Ch. 37 – Back to Normal

The next few days dissolved into a disorienting, surreal blur.

Rhys had no clear memory of how he actually made it back to his suburban house from the club that night. The alcohol, the mind-bending exhaustion, and the absolute sensory overload had effectively erased the journey. All he knew was that he had stirred awake late the following morning in his own bed, bathed in the soft, golden light filtering through the sheer bedroom curtains. Beside him, lying peacefully with her head rested against his chest, was Lira. Her breathing had been slow, rhythmic, and impossibly pure—the picture of complete, untroubled innocence.

In that silent morning air, the sheer, staggering gravity of everything he had done slammed into Rhys’s chest like a physical blow. The hidden cameras, the luxury sedan, the triple-assault in the moving car, the scandalous encounter in the beach house closet, and finally, the chaotic, forbidden debauchery on the cold marble floor of a public restroom stall—with his best friend standing guard right outside the door. It felt like a fever dream, a horrific hallucination. Yet the faint, lingering scent of exotic perfumes and the deep, dull ache in his muscles proved it had all been terrifyingly real.

Over the next couple of days, Rhys focused entirely on recovering. He threw himself back into his domestic routine with a manic, desperate energy. He cooked elaborate breakfasts, scrubbed every corner of the already spotless house, and tended to the garden until his knuckles were raw. To his immense relief, none of the three women—his quiet, suburban neighbors now irreversibly turned into unasked-for, ravenous lovers—came knocking on his front door. There was no sign of Rhea watering her lawn with a lingering glance, no timid wave from Dione over the garden fence, and no dark, knowing smirk from Ariadne at the mailbox.

Even more surprisingly, there was absolute radio silence from Vespera. No teasing text messages, no scandalous photos, no cryptic threats, and no surprise appearances.

Rhys wasn’t sure what to make of the sudden, eerie quiet. Part of him braced for the next trap, but as the days bled into one another without incident, he allowed himself to breathe. He clung to the hope that Vespera had satisfied her twisted games and moved on, allowing him to quietly slip back into his regular, peaceful life.

During this brief window of calm, he and Lira got to enjoy sweet, uninterrupted quality time together. They went for long evening walks, watched movies on the couch, and laughed over simple dinners. Lira was entirely, blissfully unaware of the crushing, suffocating weight that had been grinding Rhys’s soul to dust. To her, Rhys was just being his usual, deeply affectionate, attentive husband. Seeing her bright, radiant smile and hearing her soft laugh acted as a soothing balm to his frayed conscience, even as a quiet, bitter voice in his mind reminded him of the secrets he was hiding.

Then, on a sunny Thursday afternoon, the delicate bubble of domestic peace was gently punctured.

Lira walked into the kitchen while Rhys was making coffee, a bright, excited sparkle in her eyes. “Rhys! You’ll never guess who just called me,” she chimed, leaning over the granite island to kiss his cheek. “Darius is back in town! He and Shula just flew in from their estate in Dubai, and they want to come over for dinner tonight!”

Rhys paused, set the coffee pot down, and blinked in genuine surprise. “Darius and Shula? Really?”

“Yes!” Lira beamed, clasping her hands together. “It feels like it’s been ages since the four of us sat down together. I told them they absolutely had to come over.”

A genuine, warm smile touched Rhys’s lips. The mention of the couple immediately brought back fond, comfortable memories.

Darius—known in the upper superhero echelons by his hero alias, Gideon—was a prominent, top-tier active hero who fought alongside Lira in the highest leagues. He was a solid, dependable, fiercely loyal man, and he and Rhys had shared many beers back when Rhys was active.

His wife, Shula, was a force of nature in her own right. She was an Ifrit—an immortal, high-ranking fiery genie species whose origin traced back to ancient, primordial blazes. Her very name derived from the traditional Arabic word for “flame” or “blaze.” Over centuries of existence, Shula had amassed massive, staggering hoards of legendary treasures, enchanted relics, and incomprehensible material wealth. Yet, despite her terrifying, otherworldly origins and endless fortune, she chose to live in modern human society as an ultra-wealthy, impeccably refined socialite.

Despite their vastly different backgrounds—an ancient fire genie, a top-tier powerhouse hero, a cosmic heroine, and a retired street-level vigilante—the four of them had formed a tight-knit, deeply affectionate dynamic over the years. Shula and Darius possessed a solid, deeply loving marriage, and the two couples frequently hosted or attended high-society galas and private dinners together.

“That’s great news,” Rhys said, feeling a genuine wave of relief wash over him. reuniting with old, solid friends was exactly what he needed to anchor himself back to reality. “Tell them to come over around seven. I’ll make that herb-crusted lamb roast they loved last time.”

Lira’s eyes lit up with absolute delight. She threw her arms around his neck, kissing him softly and lingering against his lips. “You’re the best husband in the world, Rhys. I’ll help you prepare the vegetables and set the dining table.”

By seven o’clock, the atmosphere in the house was warm, inviting, and rich with the irresistible aroma of roasting herbs, garlic, and fine wine.