Ch. 77 – Your New Base of Operations

Rhys snapped violently back to reality, shaking his head to clear the foggy daze. He didn’t have the luxury or the time to sit around staring at stupid, imaginary birds in the sky.

He forced his chin down and looked down at Shula. She was still diligently cleaning him up, taking her sweet time as her warm, tongue gathered every last trace, even meticulously licking her own bronze fingers clean of the excess release. Rhys stared at her with deep, unadulterated displeasure, his jaw tight with disgust—yet deep down, the darker, untamed side of his spirit was feeling far too satisfied with the sight.

“You could have easily claimed there wasn’t enough time before we took off,” a smooth, lingering voice chided him from the back of his mind. “But then again... you had entirely different priorities on your mind, didn’t you?”

The dark, shadowed figure of "Omen"—the ruthless hero persona he had spent years trying to bury—felt like it was standing directly behind his shoulder now, leaning over him with a low, taunting smirk.

"Okay, I think that's ENOUGH!" Rhys blurted out abruptly. The sharp, commanding words echoed loudly through the quiet, transparent cabin, addressed to the room—and his own fractured sanity—in general.

Shula paused mid-motion, looking up at him with a flash of genuine surprise at the sudden, explosive bite in his tone. With a lingering, satisfied pop, she slowly pulled herself back, smoothing down the front of her dress as her lips curled into a pleased smile.

"You're entirely right, my sweet donor," she purred, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "We're arriving at my estate right now anyway."

“I told you that you could have simply waited it out,” the dark presence murmured again, creeping up right beside his ear like a second shadow. “Look at you. Drained, helpless, and completely at her mercy before you even set foot on her property.”

God, I actually miss the tiny angel and devil on my shoulders, Rhys thought with a glib, bitter trace of sarcasm, feeling genuinely jealous that his conscience's usual moral dynamic had apparently taken the day off, leaving him alone with his worst impulses.

I know the damn plan! Rhys screamed at himself internally, desperately trying to quiet the noise in his own head. He just had to hold his ground, keep his nerve, and execute his strategy the absolute second they stepped inside her house.

As the autonomous luxury vehicle began its smooth, silent descent through the clouds toward the sprawling, gated estate below, Shula kept stealing subtle, strange glances at him from the plush leather seat. She would look over, open her mouth as if to speak, and then quickly avert her golden eyes, her fingers nervously drumming against her knee.

Rhys couldn't bear the heavy, bizarre tension another second. "What?" he finally asked, his voice flat and defensive. "What is it, Shula?"

Then, for the first time since Rhys had known the ancient, ultra-confident Ifrit socialite, Shula actually looked embarrassed. A faint, furnace-hot flush rose beneath her bronze skin, her golden eyes darting away in rare, genuine hesitation.

"I... well, I have a confession to make," she began softly, her usual dominant aura softening into something almost timid. "I managed to secure the venue you were talking about for your catering business launch. The high-end estate in the glass district."

Oh, the exact same astronomical venue I 'won' the right to pay for after making a deal with Vespera? The impossibly expensive one? Yes, I remember it vividly, Rhys sneered internally, his mind instantly flashing to the feline loan shark's predatory grin.

Outwardly, Rhys kept his composure perfectly level, letting none of his internal turmoil leak out. "Yeah. I remember," he said calmly, leaning back against the seat. "What about it?"

Shula took a slow, deep breath, clasping her hands together in her lap. "I paid for the entire reservation upfront," she admitted, a bright, hopeful smile suddenly breaking across her face. "And I went ahead and officially locked in the opening date with the district board."

Rhys sat in rigid silence, mulling over the weight of her words. On paper, it was a massive relief—a unbelievable financial burden lifted off his shoulders, effectively neutralizing one of Vespera's major leverage points over his new business venture. But Rhys had been playing high-stakes games far too long to celebrate early; he was bracing himself for the inevitable catch. He was fully expecting the second shoe to drop.

Shula leaned closer, her golden eyes sparkling with an intense, unreserved warmth as she reached out, placing a warm hand gently over his knee.

"After getting to taste your incredible cooking over the last few days... I realized just how brilliant you are, Rhys," she said softly, her voice thick with raw emotion. "I was simply so excited to support your dream."

Rhys took a massive mental step back, his breath catching in his throat.

The look in her eyes wasn't a lie. She wasn't putting on an act, nor was she gloating about her wealth or power. She was genuinely, utterly ecstatic to be helping him succeed. But the specific realization that sent a cold, terrifying shiver straight down Rhys’s spine was the way she was looking at him right now.

This wasn't the casual financial backing of a wealthy long-time family friend. It wasn't even the proud, enthusiastic support of a comrade's wife backing a friend's new career.

It was the completely unreserved, starry-eyed devotion of a lover—a woman deeply, helplessly in love, who was willing to hand him the entire world on a silver platter just to see him smile.

And then, right on cue, the heavy shoe dropped straight onto his head.

Shula leaned in close, her eyes sparkling with absolute delight as she dropped her final, grand announcement. "In fact, my sweet donor... I think you are going to absolutely adore your new base of operations for the catering business."

Rhys’s brow furrowed in utter, unadulterated confusion, his mind stalling out entirely. "My... my what now?" he blundered, his brain completely failing to process the string of words she had just uttered.

Shula didn't offer a direct verbal answer. She simply offered him a radiant, possessive, breathtaking smile as the magical vehicle touched down with feather-light grace onto the smooth, white marble driveway of her private estate, its anti-gravitational magic humming to a gentle, complete halt.

She stepped out of the vehicle with airy, triumphant grace, completely and blissfully unaware that Rhys hadn't actually grasped the sheer, unhinged, life-altering magnitude of what she had just done.