10x God-Tier Stealing System: Pumping S-Rank SuperHeroines Daily!-Chapter 25 - Caught the Fish

"...Does it hurt?" she asked. Her voice came out quieter than she meant it to.

"No," Cruxius said. Which was either a lie or inhuman, and she couldn’t tell which.

She looked from the leg to his face. He was looking at her—not the way he looked at her in the hallway, not that bottomless hungry thing—but something steadier. Considering. Like she was a puzzle he’d committed to solving.

"...Ten thousand GC a month."

Thalia blinked. "What?"

"I’m offering you a position," he said. "As my assistant. Ten thousand GC a month."

The silence that followed lasted exactly as long as it took Thalia’s brain to process the number.

Then—

"’Ten thousand—’" She choked on the syllables. Her eyes went wide. "’Are you insane?’"

"You asked that already. The offer stands."

"’That’s five years of rent in a major city—’"

"I’m aware of the real estate market, yes."

"’Why?’" She stared at him with open suspicion, arms crossing over her chest—which immediately made things worse for the structural integrity of the torn dress. She switched to crossing them ’under’ the fabric instead, trying to hold the neckline together. "’What do you want? A kept woman? Some kind of—’"

"An assistant," he said again. Flat. Patient.

"You could have anyone." She glanced at Darithi in the front, who was looking straight ahead at the road with her hands folded on her knees. "You have ’her.’ Why—"

"I went for her first," Cruxius said.

Thalia’s mouth snapped shut.

Darithi didn’t move. Didn’t react. Her reflection in the rearview mirror was completely still.

"’Called it,’" Thalia muttered, nodding to herself grimly. "’Knew it.’"

"She didn’t feel a thing," Cruxius continued.

He turned to look out the window. The estate had already disappeared behind a curve of mountain road, replaced by the slow unfurl of the valley—grey morning light on green hills, the distant smear of the city far below.

His voice when he continued was flat, conversational, like he was talking about something that had happened to someone else entirely. "Two years ago. I was eighteen. Reckless. I tried—" He paused. Not searching for words. Just deciding which ones to use. "She wasn’t interested. Couldn’t be. I’ve come to understand since that it’s simply not in her."

Darithi said nothing. She was extraordinarily good at that.

"So you just went and..." Thalia gestured vaguely at the general situation. ’Herself. The torn dress. The whole morning.’

"Not immediately." He looked back at her. "There were steps in between."

"’What steps—’"

"Poorly chosen ones, fucked many others but none like you." He reached over and his hand found her waist.

Not grabbing. Not the rough, purposeful grip from the hallway.

Just... settled there. Palm against the flare of her hip through the thin fabric, thumb resting against the curve just above her hipbone. Casual. Proprietary. The touch of someone who’d decided the discussion of ownership was over.

Thalia’s spine went rigid. "’Don’t—’"

"I’m not doing anything," he said.

"’You’re touching me—’"

"Yes."

His arm came around her properly—not a grip, not a hold, just his arm hooking around her waist and drawing her slightly closer across the seat. His head tipped toward her neck, unhurried, and she felt the brush of his jaw against her hair.

"’What are you—stop—’"

"Tired," he said against the curve of her neck. His voice was lower now, quieter, dropped to something just between them. "I had a long night."

"’That’s your fault—’"

"Mm." His thumb drew a small idle circle against her hip. His mouth was just below her ear, close enough that his breath stirred the fine hair there—warm, slow. Not kissing. Just ’there.’

Thalia’s eyes narrowed at the opposite window. Her hands, which had flown up to push him off, hovered uncertainly at his forearm and then just... stayed there. Not gripping. Not pulling. Just resting against his sleeve while she decided what to do with them.

"’You’re unbelievable,’" she said.

"Probably."

"’You just—in the hallway—and now you’re—’" She didn’t finish any of those sentences. They dissolved before they became complaints because she couldn’t name precisely what she was complaining about when his thumb was drawing that small stupid circle against her side and his jaw was warm where it rested in her hair.

She hated that she noticed the warmth. She hated that it registered as something.

"’Why isn’t there—’" She stopped.

Restarted. Quieter.

"Why... isn’t there someone like you who isn’t..." She turned her head slightly—not toward him, not away, just ’shifted,’ staring at the gap between the front seats where the dashboard lights glowed. Her voice came out smaller than she intended. Not weak. Just—small. The kind of question you ask when you don’t entirely mean to ask it out loud. "Someone like you, but without all the... ’this.’"

Her hand moved slightly against his forearm. The gesture caught both of them off guard.

The car held the question for a moment.

Cruxius lifted his head just enough. Not far—he was still close, his cheek near her temple, his arm still around her waist.

"Someone like me," he repeated.

"Someone who—" She made a frustrated little gesture with her free hand. "’Calmer. Smarter than they should be. Knows things. Doesn’t—’" She stopped. Restarted again. "’Doesn’t make you feel like you’re losing your mind every ten seconds.’"

A beat of quiet.

"Someone like me," Cruxius said again, "but without the parts that are me."

Thalia opened her mouth.

Closed it.

"...That’s not what I—"

"It is, though." His thumb paused its circle. Resumed. "You want the shape without the substance. The warmth without the fire." He was quiet for a second—not thoughtfully quiet, but the kind of quiet that comes from knowing exactly what you’re about to say and deciding whether it’s worth the words. "If I was simple and careful and safe, you’d have run from me at the party last night before you ever looked twice."

Thalia said nothing.

"The things you find unsettling," he continued, "are the same things that make you unable to actually leave."

"’That is incredibly arrogant—’"

"Also true." He tilted his head back slightly, resting it against the leather seat, eyes closing like a man finally allowed to be tired. "You’ve had three opportunities this morning to actually scream for help. You haven’t."

She thought about that.

The maid in the hallway. The guard at the inner door. The groundskeeper on the path.

She hadn’t called out to any of them.

"’I was running,’" she said, which was technically true and also not the point at all.

"Yes." His arm around her waist shifted—not tighter, just ’settled,’ like something finding its natural position. His fingers rested against her hip. Through the thin fabric of the dress she could feel the warmth of each one.

His head tipped back toward her neck. Not kissing. Just resting. Like a man who had decided where he wanted to be and gone there without making it a question.

"’Stop that,’" she said.

"No," he said.

And his lips, just barely—just the edge of them—pressed against the curve of her neck.

Not hungry. Not like the hallway.

Just a press. A claim. A full stop at the end of a sentence she’d asked out loud without meaning to.

"’...Bastard,’" Thalia said, very quietly.

"Yes," Cruxius agreed.