10x God-Tier Stealing System: Pumping S-Rank SuperHeroines Daily!-Chapter 26- Jenny and Jake

Saint Regalia Private Medical Hospital, Northeast Europe.

Set against the wide landmass, the hospital looked more like a luxury resort than a medical facility. Black sedans and quiet electric cars lined the private driveway, guarded by men in suits who didn’t smile.

The glass entrance slid open without a sound.

Inside, the temperature shifted—cool, controlled. The scent of sterile air replaced the faint trace of pine from outside. Marble floors stretched ahead, spotless.

A concierge desk stood where most hospitals had a nurse’s station, staffed by people who looked more like hotel managers. Past them, the corridors were wide and quiet.

Nurses moved quickly but without urgency. Every wall, every surface designed to go unnoticed—muted tones, soft lights, nothing that might stir anxiety in a patient.

Thalia wasn’t a patient.

She just felt like one.

Outside, a Bugatti skidded to a halt, its tires catching the polished driveway with a sound that pulled heads. Curious gazes drifted from nurses and patients alike.

"Isn’t that—?" one nurse began, frowning toward the car.

Her colleague elbowed her before she finished. "Shh." A low warning. "That’s the dean’s son."

She’d been working here long enough to know better. The hospital belonged to the very man whose son had just unfolded himself from the driver’s seat with the casual confidence of someone who’d never once been told no.

Across the private driveway, a black Rolls-Royce came to a quiet stop.

The door opened.

Cruxius stepped out first—loose white shirt, matching trousers, unhurried. He glanced back toward the car with that specific, patient quality he had, the one that read like he was waiting for something he’d already arranged.

Then Thalia stepped out.

She had a dress now. A proper one—clean, fitted, something Darithi had produced from the car’s rear storage without commentary. It was tight enough to be presentable and short enough to make Thalia immediately aware of every inch of her legs as the morning air touched them. The fabric was fine. She looked fine.

She did not feel fine.

The dress sat against her skin and every small movement reminded her of why. The inside of her thighs—faintly sticky, still, despite everything—pressed together as she stood upright and the sensation was ’immediate’ and specific and absolutely not something she wanted to be aware of in a hospital car park with morning light on her face and strangers nearby.

She was ’wet.’

Not from anything happening now. From what had happened in the car—from his hand under her dress for half the mountain descent, fingers working into her with the same patient, unhurried ownership he applied to everything, while she’d bitten her lip until it bled and kept her eyes on the window and tried to pretend the sounds she was making were quieter than they were. From the way he’d cupped her breast through the fabric with his other hand, kneading the soft weight of it in slow rolls while his fingers moved inside her, and Darithi had looked at the road and the road alone like her life depended on it.

He hadn’t finished inside her this time.

He hadn’t needed to.

She’d done enough of that herself, quietly, with her forehead pressed to the cold window glass and her hand gripping his wrist—not pulling, not pushing, just ’gripping’—while the valley below swam out of focus.

’That’ was inside the dress now. ’That’ was what walked into Saint Regalia Private Medical Hospital with her.

Sunglasses on. Makeup bold enough to cover what needed covering. Short skirt sitting just above the faint redness at her inner thighs that the dress barely reached. She looked put-together enough. She kept her steps even and her chin level and told her body to behave.

Her body did not care what she told it.

Every step shifted the fabric. Every shift of fabric reminded her. The cool air of the hospital entrance brushed her bare legs as the glass doors slid open and she felt it—the warmth between her thighs against that cool air—and something tightened low in her belly with a pang of want so involuntary it made her jaw clench.

’Stop it,’ she told herself.

Her body said nothing back. Just pulsed, quiet and persistent, like a second heartbeat sitting in the wrong place.

She kept walking.

Heads turned.

The kind of slow, unintentional turning that people do when they can’t help it—nurses mid-task, a man in the concierge line, a physician halfway through a chart. Her heels clicked against the marble and the sound was clean and sharp and she used it to anchor herself, heel-toe-heel-toe, ’keep moving, don’t stop, don’t let anything show on your face.’

The cool hospital air continued to be unhelpful.

Cruxius walked beside her—slightly behind, slightly to the left—and said nothing. He didn’t need to. The warmth of his presence at her shoulder was enough. She was acutely, humiliatingly aware of it the way you’re aware of a candle in a dark room, not from seeing it but from the heat on your skin.

Her thighs pressed together as she walked.

Which also did not help.

She kept her face neutral. Sunglasses helped. She was grateful for the sunglasses with a depth of gratitude she’d never previously felt for eyewear.

Outside, a Bugatti had parked crooked at the front entrance near them. A young man stepped out—Jake, she didn’t know him by name yet but knew his type immediately, the kind of handsome that came packaged with damage—and beside him, a woman in sunglasses and a tight dress whose gaze had just swept toward Cruxius and then toward her.

"Will there be more men to ruin her?" the woman asked, eyes still tracking Jake, who’d handed his keys to a waiting guard without glancing at them.

Jake’s smirk widened. He stretched a hand toward the woman. "Regrettably, no," he said. "Cruxius Blac isn’t the kind to share his women."

The woman—Jenny—blinked. Her head snapped around. "W-who?"

"I picked him specifically." Jake’s voice was easy, pleased with itself. "Out of all the men, he’s the one woman can’t manipulate or escape. Especially a woman like Thalia."

Jenny’s expression went very still.

"’What.’ Blac?" Her voice cracked along the edges. "You mean ’the’ Blac? The heir to the Blac Corporation?"

She had told Jake—clearly, firmly—to find her stepsister some disease-ridden predator, some revolting wreck of a man who’d leave marks that couldn’t be healed and stories that couldn’t be told.

Something that would ’end’ her. Blackmail her. Send her back to the house broken enough to stop being inconvenient.

Instead he’d handed her to one of the wealthiest, most untouchable men in the known world.

Jake pulled her close by the waist, hand finding and openly gripping her backside without ceremony. He looked into her sunglasses.

"You girls really are fools," he said. "You think he’s a prize just ’cause he’s rich and handsome? He uses women like clothes."

"...But he ’is’ rich," Jenny muttered, very quietly, behind the dark lenses.

A bitterness she’d carried for years tightened like a fist in her chest.

Thalia always ended up with what was supposed to be hers. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

"What was that?" Jake raised an eyebrow.

"Nothing." Jenny pressed herself tighter against him and hid her face, and they walked deeper into the hospital together, arms locked.

"Would he have used a condom," she said after a pause, each word dropped with venom, "or did he finish inside her?"