More mature. No longer the simple, charming playboy who once flirted without restraint. That magnetic side was still there, but the way he spoke, the sheer complexity of his dark plans—it was entirely beyond her.
She did not fully grasp the technical details or know much about the geopolitics he was so effortlessly commanding.
The only thing she understood was that he was planning sothing massive.
For her, things had always been simple. Fight for justice. Protect her orphanage and those she loved. Keep the world safe from villains.
She knew her limits—until the situation forced her to forget them.
Ytrisia’s gaze didn’t waver. Her voice, low, husky, and edged with a delightful irritation, sliced through the hum of the engine.
"You’re so confusing, Cruxius."
He tilted his head slightly, a faint, predatory smile tugging at the corner of his lips the mont he heard her voice. He let his eyes lazily trail down the glossy slope of her breasts to the tight cinch of her waist. He knew this conversation was bound to co sooner or later.
After all, by dealing with the villain syndicate and the Hero Association, he had successfully secured her favor.
He had already loosened her heavy guard by acting as a hero and saving her life, making her slowly, inevitably begin to fall for him.
Won like Ytrisia, who embody such imnse, overwhelming strength, often have their deepest inner vulnerabilities completely overlooked by n who perceive them solely as powerful weapons.
These weak n fail to realize that such won, perhaps more than anyone else, intensely crave a dominant presence—a real man who can overpower and protect them.
n often view won through their own shallow lens, believing that won desire money, a massive house, and a comfortable life simply because they want to leech off a man’s inco.
But what they fail to see is that these desires are deeply rooted in emotional needs, not simple material greed.
n represent the physical, grounding aspect, while won embody the chaotic, beautiful emotional tide.
When the two perfectly click together, they create a complete body—that’s why they’re called "better halves."
A woman doesn’t desire money for its own sake; she desperately seeks the unshakeable stability it brings, which grants her peace of mind—a pure emotional state.
She wants a good ho not as a shallow symbol of wealth, but as a sanctuary where she can finally let her guard down and feel totally safe.
A good life, to her, ans one without the crushing weight of stress, supported by a man whose foundation is unbreakable—not for luxury, but for the relief of not having to constantly fight.
This is a perspective that ordinary n constantly overlook because they assess it through a rigid physical frawork, entirely missing its soft, emotional depth.
It was exactly how the world viewed Ytrisia—as an untouchable superheroine with incredible, god-like strength—completely failing to see that beneath the latex and the power, she, too, was incredibly emotionally vulnerable.
There was no one strong enough to protect her. No one to make her feel small, safe, and taken care of.
Everyone felt safe because of her presence, but who made her feel safe?
Cruxius did. He deliberately targeted that exact, tender side of her that everyone else ignored, blinded by their own assumptions of her invincibility.
n are not incapable or blind; they have simply created a lazy prejudice that won are too complex and hard to understand—all because they fail to connect a woman’s physical needs directly with her emotional core.
She loves your gifts one day because she is emotionally tuned to you, but might hate the exact sa thing another mont because that connection slipped—so, a true master just keeps her tuned, humming on his frequency all the ti.
And that’s where n like Cruxius thrived—those who truly, deeply understood what a woman’s body and mind actually wanted...
He held her predatory violet gaze, letting his smirk widen into sothing deliberately wicked as he admired the glossy, breathless heave of her chest.
"Then stop trying to figure out and start savoring slowly, though start from the lower sausage."
"...." Ytrisia didn’t imdiately understand what his crude words ant—she just stared calmly until she noticed his dark, unapologetic eyes shalessly glued to her chest.
On reflex, she folded her arms defensively, but all it did was ruthlessly squeeze her heavy, latex-covered breasts together. The glossy fabric groaned audibly under the pressure, pushing her deep cleavage up and making it pop like a goddamn invitation.
She wasn’t trying to be a tease, but the way her lush curves strained against that impossibly tight, shiny fabric left little to the imagination. He was practically eye-fucking her right there in the backseat.
"I don’t get what you’re planning. Why are you even targeting the Villain Syndicate? That’s not your problem."
Cruxius’s eyes lingered—naturally, on the soft, heaving sights that might slightly lift his mood or turn him on, considering he was actively planning to have so fun tonight.
Of course, not with Ytrisia or anyone forcefully. He was, after all, a man who knew exactly how to cultivate organic opportunities in a woman’s heart—and his actual physical target for the night was soone else entirely...
"I didn’t plan any of this," he said, his voice dropping softer now, more grounded, while casually sliding his phone out of his coat pocket. He continued speaking, letting a perfectly calculated hint of sorrow seep into his tone, "I just wanted to live. Enjoy my ti. But then... a hero from the Hero Association attacked . No warning. No reason. Just because I was a simple, powerless human?"
His thumb tapped rhythmically on the sleek screen, punching in the caller ID of a number he had gotten from Darithi—a burner line belonging to a mid-tier supervillain nad Stumili.
"That’s when I realized sothing. They weren’t protectors," Cruxius murmured. "They were puppets in polished masks. And the Villain Syndicate? Just the sa rot in a different suit."
Ytrisia’s expression shifted, the predatory sharpness in her violet eyes lting into a flicker of genuine concern.
She completely misread the situation. She assud the reason he tapped so distractedly on his phone while talking was a nervous habit to mask the deep vulnerability and chaos in his voice.
She leaned in closer, speaking softly, thinking she was seeing right through his pain. "So now you want to take them all down yourself?" she asked quietly. "You think you can actually do that?"
Cruxius leaned forward, the distance closing between them, both hands rapidly typing a ssage—and simultaneously processing a heavy untraceable transaction. His voice dropped into that dark, velvet tone he knew she couldn’t quite ignore.
"Of course," he said, locking his intense gaze with hers. "If you’re with , Ytrisia."
She blinked, her breath hitching just slightly, her chest rising against the tight latex. The words caught her completely off guard—unexpected, unguarded, and dangerously intimate.
"Wh-what?" Ytrisia barely managed to respond, her tough exterior cracking as her confusion started to show—until he suddenly cut her off, his posture snapping rigid as if he had just received a terrifying confirmation on his screen.
"Turn the car toward the airport. HURRY!" he shouted, acting flawlessly panicked—though every single piece on the board had already been arranged by his own hand.
Or rather... a heart he was going to claim tonight.
’!’
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