Ch. 55 – Brotherly Advice

Standing alone in the quiet entryway of his home, Rhys stood motionless for a solid minute, just processing the absolute wreckage of what had just transpired on the neighbor’s lawn.

He took a slow, heavy breath, forcing himself to chalk the whole ugly scene up to just one more crossed item on his mental checklist—another loose, dangerous tie he was forced to cut. One more thread severed from the intricate, puppet-master web Vespera had spun around his life.

A sudden, hot surge of rage flared in his chest. Vespera was still the absolute biggest thorn in his side, and the worst part was that he hadn’t heard a single word from her in days. It was driving him utterly insane how much mental real estate she was occupying. He wanted nothing more than to wipe her existence from his memory, yet her phantom presence hovered over every single crisis in his neighborhood.

And then, like a physical strike to his conscience, Rhys remembered Marcus.

His longtime friend—a high-ranking, god-tier superhero who could shatter mountains with his bare hands—was still trapped squarely in Vespera’s clutches, floating around in total, blissful ignorance.

A sickening wave of guilt washed over Rhys. Had he subconsciously forgotten all about Marcus simply because he was relieved that Vespera hadn’t been personally tormenting him lately? He had been so wrapped up in managing his own fires that he had left his friend out in the open, vulnerable to a woman whose entire existence was dedicated to manipulation.

Rhys felt a grim, cold confidence settle over his nerves. He had just severed ties with Dione; now it was time to help pull Marcus out of the dark, whether the man wanted to be saved or not.

Pulling out his phone, Rhys dialed Marcus’s number and invited him over to the house.

Marcus sounded mildly surprised by the sudden invitation. He was his usual friendly, easygoing self over the receiver, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of distance in his tone—a subtle, dismissive edge.

It seems he’s already starting to forget his real friends, Rhys thought bitterly to himself.

Rhys threw out a casual, teasing jab over the line, ribbing Marcus about dropping off the face of the earth, eventually convincing him to drop by. True to his speedster-class flight capabilities, Marcus arrived in under five minutes flat—one of the undeniable perks of top-tier superpowers.

“Man, it’s good to see you, Rhys,” Marcus grinned as he stepped through the front door, rubbing the back of his neck. “I gotta admit, I’ve been a little off the grid lately.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Rhys replied, leading him into the living room and offering him a drink.

At first, the conversation was light and familiar, but as the minutes ticked by, Rhys noticed the dynamic becoming wildly one-sided. Marcus couldn’t keep his mind on anything else. He kept steering every single topic back to Vespera, his face lighting up brighter than a Christmas tree every time her name crossed his lips. He gushed about her style, her intellect, her mysterious charm, recounting how “amazing” his new girlfriend was.

Sitting across from him, Rhys practically had to physically avert his gaze just to keep from grimacing. On the outside, Rhys forced a polite, tight smile, nodding along and pretending to be happy for his friend. On the inside, however, the house in Rhys’s mind was burning to the ground, its structure collapsing into ashes while his inner self sat in a chair surrounded by flames, repeating: “This is fine.”

Uncomfortable beyond measure, Rhys tried his absolute best to steer the subject away from Vespera. But Marcus was far too lost in the sauce. He raved on and on for what felt like an agonizing eternity, entirely blind to Rhys’s stiff posture and forced nods.

Finally, Marcus seemed to tire himself out, taking a long sip of his drink and leaning back against the couch cushions. “Anyway, man... enough about me. How have you been the past few days?”

Oh, just peachy! Rhys thought with searing, internal sarcasm. Just spent the afternoon dodging blackmail, covering up infidelity, and getting my shirt chewed on by a pug!

“I’ve been just peachy,” Rhys said out loud, his voice smooth and nonchalant. He leaned back, crossing his legs. “Honestly, just busy getting this new catering business off the ground. The paperwork is almost done, and things are moving.”

Then, a sudden spark of memory hit Rhys. Since Marcus was close with their broader heroic social circle, Rhys figured Marcus should probably know about their mutual friends being in town. “Oh, by the way... you should know that Shula and Darius are back in town. They actually dropped by the house recently.”

To Rhys’s surprise, Marcus didn’t look shocked. Instead, his eyes darted away, a nervous, tight laugh escaping his lips.

“Yeah... I know,” Marcus said softly, rubbing his chin. “I already heard they were back. And... I heard about the offer they made you.”

The sudden, heavy silence that fell over the living room was deafening.

Rhys stared at him, a nervous, incredulous laugh tearing from his own throat. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe that Marcus had already gotten wind of Shula’s insane, boundary-violating proposal. Rhys had been desperately trying to erase that whole nightmare from his brain—between Dione, Arthur, and Vespera, he felt like new catastrophes were hitting him every single minute.

“Wait... you know about that?” Rhys asked, incredulous.

Marcus looked back at him, his expression turning surprisingly serious—and entirely too sure of himself. “Honestly, man? You should do it.”

Rhys blinked, his jaw practically dropping. “What?!”

Marcus held up a hand, explaining calmly. “Look, Lira and I were talking about it during a quiet stretch at League headquarters yesterday. She told me the whole story and how she felt about it. And knowing everyone involved... knowing how much pain Shula is in... I think you should do it. It’s a complicated decision, sure, but if I were in your shoes? I’d do it wholeheartedly.”

Yeah, I bet you would, Rhys thought bitterly, an ugly, cynical sneer forming in his mind. You were a carefree bachelor a month ago, and frankly, you still act like one.

Rhys was appalled by the sudden hostility in his own thoughts. It seemed the devil on his shoulder—the dark, cynical voice that had been lurking in his shadow—had snuck right back out into the open, whispering poison into his ear. And it didn’t stop there.

Defensive and agitated, Rhys scoffed, letting his rising irritation bleed into his tone. “That’s easy for you to say so freely, Marcus. You aren’t married. You don’t have a wife, a household, or real sacred boundaries to protect.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Rhys felt a sharp prick of regret. It was a cheap shot, and he knew it.

Marcus let out a defensive, forced laugh, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Hey, come on, Rhys. That’s not fair. What I’ve got going with Vespera... it’s real. It’s good. I have to think about commitment and boundaries just as hard as anyone else now.”

Hearing Marcus defend Vespera with such earnest, romantic sincerity made Rhys go incoherently mad. The sheer, tragic irony of it boiled his blood. This man was so dangerously far down in the trenches, so utterly blinded by a villain’s illusion, that Rhys began to wonder if he was even salvageable anymore.

“Oh yeah?” Rhys snapped, his tone dropping into a snide, razor-sharp edge as the devil on his shoulder clocked in for overtime. “And just how good is it, Marcus?”

Marcus looked thoroughly taken aback by the harsh, venomous question, recoiling slightly against the sofa. “Things... things are going great,” Marcus insisted, though the confident mask on his face visibly faltered, revealing a sudden, insecure wobble.

Rhys just sat there, staring at him with a cold, unblinking glare that clearly communicated his utter disbelief.

Trying desperately to save face and prove his point, Marcus began blubbering, listing out everything they had done together so far—the dinners, the walks, the quiet conversations. But as he rambled, the sad, painful reality slipped out. Marcus confessed that despite weeks of courting her, he hadn’t even managed to get so much as a single, innocent peck on the lips from Vespera.

Rhys stared at him incredulously, and despite himself, a short, quiet chuckle burst from his lips.

Marcus turned bright red, growing thoroughly flustered and stammering over his words. “Hey! There’s nothing wrong with taking things slow! There’s nothing wrong with our relationship!”

Rhys quickly caught himself, collecting his composure and raising his hands. “I’m sorry, Marcus. I really am. I shouldn’t have laughed.”

Rhys didn’t say it out loud, but deep down, an overwhelming wave of relief washed over him. Marcus was safe. For now, at least, Vespera hadn’t physically compromised him. But right alongside that relief came a heavy, aching pity: Marcus was being mercilessly strung along, treated like a starry-eyed fool simply because Vespera was using him as a pawn to manipulate Rhys. That was the real reason Rhys was apologizing.

“Look, man,” Rhys said, trying to soften his approach. “You have to see that our situations are completely different. But honestly...”

Rhys saw a golden opening to plant a seed of doubt and pull Marcus out of the snare. He pivoted sharply, putting on his most supportive, concerned friend voice.

“Honestly, Marcus... it sounds to me like Vespera is just wasting your time,” Rhys said, leaning in. “Think about it. You’re a world-famous, top-tier superhero. You’re one of the rare few so incredibly powerful that you don’t even need a secret identity—you can walk around in broad daylight with absolute prestige. A woman like her? She’s probably just hanging onto your arm for the clout and the status.”

Rhys tried his absolute best to sound like a loving, protective brother speaking hard truths.

But the moment the word ‘clout’ left his mouth, the temperature in the room dropped to absolute zero.

Marcus didn’t look relieved. He didn’t look enlightened. The starry-eyed warmth in his expression vanished entirely, replaced by a cold, deeply hurt, and dangerous glare. The look he directed at Rhys made it terrifyingly clear: in that moment, Marcus didn’t see a friend trying to save him. He saw an arrogant, cynical washed-up hero insulting his character and belittling the woman he cared about.

Before the suffocating tension in the room could explode into a full-blown argument, a sharp, loud knock echoed off the front door.

Well, shit, Rhys thought, his stomach dropping into his boots. Talk about the absolute worst timing in human history.

The two men froze, their heated, dangerous conversation deadlocked in an awkward, razor-sharp pause.

Rhys pushed himself off the couch without a word, stepping away from the glaring speedster and walking down the hallway. He reached out, grabbed the brass handle, and pulled the front door open, praying for anything that would break the tension.

Instead, his heart stopped cold.

Standing on his porch, looking up at him with her usual complex, heavy gaze, was Ariadne.