[Luke's POV]
After waking up and having a shower with Skye, which was as fun as I remember, I find myself in an office. It's pretty bare bones, just a table with a laptop. The walls are stark white and unadorned. The room feels sterile, almost clinical, a stark contrast to the warm, luxurious penthouse I'm in.
In front of me is a woman I've never met before. She's tall and slender, with sleek black hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her suit is impeccably tailored, not a wrinkle in sight. Her posture is straight, exuding an air of professionalism and efficiency that's almost intimidating.
Beside me stands Skye, a comforting presence in this unfamiliar setting. She's traded her superhero costume for a smart business suit, but she still radiates power and confidence. Her hand rests lightly on the small of my back, a subtle gesture of support and possession.
"Luke," Skye says, her voice warm but with an underlying tone of authority, "this is my assistant, Sarah Swift. She's real fast but never looks where she's going."
Sarah's face remains impassive as she extends her hand for a handshake. "Hello, Luke," she says, her voice cool and professional. Her brown eyes, sharp and assessing, seem to look right through me.
I'm about to reach out and shake her hand when Skye's grip on my waist suddenly tightens. It's not painful, but it's firm enough to make me pause. I glance at her, confused, and see a flicker of something dangerous in her emerald eyes.
"Luke doesn't shake hands," Skye says smoothly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "It's a cultural thing from his world."
Sarah's eyebrow raises slightly, the only indication of her surprise. She withdraws her hand without comment, her gaze flicking between Skye and me.
"Of course," Sarah says, her voice neutral. "My apologies for the misunderstanding."
I open my mouth to protest, to explain that I have no problem shaking hands, but Skye's fingers dig into my side in a silent warning. I swallow my words, suddenly very aware of the tension in the room.
"Sarah will be overseeing your education about our world," Skye continues as if nothing had happened. "She's very thorough and efficient. I'm sure you'll learn quickly under her guidance."
Sarah nods, her expression still unreadable. "I've prepared a comprehensive curriculum covering history, culture, technology, and current events," she says, gesturing to the laptop on the desk. "We'll start with the basics and work our way up to more complex topics."
Sarah turns to the laptop, her fingers flying over the keyboard with practiced efficiency. A holographic display springs to life above the desk, filling the air with a dizzying array of charts, graphs, and text.
"As you can see," Sarah begins, her voice crisp and businesslike, "we have a lot of ground to cover. The curriculum is divided into several key areas. Historical events, cultural norms, technological advancements, and current geopolitical situations. Each module contains extensive reading materials, video lectures, and interactive simulations."
She gestures to a particularly complex flowchart hovering in the air. "This represents the interconnected nature of our world's power structures. You'll need to memorize this by the end of the week."
My eyes widen as I take in the sheer volume of information before me. The holographic display seems to stretch on forever, each section more intricate and detailed than the last.
Sarah continues, her tone matter-of-fact. "There will be daily quizzes to assess your progress, weekly essays to gauge your understanding of complex topics, and monthly exams to ensure you're retaining the information. Expect at least four hours of homework each night."
'Absolutely fucking not. I finished school I'm not doing any of this shit.'
I feel my heart rate quicken, a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead. This is more intense than any college course I've ever taken. I glance at Skye, silently pleading for help.
Skye catches my look and springs into action. Her emerald eyes narrow slightly as she addresses Sarah. "That won't be necessary," she says, her voice smooth but with an underlying steel. "Luke doesn't need homework."
Sarah blinks, clearly taken aback. "But Super Star, without regular assignments and assessments, how can we ensure he's properly learning-"
"I said," Skye interrupts, her tone brooking no argument, "he doesn't need homework. This isn't a formal education program, Sarah. I need you to not take this as seriously as your normal assignments. Don't stress my fiancé out."
Sarah's lips press into a thin line, her gaze flicking between Skye and me. There's a flicker of something in her eyes. Disappointment? Disdain? - before her professional mask slips back into place.
"Of course, Super Star," she says, her voice carefully neutral. "I'll adjust the curriculum accordingly."
As Sarah turns back to the laptop, presumably to modify the lesson plan, I can't help but notice the way she looks at me. Her gaze is cool, assessing as if she's reevaluating my worth based on this interaction. I shift uncomfortably under her scrutiny.
Feeling uncertain and a bit overwhelmed, I turn to Skye. "Is Sarah my boss?" I ask quietly, unsure of where I stand in this strange new dynamic.
Skye looks at me, her emerald eyes flashing with annoyance. The sudden shift in her demeanor is jarring, like watching storm clouds roll in over a sunny sky. Her jaw clenches slightly, a muscle twitching beneath her flawless skin.
"No one besides me is your boss," she says, her voice low and intense. The words seem to hang in the air between us, heavy with implication. Her gaze softens slightly as she looks at me, but there's still a dangerous glint in her eyes. "You don't answer to anyone but me, understand?"
I nod quickly, feeling a mixture of relief and trepidation. The possessiveness in Skye's voice sends a shiver down my spine, equal parts thrilling and terrifying.
Still uncertain about the dynamics at play here, I press further. "But should I take orders from Sarah if you're not around?" I ask hesitantly, my eyes darting between Skye and her assistant.
Skye's gaze shifts to Sarah, her emerald eyes narrowing slightly. The air in the room seems to thicken, crackling with unspoken tension. Sarah stands perfectly still under Skye's scrutiny, her face an impassive mask, but I notice her hands clasped tightly behind her back, knuckles white with strain.
After what feels like an eternity, Skye sighs, the sound filled with resignation and a hint of frustration. "If you want to," she concedes, the words seemingly dragged from her reluctantly.
Then, as if remembering something important, Skye turns back to me. Her expression softens, a gentle smile replacing the earlier intensity. She reaches out, her fingers brushing my cheek in a tender caress. The touch is feather-light, but I can feel the immense strength held in check.
"Honey," she says, her voice warm and affectionate, "you don't really have to do much. If you don't want to work, I wouldn't care at all." The words are spoken casually, but there's an undercurrent of something deeper, a promise of endless leisure and comfort if that's what I desire.
I lean into her touch, savoring the warmth of her hand against my skin. But even as I do, a nagging thought tugs at the back of my mind. "I just don't want to go crazy from boredom all day," I admit, feeling a bit sheepish. The idea of endless free time, once so appealing as a child, now feels daunting in its emptiness.
Skye's emerald eyes sparkle with mischief as she pulls me closer, her lips curving into a seductive smile. "Don't worry, darling," she purrs, her voice low and sultry. "I only usually go out for the big threats. We'll have lots of time to spend together, learning everything about one another."
Her gaze turns hungry, predatory, as it rakes over my body. "Perhaps," she murmurs, leaning in so close I can feel her breath tickling my ear, "we could even play right now?"
I feel my heart rate quicken, my breath catching in my throat as Skye's free hand trails up my chest, coming to rest over my rapidly beating heart.
Suddenly, the moment is shattered by a deafening explosion. The sound reverberates through the building, the floor beneath our feet trembling with the force of it. I instinctively flinch, fear coursing through me as I imagine all manner of terrifying possibilities.
Skye sighs heavily, her shoulders slumping in frustration. The hungry look in her eyes is replaced by one of resigned annoyance. She turns to Sarah, who has remained a silent, stoic presence throughout our exchange.
"Come on," Skye says, her voice tinged with exasperation. "Let's see what's going on."
We make our way to the terrace, a sprawling outdoor oasis high above the city streets.
As we step onto the terrace, the full scope of the chaos below unfolds before us. The sprawling outdoor space, usually a tranquil oasis high above the bustling city, now offers an unobstructed view of the mayhem erupting at the base of Star Tower.
Thick plumes of black smoke billow upwards, obscuring the lower floors of the building. Angry orange flames lick at the structure's sleek exterior, their hungry tongues reaching higher with each passing moment. The air is filled with the distant wail of sirens, a cacophony of alarm systems, and the panicked shouts of people fleeing the area.
I feel my heart race, fear clawing its way up my throat as I take in the terrifying scene. The sheer scale of the destruction is overwhelming, unlike anything I've ever witnessed before. My mind reels, imagining the chaos and panic that must be unfolding on the ground.
Skye, however, seems utterly unfazed by the pandemonium below. She casually drapes an arm over my shoulder, her touch warm and reassuring despite the inferno raging beneath us. When I turn to look at her, I'm struck by the stark contrast between her relaxed demeanor and the urgency of the situation.
She lets out a long, exasperated sigh, her emerald eyes rolling skyward as if seeking patience from some higher power. "It's not a big deal at all," she says, her voice dripping with boredom and mild annoyance. "Really, this kind of thing happens more often than you'd think."
I blink at her, incredulous. "Not a big deal?" I repeat, my voice rising an octave. "Skye, the building is on fire!"
She shrugs, a lazy smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Trust me, darling. This is small potatoes compared to some of the threats we face. Normally, I wouldn't even bother with something like this." She gestures dismissively at the chaos below as if it were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
Then, almost as an afterthought, she adds, "But since it's Star Tower, it'd make me look bad if I don't help out. Can't have the public thinking I don't care about my own home base, you know?"
With a fluid motion that's almost too fast for my eyes to follow, Skye reaches for the collar of her business suit. In one swift movement, she rips the garment away, revealing the familiar red and blue of her Super Star costume underneath. The torn fabric flutters to the ground, forgotten.
I can't help but stare, mesmerized by the transformation. One moment she was Skye, my fiancée in a smart business suit, and the next she's Super Star, hero extraordinaire. The skin-tight costume accentuates every curve of her body.
'How much does she waste in ripped clothes a year.' I can't help but wonder.
Skye says, "I'll be right back, okay?" with a reassuring smile. Her emerald eyes lock with mine for a moment, conveying a silent promise of a swift return. Then, in a blur of motion that my eyes can barely track, she launches herself off the terrace. The force of her takeoff creates a gust of wind that ruffles my hair and clothes.
I watch in awe as Skye streaks through the air, a red and blue comet against the smoke-filled sky. Her cape billows behind her, catching the sunlight and seeming to glow with an inner fire. In mere seconds, she reaches the base of Star Tower, disappearing into the thick black smoke that obscures the lower floors.
The sudden absence of Skye's larger-than-life presence leaves a palpable void on the terrace. The sounds of the chaos below seem to grow louder, more insistent, without her confident assurances to drown them out. I find myself rooted to the spot, unable to tear my eyes away from the last place I saw her disappear into the inferno.
After a few moments of tense silence, I become acutely aware of Sarah's presence beside me. Her face an impassive mask as she surveys the scene below. The wind whips her perfectly styled hair, a few strands escaping to dance around her face, but she doesn't seem to notice.
The silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable. I rack my brain for something to say, anything to break the tension. My mind, unhelpfully, fixates on a question that's been nagging at me since i met Sarah.
"Sooo..." I begin, my voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet, "Are you faster than my sister?"
Sarah's head turns slowly towards me, her eyebrow arching in a mixture of surprise and annoyance. Sarah lets out a long, weary sigh. It's a sound that seems to carry the weight of countless inane questions she's had to field over the years. "No," she says flatly, her tone leaving no room for further discussion on the matter.
I push further anyways. Curiosity and a hint of mischief getting the better of me. "How do you know?" I ask, a smirk playing at the corners of my mouth. "Have you raced her?"
Sarah's eyes narrow, her patience visibly wearing thin. The perfectly composed assistant facade cracks slightly, revealing a flicker of irritation beneath. "Are you always like this?" she asks, her voice tinged with exasperation.
I lean against the railing, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction at having ruffled her feathers. "Yeah," I reply, my smirk widening into a full grin. "I am."
Sarah's lips press into a thin line, her eyes scanning me from head to toe as if reevaluating her initial assessment. When she speaks again, her voice is low and measured, each word carefully chosen. "Super Star's husband shouldn't be this type of person," she says, disapproval coloring her tone.
The words hang in the air between us, charged with unspoken implications. I feel a flicker of annoyance at her presumption, at the idea that there's a certain way I should behave simply because of who I'm engaged to. The smirk fades from my face, replaced by a more serious expression.
"Oh?" I say, my voice deceptively casual. "And what if I tell her I'm not fond of you?"
The effect is instantaneous and profound. Sarah's face drains of color, her eyes widening in unmistakable fear. The composed, professional demeanor she's maintained since I met her crumbles in an instant, revealing a vulnerability I never would have expected.
"Please don't," she whispers, her voice trembling. The words come out in a rush, tinged with desperation. "She would destroy me."
The raw terror in Sarah's voice catches me off guard. I feel a pang of guilt for my thoughtless threat, realizing too late the weight my words carry in this world. The air between us grows thick with tension, the distant sounds of sirens and crackling flames fading into the background.
Sarah's eyes dart nervously towards the inferno below, then back to me. Her hands, usually so steady, tremble slightly as she clasps them together. "You don't understand," she continues, her voice barely above a whisper. "Super Star... she's not just powerful. She's... she's..."
Sarah's voice trails off, her eyes wide with fear as she stares at something behind me. I turn, following her gaze, and feel my blood run cold at the sight before us.
The heavy metal door leading to the stairwell has been blown clean off its hinges, twisted shards of metal scattered across the polished floor.
And there, emerging from the murky depths is a figure that seems to have stepped straight out of a nightmare.
She saunters forward with an exaggerated swagger, each step punctuated by the jingle of bells sewn into her mismatched, garishly colored costume. Her face is a stark white canvas, painted with garish makeup, blood-red lips stretched into an unnaturally wide grin, electric green diamonds surrounding wild, unhinged eyes.
But it's her hair that truly captures my attention - a wild tangle of vivid green curls that seems to defy gravity, sticking out in all directions like some demented halo.
In her hands, she casually swings an old-fashioned Tommy gun, the metal gleaming dully in the afternoon light.
Her laughter rings out, high and manic, sending chills down my spine. It's the kind of laugh that speaks of chaos and madness, of a mind utterly unhinged from reality.
"Well, well, well," she cackles, her eyes darting between Sarah and me with predatory glee. "What do we have here? A couple of sitting ducks, all ripe for the plucking!"
She takes another step forward, and I instinctively back away, pulling Sarah with me. The clown girl's grin widens impossibly further at our retreat.
"Aw, don't be shy now," she croons, her voice a sickly sweet parody of affection. "I don't bite... unless it's COCK!" She punctuates this with another burst of maniacal laughter.
Her eyes lock onto mine, and I feel a chill run through me at the madness swirling in their depths. "You're the new boy toy everyone's talking about, eh," she says, tilting her head at an unnatural angle. "Gotta say, cuter than I imagined."