The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a silvery glow over the empty streets. Angela walked alongside Lumian, her earlier confidence from the yoga session now replaced by a quiet unease.
"Maybe it was a good ideas to let you escort me home after all," Angela muttered, glancing over her shoulder.
"Haha. You'll be fine," Lumian assured her, his voice calm and steady. He was walking close enough to her that his presence felt protective, though his mind was elsewhere. The plan was in motion.
From the shadows, a figure emerged, a masked man holding a glinting knife. His voice was sharp and threatening. "Don't move! Give me all your money!"
Angela froze, her breath catching in her throat. "Lumian," she whispered urgently, clutching his arm. "Don't do anything stupid. Just give him what he wants. Your life is more precious than this."
Lumian's jaw tightened, his expression hardening. "I know this type," he said, stepping in front of Angela and facing the robber. "They're all talk. No bite."
"Don't be an idiot!" Angela hissed, her voice trembling. "Please, don't take any chances."
The masked man lunged suddenly, his knife aimed at Lumian's chest.
Lumian moved with practiced ease, dodging the knife by a hair's breadth. He countered with a swift punch, which the robber narrowly avoided. The two began to clash, their movements were quick and calculated.
Angela stood frozen, her hands clasped to her chest as she watched in horror. "Lumian! Stop! You'll get yourself killed!"
Lumian smirked inwardly. The fight was all part of his plan. The masked man was none other than Boulder, following orders to stage this attack. Still, the performance had to be convincing.
Boulder slashed again, and this time Lumian let the knife graze his arm. Blood seeped through his shirt, and Angela screamed.
"Lumian!" she cried.
"I'm fine!" Lumian shouted back, gritting his teeth for effect. "Stay back!"
The fight continued, with Lumian landing a series of punches that sent Boulder stumbling. With a final, powerful blow, Lumian knocked Boulder out cold. The masked man crumpled to the ground, motionless.
Lumian turned to Angela, clutching his arm. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.
Angela ran to him, her hands hovering over his wound. "We need to get you to a hospital!"
"It's just a scratch," Lumian said dismissively, though the blood on his arm said otherwise. "I've been through worse."
"But—"
"No buts," Lumian interrupted gently. "Let me get you home before we run into more trouble."
Lumian walked Angela to her apartment building, his posture was protective despite the pain in his arm. As they reached the front entrance, Angela hesitated.
"You should come in and rest," she said, her voice soft. "At least let me clean your wound."
Lumian shook his head, glancing toward the parked car he recognized as Michael's. "I appreciate it, but I should get home. It's late."
Angela frowned, but she didn't push further. "Thank you, Lumian. For everything."
She surprised him by pulling him into a tight hug, her arms wrapping around him as though she never wanted to let go. Lumian hesitated for a fraction of a second before returning the embrace, his hand resting lightly on her back.
"Take care," he said as they parted.
Angela watched him leave, her heart heavy with gratitude and something else she couldn't quite name.
Unbeknownst to both of them, Michael sat by the apartment window, nursing a glass of whiskey. His eyes narrowed as he watched his wife hug a man he didn't recognize. The angle obscured Lumian's face, but the sight of Angela's intimate gesture filled him with a quiet rage.
Angela entered the apartment, shaking off the chill of the night air. "I'm home," she called, planting a quick kiss on Michael's cheek.
Michael didn't respond, his attention was fixed on the television. A news anchor was reporting on Golden Might, one of the most renowned heroes who had saved an entire country from a cataclysmic event.
Angela frowned at his silence but decided not to press him. She headed to the bathroom, needing to wash off the night's events.
As the warm water washed over her, her thoughts drifted to Lumian. She couldn't shake the image of him standing between her and the robber, taking a wound for her without hesitation.
Her cheeks flushed as she recalled their yoga session earlier that day—the way his hands had guided her, the heat of his body against hers. Her mind lingered on the memory far longer than she intended, and by the time she emerged from the bathroom, her resolve to forget him was already crumbling.
Even as she tried to fall asleep, her mind could not help but wander to how held her tight, how he pressed firmly against her. She grew even redder as she remembered the feeling of his hard cock pressing tightly on her buttocks and how he easily put her in positions that made her body heat up. Angela's thoughts so much that she didn't realise when her hands traced down her legs and rested in the moist valley inbetween.
Meanwhile, Lumian sat comfortably in his lair, a smirk playing on his lips, he knew what he had done, everything played out the way he intended. He glanced at his scratch, it was deeper than he had intended it to be.
Boulder stood before him, holding an ice pack to his swollen jaw.
"Boss," Boulder groaned, "did you really have to hit me that hard?"
Lumian chuckled. "Of course. It had to look real. Besides," he added, gesturing to the slash on his arm, "I took a hit too, didn't I?"
Boulder grumbled under his breath, pressing the ice pack harder against his face.
"Where's Stone?" Lumian asked, his tone turning serious.
"No idea," Boulder replied. "Haven't seen him since he went on that mission you gave him."
As if on cue, Stone entered the lair, his face flushed with exhaustion. "Sorry I'm late," he said, bowing slightly. "The mission was tougher than I expected."
"I don't care about excuses," Lumian said coldly. "What matters are results. Do you have what I sent you for?"
Stone hesitated, his gaze dropping. "I… couldn't get it."
Lumian's grip tightened on the armrest of his chair, his eyes darkened . A wave of oppressive energy filled the room, forcing both Boulder and Stone to their knees. They gasped for air, their bodies trembling under the weight of Lumian's presence .
"You're useless to me if you can't deliver," Lumian said, his voice like ice.
After a long, tense moment, he eased his aura, allowing the two men to catch their breath.
"You're even more useless if you're dead." He added
"Don't come back until you have it," he told Stone.
Stone nodded weakly and scrambled to his feet, bolting out of the lair without another word.
The next morning, Lumian woke to find the slash on his arm completely healed. He examined the spot where the wound had been, marveling at the unblemished skin. "Interesting," he muttered to himself, filing the anomaly away for later consideration.
Later that day, he found himself back at the pub, where Michael was nursing yet another glass of whiskey. The man looked more miserable than usual, his anger barely concealed beneath his drunken exterior.
Lumian took a seat beside him, offering a casual nod. Before he could say anything, Michael turned to him, his eyes bloodshot and filled with suspicion.
"Tell me something," Michael said, his voice low and slurred. "Are you really my friend?"
Lumian raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. "Of course I am. Why would you ask that?"
Michael downed the rest of his drink and slammed the glass on the counter. "Because I don't know who to trust anymore," he said bitterly. "My wife… she's having an affair."
Lumian's heart skipped a beat, though his face remained calm. "What makes you think that?"
Michael leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I saw her last night. With another man. Hugging him. Right outside our apartment."
Lumian's eyes widened slightly, his mind racing. Had he been caught?
Michael's gaze bore into him, his voice steady despite his drunken state. "I'm asking you again, Lumian. Are you truly my friend?"