, he was met with absolute silence. The room looked as though a localized storm had torn through it—papers scattered across the floor, furniture shifted from the impact of their passion, and the lingering, unmistakable scent of their encounter heavy in the air.

Ariadne was gone.

Rhys stood frozen in the doorway, shock locking his limbs for a long, agonizing second. He whirled on his heel and swept through the house, checking every room, his pulse spiking higher with every empty doorway. There was no sign of her.

Then he noticed it: in the kitchen, the back door was sitting slightly ajar, letting in a cool breeze. She had slipped away like a ghost, vanishing into thin air without making a single sound.

Rhys’s expression went dark. He stepped over to the kitchen door, grabbed the handle, and slammed it shut, turning the lock with a sharp, heavy click. He prayed that simple act would seal her evil spirit out of his home forever. But deep down, he knew better. He knew Ariadne was never truly done. A bitter memory surfaced from his past—how time and time again, back when he was Omen and she was the villain terrorizing the city, she had always managed to slip right through his fingers at the final moment.

It’s still happening now, Rhys thought, his jaw clenching so hard his teeth groaned, his knuckles white around the door handle.

Dragging the heavy weight of his thoughts behind him, Rhys walked back to the office to clean up the wreckage. He moved on pure autopilot, picking up stray folders, straightening the desk, and wiping down surfaces until the room was pristine, forcing his mind to go entirely blank just to stay sane.

Just as he was putting the final touch on the room, he heard a distinct sonic boom overhead—a familiar sound that made his chest tighten with relief. Lira was flying down, home from her duties.

Rhys leaned down to grab one last piece of paper that had fallen near the leg of the desk—a tiny, torn strip of stationery. As his eyes landed on the neat, looping handwriting, his breath hitched.

The way you made me yours was like never before. Our hearts will be intertwining again soon, Husband.

*P.S. I left you a “gift” ;) *

Rhys’s heart accelerated to a terrifying pace. Reading that final word sent a violent shockwave through his central nervous system. Deep within his chest, his defunct, damaged kinetic power flared to life in response to his sudden terror, nearly bursting through his breastbone with a violent, agonizing jerk.

“Ngh—!” Rhys doubled over, planting a heavy hand against the edge of the desk as searing pain shot through his ribcage.

He couldn’t breathe. The sheer, staggering weight of his life collapsing around him was crushing his lungs. Everything was spiraling into absolute, unhinged insanity.

“Honey! I’m home!” Lira’s affectionate voice echoed brightly from the front entryway, full of warmth and homey comfort.

Rhys tried to call back, but his throat locked up. Black spots danced across the edges of his vision as his chest throbbed with agony.

There is no fucking way, Rhys’s mind roared in desperate fury. I cannot die in my own office, brought down by my broken powers over a note from an unwanted lover, only to have my loving wife find my stiffening corpse on the floor.

He gritted his teeth, digging his fingers into the dark mahogany of the desk to steady his swaying body. His internal energy was sputtering wildly, like a misfiring engine threatening to tear itself apart.

“Rhys? Are you in the back?” Lira called out, her tone instantly shifting from cheerful to concerned. Her light, fast footsteps began heading down the hallway toward the office.

You actually cannot make this stuff up, Rhys told himself somberly. He was having a full-blown power-induced panic attack that threatened to knock him unconscious, and if he collapsed right now, Lira would walk in, find him dying, and inevitably discover whatever twisted “gift” Ariadne had hidden in their home.

I can’t let that happen to her, Rhys resolved, the thought burning through the pain. I won’t let her be hurt by this.

Rallying every last drop of his legendary willpower, Rhys stuffed the tiny strip of paper deep into his front pocket just as the office door swung open.

Lira rushed inside the moment her eyes landed on him. “Rhys!”

Even while feeling like his heart was tearing itself out of his chest, Rhys managed to play his part. As Lira reached him, her strong, warm arms wrapped around him instantly, pulling him close. She checked him over with panicked eyes, her palm resting over his sternum where she could physically feel the chaotic, erratic sputtering of his burned-out kinetic cells.

“Rhys, oh my god, what’s happening?!” she cried softly, her voice thick with worry.

Being wrapped in her embrace—feeling the genuine, radiant warmth of the woman he loved, the only woman he had ever truly loved—slowly anchored Rhys back to reality. The chaotic fire in his chest began to cool, the agonizing sputters dying down into a dull, manageable throb. He took a long, shaky breath, letting his forehead rest briefly against her shoulder.

“I’m... I’m fine, Lira,” he murmured, his voice strained and quiet. “I’m okay.”

Lira pulled back slightly, her golden eyes searching his face with intense concern. “You’re not fine! Rhys, your kinetic cells were going crazy just now. What happened?”

Rhys looked into her eyes, forcing a weary, remorseful smile. “I’ve... I’ve been having these episodes recently,” he confessed softly. It was the sad, painful truth, even if the trigger this time was a nightmare of his own making. “Sometimes the damaged cells just... flare up out of nowhere.”

Lira’s expression melted into pure, heartbreaking sympathy. She reached up, gently cupping his face, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead. “Oh, Rhys... why didn’t you tell me? I had no idea you were still in this much pain.”

“I thought I had it under control,” Rhys said quietly, leaning into her touch.

Realizing how exhausted they both were from the weight of their respective days, they finally retired for the night. But as they moved through their evening routine, Rhys’s mind was operating on maximum alert. While Lira washed up, Rhys subtly searched every inch of the back office, the hallway, and the living room, frantically trying to find Ariadne’s “gift” before his wife stumbled onto it.

He found nothing.

By the time they turned off the lights and climbed into bed, Rhys still hadn’t found a trace of whatever Ariadne had left behind. The only silver lining was that Lira hadn’t found it either.

Lira spent the rest of the evening doting on him with relentless affection, rubbing his shoulders, bringing him water, and cuddling against his chest to keep him warm. Rhys did his absolute best to sink into her loving care, drowning his guilt in her gentleness.

“Goodnight, my love,” Lira whispered softly, kissing his cheek before resting her head on his shoulder, her breathing eventually slowing into a peaceful, deep sleep.

Rhys waited in the dark until he was certain she was fully asleep. Slowly, carefully, so as not to disturb her, he reached his hand underneath his pillow, intending to adjust his position.

His fingers brushed against a soft, foreign fabric that definitely didn’t belong to his bedsheets.

A cold spike of adrenaline shot straight to his gut. Rhys carefully pulled his hand out from beneath the pillow, raising the item into the faint, dim moonlight filtering through the bedroom window.

His heart stopped.

Holding it up in the pale light, Rhys stared in absolute horror at what he had pulled out: a pair of Ariadne’s lacy, discarded silk panties, left right where his head rested beside his wife.