Ch. 69 – Rules of Engagement

Shula’s radiant facade returned in full force, a blinding display of ecstatic entitlement as she turned her complete focus toward Lira. With a cheerful, melodic cadence that sounded violently out of place in the suffocating living room, she began to detail every single aspect of the agreement she had just manipulated out of Rhys.

She went on and on—describing the meticulously calculated schedules, the private accommodations, and the exact physical conditions required for her upcoming conjugal visits with Rhys.

Beside Rhys, Lira seemed to physically shrink, sinking deeper into the cushions of her chair as Shula bubbled over with oblivious, manic glee. A heavy, sickening irony pressed down on Lira's chest. Weeks ago, over tea, it had been Lira who had gently suggested that Shula look into finding a genetic donor when her friend had first broken down over her inability to conceive with Darius. Lira knew Shula better than most; she knew the Ifrit woman was essentially a mystical, enigmatic creature—a hoarding genie of ancient lineage who collected and guarded the rarest, most divine treasures in the realm.

Now, a terrifying realization washed over Lira: Shula was applying that exact same ancient, possessive instinct to Rhys. She was claiming her husband, cataloging him, and turning him into another prized possession for her personal vault.

Rhys saw the color draining from his wife's face, and he refused to let this psychological torture continue for another second.

"Hold on! Stop!" Rhys interjected forcefully, his voice cutting through Shula's gushing narrative. He looked directly at Lira, his hands raised in desperate surrender. "Lira, listen to me—I only said yes because I thought this was going to be a simple, clinical procedure! A lab cup, a medical syringe, an anonymous doctor! I thought it was completely hands-off!"

Shula didn't let his argument gain a single inch of traction. She smoothly bypassed Rhys's protests, directing her explanation directly back to Lira with analytical, cold precision.

"As I was trying to explain to Rhys, my pure Ifrit biology simply doesn't allow for synthetic or cold medical transfers," Shula said, her tone smooth, reasonable, and entirely devoid of remorse. "My internal thermal energy is too volatile. My body has to be active, receptive, and fully conscious during the act. A cold medical injection will die on impact. As hard as that might be for you to hear, Lira, it has to be skin-to-skin. There is no other biological path."

Shula didn't look remotely guilty as she laid out the graphic reality. If anything, as she watched the color drain from the superheroine's face, Shula looked distinctly proud—like a victorious general laying down the non-negotiable terms of a long-sought treaty.

Lira’s hands flew up, her knuckles turning white as she fought with every fiber of her being to control the chaotic cosmic power surging beneath her skin. Faint, erratic crackles of golden static began to jump across her wrists, making the air in the room hum with dangerous pressure.

Even Darius went completely still. His face went entirely blank, his eyes fixing on the floorboards as he recognized the subtle, terrifying signs of an omega-level cosmic entity hovering right on the edge of a localized explosion.

Lira forced her breathing to slow, her golden eyes locking onto Rhys with a look of profound, agonizing hurt. "Rhys... did you say yes to her explicitly?"

Rhys felt like he was suffocating, his chest tightening around his damaged kinetic cells. "I agreed under the belief that it was a medical sample!" he swore, his voice raw with desperation. "And... and because I thought about what you told me! You told me that if the roles were reversed and Darius was the one who needed help, you would want me to do it!"

Lira’s face went ghost-white.

The memory of their quiet kitchen conversation flashed through her mind with sickening clarity. She remembered looking into Rhys's eyes and saying that if their friends were in dire need, she would support making the sacrifice. But in her mind, she had been speaking in broad, empathetic hypotheticals—she was simply trying to demonstrate selflessness and comfort her husband. She had never, in her wildest nightmares, intended for her words to be taken as an explicit green light for him to sleep with another woman. Nor could she have ever anticipated that Shula would twist the concept so radically, weaponizing her alien biology to demand full conjugal access to her husband's body.

A crushing, agonizing sense of defeat settled over Lira's shoulders. A tragic, horrific series of miscommunications and innocent empathy had dragged a nightmare straight to her front door, and now her own high moral standards were trapping her in a corner of her own making.

Lira looked back up at Shula. The Ifrit woman was staring at Rhys—not with the casual gratitude of a friend, but with a deep, reverent, hungry fascination that made Lira’s stomach turn to ice.

She hated it. She loathed every single second of this reality. But, summoning the legendary strength that made her a hero to millions, Lira forcefully collected herself. She straightened her spine, her expression hardening into a mask of cold, unyielding granite as she laid down the absolute terms of engagement.

"If this happens, there are rules," Lira declared, her voice dropping into a low, echoing register that brooked zero argument. "Rule one: absolute professional distance. No kissing. None. Rule two: no romantic displays, no affection, and nothing that stems from lust. This is a cold, mechanical transaction for a child, and nothing more. And rule three: the absolute second Rhys finishes, the visit is over, and you leave this house immediately."

The last demand tasted like a bitter, suffocating mouthful of bile on Lira's tongue, but she forced the words out, establishing a perimeter to protect whatever was left of her marriage.

Shula’s eyes flashed with a triumphant, molten glow. She couldn't have been happier to accept those terms, nodding with a swift, predatory efficiency. "Agreed. Perfectly fair."

Rhys felt a profound, heavy sorrow wash over him—not for the insane trap he had fallen into, but for the visible heartbreak fracturing his wife's soul. In that moment, watching Lira swallow her pride for the sake of a tragic misunderstanding, Rhys swore a silent, fierce vow in the dark corners of his mind: he would spend the rest of his life making this up to her. He would tear down the world before he let her suffer like this again.

Reaching across the space between their chairs, Rhys firmly grabbed Lira’s cold hand in a gesture of absolute, undivided solidarity. Lira offered a weak, trembling squeeze back, leaning her weight against his arm as if holding onto her final lifeline.

Silence stretched across the room—an oppressive, heavy quiet that groaned under the sheer indigestion of the conversation they had just endured.

Darius was the first to break the stillness. He cleared his throat, pushing himself up from the couch with a stiff, unnatural rigidity. "It's... about that time for us to get going," Darius muttered.

His voice held none of the triumph or relief a father-to-be should have possessed. He sounded drained, hollow, and subtly bitter. Before turning toward the door, Darius shot a swift, fleeting glance at Rhys—a subtle, heavy look that Rhys instantly recognized from their years in the field together. It was the silent code they used when a mission went sideways and a kinetic strike was incoming.

Brace yourself.

Rhys’s stomach plummeted into a dark abyss. Brace myself for what?

He slowly turned his head to look at Shula.

A sudden, sickening wave of pure dread crept down Rhys's spine, making every hair on his arms stand on end.

Shula was standing right beside his chair. The polite, delicate act was entirely gone. She was staring down at him with a raw, terrifying, unadulterated lust—a dark, volcanic heat that had been pent up in her heart for years, finally unleashed without restraint.

Before Rhys or Lira could even comprehend her movement, Shula reached out, her bronze, superheated fingers wrapping around Rhys’s forearm with an iron grip, pulling him upward.

"Darius can go home," Shula purred, her golden eyes burning like twin suns as she looked Rhys up and down, her voice dropping into a thick, breathless command. "Because the very first visit... needs to happen tonight. Right now."