Ch. 99 – Not Defeated Just Yet

The next few days blurred into a chaotic storm of late-night prep work, commercial kitchen rentals, and manic organizing as Rhys threw himself full tilt into preparing the grand opening for his catering business. Time was rapidly running out. In the rare, quiet moments when he had a second to think, he found himself wondering why he was pushing his body to the absolute limit just to make this event happen.

Deep down, he finally admitted the truth to himself: the actual catering business was the one thing in his life that felt entirely his own. Vespera might have aggressively pushed him to create it in the first place—using it as a flimsy cover-up for her fake catering company, which was really just a massive web of lies designed to conceal his past affairs with the desperate neighborhood housewives. Yet, despite its corrupt origins, Rhys was genuinely proud of what he was building with his own hands. For the first time in years, since retiring from the hero frontlines, he felt a spark of real purpose again.

The absolute best part of the past few days was the miraculous silence from his tormentors. He hadn’t heard a single peep from any of the women hunting him down. Ariadne hadn't reached out for the longest time, though Rhys still desperately wanted to erase the memory of the "gift" she had left behind during her last surprise visit to his home. She had tucked a pair of her satin panties directly under his pillow for Lira to find. He had since burned the evidence in the backyard furnace, scrubbing the memory from his mind.

Just a crazy, unhinged woman, Rhys thought to himself, shaking his head.

"We have to keep an eye on her," a voice chimed in from the dim corner of the room.

Rhys glanced over. It was Omen, standing in full, terrifying sight now. The dark alter-ego stared back at Rhys, wearing his ancient, cold hero mask. Over the last forty-eight hours, Rhys had bizarrely gotten used to casually talking to his old self. It was becoming somewhat of a chore, having to constantly read between the lines of the shadow's vague, cryptic warnings, leaving Rhys perpetually unsure of whether Omen was transforming into his greatest ally or his most dangerous foe.

Shaking off the phantom's presence, Rhys decided to focus on his immediate, tangible disasters—starting with the fact that he still had zero staff hired for the massive event. He couldn't physically cook, plate, organize, and serve hundreds of high-profile guests all by himself.

Matter of fact... who exactly ARE these people I’m going to be serving? Rhys thought, a sudden wave of confusion washing over him.

His mind instantly flashed to the terrifying image of Dione, the relentless new stalker who had recently begun hunting him down. She was the sole reason he was forced to fast-track this grand opening in the first place—all because her husband had discovered Rhys's lost shirt, which Dione had stolen after one of their encounters.

Rhys forcefully pushed the spiraling thought out of his head and tried to focus on logistics again. That was when another terrifying realization hit him like a freight train: he had completely forgotten one of the most crucial steps of the entire venture—actually advertising and getting the word out for the grand opening.

Subconsciously, he realized he probably hadn't promoted it because he didn't want anybody to actually show up. The entire event was just a desperate cover-up job to save his skin. A crushing wave of panic washed over him, making his knees buckle as he almost stumbled over his own desk.

Omen, however, stood firm in the corner, watching Rhys’s internal collapse with a devious, mocking smile that Rhys could somehow feel radiating through the cold, featureless mask.

Rhys took a deep, agonizing breath, collecting his fractured thoughts. He paused, realizing he had forgotten who he used to be. He was a god-tier former hero—he could solve his staffing and logistical problems ridiculously fast if he just used his head.

At least I can solve the grand opening problems easily, Rhys thought with a bitter, fleeting burst of cheerfulness. Now, as for all the unhinged women actively scheming to ruin my marriage... not just yet.

Rhys finally stood up from his desk, resting his hands on the polished wood. Naturally, his thoughts drifted toward his wife, Lira. He realized he had been deliberately trying not to think about her over the last few days simply because the guilt hurt too much.

Ever since that unholy night at Seraphina’s estate on the mountain, the structural foundation of their marriage had cracked even wider. Lira still put on a sweet, supportive smile for him whenever he walked into the room, but Rhys could see the deep, lingering pain far away in her eyes. There was a jagged, festering thorn in her foot, and she was being forced to walk on it every single day while pretending everything was fine.

For the first time in a long while, the shadow of Omen stood completely silent in the corner, staring at Rhys as if looking down over a fallen, bloodied body on a battlefield.

"I’m not defeated just yet," Rhys chuckled weakly at the apparition, leaning against the desk. "I’m already coming up with a plan to fix all of this."

When Rhys turned to face Omen directly, the shadow said nothing. It just stood motionless in the dim light, staring back at him. But through their strange psychic tether, Rhys could swear he felt waves of heavy, suffocating pity oozing out from behind the dark mask.

He hated it. He hated being pitied by his own past self.

Rubbing his tired face with both hands, Rhys stood tall and turned his back on the corner, completely ignoring the shadow as he walked out the front door of his house and into the cool afternoon air. The countdown was over—his grand opening was officially getting put into action.