Ch. 29 – Bad Advice

To Rhys’s immense relief, Rhea was the one who instantly took the bait. The Earth Genasi’s golden eyes lit up with sudden, childlike excitement. Living a quiet suburban life as a neighbor meant she rarely got out to high-end nightlife, and the prospect of going out on Rhys’s arm in a lavish setting was irresistible.

“Oh! A club?!” Rhea squealed softly, clapping her golden hands together. “Rhys, that sounds amazing! I want to go dancing with you!”

Rhea immediately turned to Dione and Ariadne, using her warm, enthusiastic motherly charm to completely convince them. “He’s right! Why rush? Let’s go make a night of it! Come on, let’s go back to the closet—Vespera had an entire rack of high-end clubbing dresses right next to the lingerie!”

Ariadne and Dione exchanged a look, smirking as they yielded to Rhea’s excitement. “Well... if the hero wants to show us off first, who are we to refuse?” Ariadne purred.

The three women turned and giggled as they hurried back down the hallway toward the master suite to change into full outfits.

The second they disappeared around the corner, Rhys let out a massive, ragged breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He nearly shouted out loud in absolute triumph over this minor victory. Step one was complete: he had successfully bought himself at least an hour of breathing room.

Alright, Rhys thought, pacing back and forth across the hardwood floor. Step two: keep stalling them at the club. Step three... figure out how the hell to save Marcus.

His mind kept returning to his friend. Rhys now possessed a strange, dangerous new confidence—a dark resilience born from surviving Vespera’s corrupting games. He realized he couldn’t just sit back and watch Marcus get devoured by the tiger. He had to put a wrench in Vespera’s date. He had to ruin her mood, ruin her control, and somehow force her to drop Marcus without exposing his own secrets.

As if on cue once again, the universe proved it had a truly twisted sense of humor today.

Rhys’s phone chimed in his hand.

He looked down. It wasn’t Vespera this time. It was Marcus.

Marcus:Bro!! I’m on the date right now at explicit Prime Steakhouse!! Vespera is literally the most stunning, incredible woman I’ve ever seen in my life. I’m taking your advice and really putting myself out there!

Rhys stared at the screen, gritting his teeth. That damn, damn fool...

Before Rhys could even process the message, three more texts from Marcus flooded in back-to-back, the tone taking a sudden, desperate plunge into panic.

Marcus:Wait bro I think I’m losing her 😭Marcus:She’s starting to look bored. She’s checking her phone and staring out the window. The conversation is totally dying. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong!!Marcus:What should I do??? You work with her, Rhys, you know her better than anyone right now! Give me some advice, please!

Rhys stood frozen in the middle of the grand living room, the phone heavy in his hand.

A dark, golden opportunity had just been handed to him on a silver platter. This was the absolute, perfect chance to sabotage the date. If he gave Marcus terrible advice, Marcus would turn Vespera off so completely that she would end the date in disgust and leave him alone forever. Marcus would be saved from her clutches, and Vespera’s grand plan to corrupt Rhys’s inner circle would hit a massive brick wall.

But then... the angel on Rhys’s shoulder finally decided to clock in for his shift.

A sudden, heavy pang of guilt pierced Rhys’s chest. Was he really about to deliberately sabotage his best friend? Marcus was genuinely putting his heart on the line, trusting Rhys implicitly. Giving him bad advice meant actively betraying Marcus’s trust—humiliating him in front of a woman he was trying to impress.

Rhys stared at the screen, his thumb hovering over the glass, torn between two terrible choices.

It’s for the greater good, Rhys convinced himself, swallowing the bitter taste of deceit. Marcus will be hurt for a night, but he’ll be safe from a monster. It’s the only way.

Setting his jaw, Rhys began typing out a message filled with the absolute worst dating advice imaginable for an elite, aristocratic woman like Vespera.

Rhys:Listen to me carefully, Marcus. Vespera hates polite, boring small talk. She finds traditional gentlemen completely uninteresting.Rhys:You need to be aggressive. Start talking loudly about your past superhero glory days. Flex your accomplishments. Interrupt her when she speaks to show dominance, and definitely don’t let her pick the wine. Tell her you know better.

Rhys hit send. A second later, the little typing indicator dots appeared on Marcus’s end.

Marcus:Wait... really? Interrupt her? Talk about my glory days? Are you sure man? That sounds kind of obnoxious...

Rhys stared at the prompt, his heart hammering against his ribs.

No. No, I am not sure, Rhys thought, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. He was playing an active, malicious role in sabotaging his friend’s life right now, risking Marcus’s dignity and their friendship on a desperate gamble.

Suppressing the urge to delete the text, Rhys forced his fingers to reply.

Rhys:Trust me, man. She’s just weird like that. I’ve noticed it from working with her on the business stuff. She respects guys who don’t hold back.

The little three dots appeared on the screen as Marcus typed. Rhys held his breath, waiting in agonizing suspense. The dots disappeared, reappeared, and finally vanished.

Marcus:Alright... I trust you man. 👍

The thumbs-up emoji felt like a physical slap to Rhys’s face. He set the phone down on the glass coffee table, feeling a heavy, suffocating weight of guilt settle over his shoulders, trying desperately to convince himself that he had just saved Marcus from a fate far worse than a bad date.

Before he could spiral any further into his self-loathing, the door to the master suite swung open.

The three women walked back into the living room, and Rhys’s jaw practically hit the hardwood floor.

They had changed into “clubbing outfits” pulled directly from Vespera’s staggering wardrobe—except these scandalous, metallic, form-fitting dresses somehow covered even less skin than the silk lingerie had.

Rhea wore a backless golden micro-dress that shimmered like liquid sun against her bronze Genasi skin, clinging dangerously to her wide hips. Dione was clad in a sheer, ice-blue mesh dress that clung to every single curve of her body like a wet second skin. And Ariadne rocked a razor-thin, black leather dress with side cutouts that went all the way up to her waist, held together by nothing more than thin silver chains.

They looked utterly out of this world—breathtaking, dangerous, and completely lethal to any man’s self-control.

Ariadne caught Rhys staring, a slow, wicked, triumphant smirk spreading across her dark lips as she strutted up to him. She extended a single, manicured finger, running it slowly down the center of his chest, her dark eyes sparkling with playful mischief.

“Well, well...” Ariadne purred softly, her voice dripping with intoxicating amusement as she looked him up and down. “Looks like our hero is definitely ready to party.”