Ch. 101 – Plan B

Rhys sat on the edge of his bed, staring fixedly at the glowing digital numbers of the clock as they ticked silently to 3:00 AM. A heavy, hollow ache settled in his chest, and he muttered glumly to himself that he should just try to go back to sleep. But sleep was entirely out of reach because Lira was gone. She had departed some time earlier in a frantic rush, swept away by another sudden, high-priority emergency unfolding in a distant city. She had left so rapidly that they didn't even have a fleeting moment to say goodbye before she vanished into the night.

Unable to find rest, Rhys's mind remained hyper-stimulated and restless, racing through the endless moving parts of the grand opening event that was technically scheduled for later today. He pushed himself up from the mattress, feeling the familiar, phantom press of the shadow standing back-to-back with him in the dim bedroom. With a grim finality, he declared that it was time to get moving. Fortunately, Rhys already had a solid framework in place: his menu was fully designed and ready, and his venue was securely booked, courtesy of Shula, who had purchased an entire sprawling cliffside property overlooking a stunning waterfall. Word about the gathering had already been aggressively spread by Ariadne—even if her underlying motives were laced with malice and ill intent—meaning an eager crowd was guaranteed to show up. His most glaring obstacle was manpower; he desperately needed a staff of helping hands to pull off an event of this scale.

Knowing he needed assistance, Rhys’s thoughts drifted back to his recent corporate investor interview, recalling how he still couldn't quite remember the name of the mysterious woman he had encountered there. The fact that she had recognized him instantly remained a lingering source of unease. If those investors had agreed to back his company, his staffing crisis would have vanished overnight, but dwelling on "what-ifs" was a luxury he didn't possess. It was time to execute Plan B.

Rhys pulled out his phone and dialed an old, weathered associate from his active days operating under the moniker Omen. The man on the other end barely recognized his voice at first, but the moment Rhys dropped a subtle hint about how they had originally met, a mental lightbulb switched on. Years ago, as Omen, Rhys had intervened to rescue the man from a dark path. At the time, the man operated a wayward home for young adults and lost souls, though he had secretly run it as a callous front—a facade of saintly charity masking his true intentions of exploiting the vulnerable people passing through his doors. When Omen discovered the abuse, he had stepped in to set the man straight with absolute, unyielding finality.

Remembering the terrifying weight of Omen's reputation, the man sputtered in sudden, nervous recognition once he realized who was speaking to him. He immediately asked what Rhys needed and when, assuring him that he was ready to help with zero hesitation. He even offered to round up a crew of capable young fellows from the house to assist, on the sole condition that they were promised a good meal. Rhys smiled faintly at the offer, assuring him that food wouldn't be an issue and that he would make sure to pay the guys properly for taking on such a last-minute job. He instructed the director to have everyone dress appropriately in at least a button-up shirt and slacks, promising to text the venue address so they could meet him there before the doors opened.

A lingering, awkward silence stretched over the line, followed by a deeply embarrassed chuckle from the director. The man awkwardly promised he would do his absolute best to make sure they all looked reasonably sharp, though the profound lack of confidence in his voice was glaringly obvious.

Well, man, I clearly wasn't about to get a dream team handed to me on a silver platter, Rhys thought to himself with a dry, sarcastic mental sigh.

Chuckling softly, Rhys reassured the director that as long as they simply showed up, everything would be fine. He ended the call and immediately set about gathering his gear, moving through the quiet house in total, heavy silence—the exact kind of tense, peaceful stillness that always preceded a violent confrontation, a feeling he knew intimately from his past life.

With all his essential tools packed securely, Rhys stepped out into the cool night air, the dark mask of Omen sliding seamlessly over his face. The logistical issue of transportation didn't escape him; he immediately pulled out his phone, ready to summon a rideshare service to the cliffside venue, when his eyes caught sight of an unmistakable, glowing vehicle parked right in his driveway. It was Shula’s signature "magic carpet" car. Leaning casually against the hood was Shula herself, looking immaculate in a sleek, elegant dress while a magical clone stood beside her, painstakingly helping her reapply her already flawless lip gloss.

Standing just a few feet away was Seraphina. She looked visibly high-strung and anxious, her eyes darting toward the front door as if she had been agonizingly anticipating the exact second Rhys would walk outside. Seraphina looked equally breathtaking, dressed in an evening gown featuring a daring slit that climbed high up her upper thigh, and in her hands, she clutched a vibrant bouquet of fresh flowers.

Well, holy shit, Rhys thought, completely baffled by the ambush. I really should have known they'd be waiting here.

What genuinely shocked him, however, was the absence of the other neighborhood housewives—there was no sign of Dione, Ariadne, or Rhea. If anything, the total, deafening radio silence from the women he didn't want to encounter filled him with a much deeper, more pervasive sense of dread.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted as the bouquet of flowers was aggressively pushed directly into his face. Rhys let out a long, exhausted sigh, lowering his gaze to look at the towering Aasimar.

"Seraphina... I honestly can't do this right now," Rhys said, his voice flat with exhaustion.