Rehab for SuperVillains (18+)-Chapter 32: How are you feeling?

Ryn pulled back slowly—lips parting with a soft, wet sound—their faces inches apart, breaths mingling in the quiet.

Her amber eyes fluttered open, clear now but vulnerable. She was still Rhea, but not the wildfire she had been moments ago, not the fierce, unyielding force that had burned through the battlefield. Now, she looked fragile, like a single harsh word might shatter her completely.

Kael's chest tightened. Relief warred with worry as he traced his thumb gently over the bruise swelling on her cheek. His knuckles ached, but he barely noticed. The tension in his stomach only eased when she didn't flinch away from his touch.

"How are you feeling?" His voice was low, steady, though he was anything but. He searched her gaze, looking for cracks.

A flush crept up her neck, whether from shame or exhaustion, he wasn't sure. Her fingers twitched against his shirt, uncertain, hesitant. It was strange, seeing her like this—unguarded. When she finally spoke, her voice came hoarse, like she'd fought against the words before letting them out.

"I'm... fine now. Sorry for that mess—thanks for pulling me out." Her eyes dropped, shoulders drawing inward.

The 𝘮ost uptodat𝑒 novels are pub𝙡ished on freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.

Kael tilted her chin up with a knuckle, coaxing her to meet his gaze. "Hey, it's alright—shit happens." His voice was warm, grounding. "Food's ready, though. You hungry? 'Cause I'm starving."

Her lips twitched. A small, shaky smile broke through the tension. "Yeah, I could eat."

He took that as a win.

They shuffled to the table, the scent of warm food filling the air—eggs, toast, a thick slab of meat he'd fried up quickly. They ate slowly, letting the moment stretch between them. The quiet wasn't heavy anymore; it was something else, something easier.

"You call this cooking?" Rhea teased, prodding at her plate. "This meat's tougher than your punches."

Kael huffed, grinning. "Ask your swollen cheek. Pretty sure it'd disagree."

She rolled her eyes, but her laughter came soft, unguarded. It was the first real one since she had woken up, and something in him settled at the sound.

As they ate, Kael set aside extra portions, wrapping them up neatly. She raised a brow as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Gotta head to work," he muttered. "Appointments are stacked today."

Rhea's fork stilled mid-air. "Take me with you."

Kael blinked at her. The request came quiet, firm. Not a demand, just... a simple ask.

"I'll wear that stupid mask, scarf, sunglasses—hate 'em, but I wanna help. Earn my keep somehow."

Kael exhaled, shaking his head. "You don't need to do a damn thing but stay out of trouble."

She leaned forward, eyes glinting with determination. "I don't want to sit here doing nothing. I know I can help. Even if it's just watching the place while you work—I'll keep my head down."

Kael sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not today, Rhea. Just rest."

She clicked her tongue in frustration but didn't argue further. Instead, she crossed her arms, looking away.

Pushing his chair back, he stood up and stretched. "Alright, what do you want for dinner?"

She smirked, leaning back in her chair. "Spicy noodles. Extra spicy."

"Hot enough to make you regret it?"

"Always." Rhea said with a grin.

Then Kael sent Rhea to her room, and locked the door behind him, Rhea's pout flashing for just a second before it disappeared. He hesitated outside, hand resting on the doorframe. A gut feeling stirred deep in his chest. Rhea was shifting—her sharp edges were softening. Maybe, just maybe, he could trust her to watch over the Haven soon.

Maybe he should test her.

But not today. Today, he had money to make.

The day at the massage parlor was long, the air thick with the scent of herbal oils and lavender. Between appointments, Kael leaned against the counter, rolling his shoulders to ease the stiffness. The receptionist smirked at him from behind her desk, flipping through the appointment book with an amused look.

"You look like you got run over," she teased.

Kael snorted. "Feels like it."

She reached into the mini-fridge beside her desk and pulled out a glass of orange juice, ice cubes clinking against the sides. "Here. You need this."

He took it with a nod of thanks, pressing the cool glass against his forehead before taking a sip. The citrusy tang was refreshing, but his gaze drifted to the ice cubes floating inside.

Ice cubes, huh? Ice. Ice. Ice. Why does it feel like I am forgetting something?

Crap! Freya!

___________

Grrrrr~~~~

Freya's stomach growled loud, a low, guttural rumble that echoed off the bare walls of her locked room, cutting through the stale silence like a beast clawing to get out.

She sat rigid on her cot, platinum-cyan hair spilling over her shoulders, her blue eyes glinting cold and sharp in the dim glow of the single bulb overhead. Rage boiled in her gut—hotter than the hunger gnawing at her insides—because Kael hadn't brought breakfast, hadn't slid breakfast nor the lunch under the door, hadn't given her a damn thing since last night's measly dinner.

Her lips pressed thin, a nerve twitching on her forehead, peeking through the blank mask she wore, and her fists clenched tight in her lap, nails digging into her palms until they stung.

So this is his game.

Freya thought, venom lacing the words in her mind.

Starve me out—let my stomach scream until I crawl to him, begging for scraps, promising to obey his commands like some trained dog.

Her jaw tightened, teeth grinding as the idea burned through her, fueling the fire behind her icy stare. She'd rather die—hunger clawing her to bones, breath fading slow—than bend to his will, than let a single plea slip past her lips.

Pride was her spine, unyielding and sharp, forged through years of refusing to bow. She was a queen—queens ruled, they didn't grovel—and no superhero's cheap tricks would strip that from her. Kael could rot before she'd obey, before she'd let him win.