I sink into the plush leather chair, the soft cushions molding to my body like a welcoming embrace. Skye settles next to me, her presence a comforting warmth at my side.

Veronica gracefully lowers herself into her own chair, the movement fluid and practiced.

“As the CFO, I’ve just been dying to meet Super Star’s fiancé,” Veronica says, her voice smooth as silk. Her purple eyes gleam with an intensity that makes me shift uncomfortably in my seat. I can’t shake the feeling that she’s analyzing every micro-expression, every twitch of my fingers.

Skye lets out a long-suffering sigh beside me, the sound filled with exasperation and barely concealed boredom. “Well, here he is,” she drawls, her tone flat and disinterested. She slouches slightly in her chair, her posture a stark contrast to Veronica’s perfect poise. The message is clear, she’d rather be anywhere but here.

A light, tinkling laugh escapes Veronica’s lips, the sound reminiscent of crystal wind chimes in a gentle breeze. “Come now, Super Star,” she says, her voice warm with amusement. “It’s not every day the greatest hero on Earth gets a fiancé.”

As she speaks, I notice a holographic display flicker to life on the desk between us. It’s a three-dimensional projection of what looks like stock market data, the numbers, and graphs pulsing with a soft blue light. The image is so crisp and clear it’s as if it’s been carved from the air itself.

Skye rolls her eyes, the gesture exaggerated and almost childish. “Yeah, yeah,” she mutters.

Veronica’s gaze shifts back to me, those piercing purple eyes seeming to bore into my very soul. “So, Luke,” she says, her voice honeyed and smooth, “tell me about yourself. What do you think of our world so far?”

“It’s... overwhelming,” I admit, my voice sounding small in the vast expanse of the office. “Everything here is so advanced, so different. The technology, the heroes, the villains... it’s like stepping into a comic book from my world.”

Veronica nods her expression one of practiced sympathy. “I can only imagine,” she says, her voice soft and understanding. “It must be quite the adjustment.”

As Veronica’s words hang in the air, I find my curiosity piqued. The vastness of this new world, with its intricate web of heroes, villains, and corporate structures, suddenly feels more tangible.

“Wait, so if you’re the CFO, who’s the CEO?” I ask.

The question seems to shift the atmosphere in the room. Veronica’s perfectly manicured eyebrow arches upward, a subtle movement that speaks volumes. Her piercing purple eyes flick to Skye, a mixture of amusement and surprise dancing in their depths.

“You haven’t told him yet, Super Star?” Veronica asks, her voice laced with a hint of challenge.

“It’s my mom,” Skye says, her voice surprisingly soft.

The revelation hits me like a physical force. I blink rapidly, trying to process this new information. “Oh shit, really?” I breathe, the words escaping before I can stop them.

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of Skye’s lips. She nods, her emerald eyes never leaving mine. “The team used to be named after her, the All Stars,” she explains, her voice taking on a nostalgic quality. “But once my mom saw how powerful I was, she renamed it the Super Stars after me.”

“I can’t believe Mrs. Savage is also a superhero,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else.

The effect is instantaneous and profound. Skye’s body goes rigid, her emerald eyes widening in shock.

“Mom hates that name,” Skye says, her voice low and tense. Each word is carefully enunciated as if she’s explaining something to a child. “She changed her last name to Star the second she could when she was young.”

I nod slowly. “That’s why you’re named Skye Star,” I say, trying to smooth over my faux pas. “I guess that makes sense.”

Skye’s brow furrows, a mixture of confusion and curiosity flickering across her face. “Wait,” she says, leaning forward slightly. “Was my name Skye Savage in your old world?”

The question hangs in the air between us, charged with unspoken implications. I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. “Until you took my last name, Lyon,” I reply softly.

Veronica’s eyes widen, her perfectly composed facade cracking for a moment. She leans forward, her elbows resting on the polished surface of her desk, causing the holographic display to ripple like water.

“Wait,” she says, her voice filled with a mixture of confusion and intense curiosity. “You knew another Skye? And why would she have taken your last name?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with implications. I can feel both women’s gazes on me, their eyes boring into me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. “Well,” I begin, my voice barely above a whisper, “she was my wife.”

The revelation lands like a bombshell in the opulent office. Veronica’s eyebrows shoot up, disappearing beneath her perfectly styled bangs. Her purple eyes gleam with an almost predatory interest, like a shark that’s caught the scent of blood in the water.

Beside me, I feel Skye stiffen. The air around her seems to crackle with an unseen energy, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. When she speaks, her voice is low and tight, each word dripping with a mixture of jealousy and disdain.

“That version was weak,” Skye says, her emerald eyes flashing dangerously behind her sunglasses. “She died of lung cancer.”

The words are delivered with an air of superiority as if Skye is asserting her dominance over her alternate self. But as soon as they leave her lips, I feel a wave of grief wash over me. Uninvited memories of my Skye in the hospital flood my mind, vivid and painful.

I see her lying in the sterile white bed, her once vibrant form wasted away by the ravages of disease. The steady beep of monitors, the pungent smell of disinfectant, the hollow look in her emerald eyes as she struggled for each breath. The image is so clear, so visceral, that for a moment, I’m transported back to that stark hospital room, watching helplessly as the love of my life slipped away.

The ache in my chest is almost physical, a dull, throbbing pain that threatens to consume me. I blink rapidly, trying to dispel the stinging in my eyes, but a single tear escapes, tracing a warm path down my cheek.

Skye’s hand moves with lightning speed, catching the tear as it rolls down my cheek. Her touch is gentle, her thumb brushing softly against my skin to wipe away the moisture. The tenderness of the gesture stands in stark contrast to her earlier words, and I feel a confusing mix of emotions swirl within me.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Veronica’s expression softens, her piercing purple eyes taking on a more sympathetic hue. “I’m sorry to hear about your late wife,” she says, her voice low and filled with genuine compassion.

Skye shifts closer to me, her body radiating warmth and comfort. Her hands cup my face, turning me towards her. Even through her dark sunglasses, I can feel the intensity of her gaze.

“I promise,” Skye says, her voice filled with a fierce determination that sends shivers down my spine, “I will never put you through something like that.” Her words carry the weight of an oath, a vow that seems to resonate in the very air around us. The power in her voice, the unwavering certainty, is both comforting and slightly terrifying.

I nod, feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. “I’m sorry,” I murmur.

Skye’s lips curve into a smile, soft and loving. It’s a side of her I’ve rarely seen since arriving in this world, a glimpse of the woman beneath the superhero facade. “I’m here for you,” she says, her voice warm and reassuring. Her thumbs trace gentle circles on my cheeks.

I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself. The leather of the chair creaks softly as I straighten up, Skye’s hands falling away from my face but immediately finding my hand, intertwining our fingers. The weight of her grip is comforting.

Veronica watches our interaction with rapt attention, her purple eyes darting between us. I can almost see the gears turning in her mind, processing and analyzing every word, every gesture. After a moment of contemplative silence, she leans forward, her elbows resting on the polished surface of her desk.

“Luke,” she says, her voice filled with genuine curiosity, “what is your world like?”

I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts as I try to encapsulate the vast differences between this world and my own.

“Well,” I begin, my voice thoughtful, “in my world, the gender dynamics are quite different. The men were more like the women here, and vice versa.” I pause, watching as Veronica’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows rise in surprise.

“Fascinating,” she breathes. “And what about superpowers? Are they common in your world?”

I shake my head, a wry smile tugging at my lips. “No superpowers at all,” I explain. “The most extraordinary abilities in my world are just highly trained skills or natural talents. No flying, no super strength, nothing like what I’ve seen here.”

Veronica’s brow furrows slightly, her head tilting to one side as she processes this information. “Is it a peaceful world, then?” she asks, her voice filled with genuine curiosity. “Without the constant threats from supervillains, surely your society must be more stable?”

I shrug, feeling the weight of my world’s complexities settle on my shoulders. “It’s hard to say,” I admit, my voice tinged with a hint of sadness. “We still have wars, conflicts between nations and ideologies. But nothing like insane clown rapists driving bombs into towers.” I pause, remembering the shocking events I’ve witnessed since arriving in this world.

Then, a memory surfaces, and I feel my expression darken slightly. “Well,” I add, my voice growing somber, “there was one time when a few people did fly some planes into the World Trade Center in New York. It was a devastating terrorist attack that shook our entire world.”

Veronica seems uninterested in my explanation about terrorism from my world. Her purple eyes take on a predatory gleam as she leans forward slightly.

“So the men were sexually aggressive in your world?” she asks, her voice low and intense. There’s a sharp, almost hungry look in her eye that makes me shift uncomfortably in my seat.

I nod slowly, suddenly feeling like I’ve stepped onto dangerous ground. “Yeah,” I confirm, my voice slightly uneasy.

“Interesting,” Veronica purrs, her gaze raking over me in a way that makes my skin prickle.

Just then, a ring cuts through the tension. Veronica sighs, reaching for a phone on her desk. Her perfectly manicured nails tap the screen as she checks the incoming message.

“I’m afraid I have to take this,” she says, her tone shifting back to cool professionalism. She turns to Skye, who has been unusually quiet during this exchange. “Super Star, we’ll have to continue this another time.”

Skye practically leaps from her chair, a grin spreading across her face. “Great!” she exclaims, barely containing her enthusiasm to leave. She grabs my hand, pulling me up with surprising strength. “We can finally go home.”

I smile, feeling a mixture of relief and excitement at the prospect of leaving this intense meeting behind. As Skye leads me towards the door, I catch one last glimpse of Veronica. She’s watching us go, those purple eyes still gleaming with an unreadable expression that sends a shiver down my spine.

*****

[Jackie Jones’ POV]

I stride purposefully down the long, shadowy corridor leading to Lady Ruin’s throne room, my footsteps echoing softly off the obsidian walls.

As I near the massive doors of the throne room. I slow my pace. Something feels... off. The usual hum of power that emanates from within is muted, replaced by an unfamiliar sound. Curious, I lean closer to the narrow gap between the doors, my breath catching in my throat at what I see.

There, on a small table beside the throne, sits Lady Ruin’s iconic silver helmet. The sight of it, separated from its owner, is so jarring that for a moment, I can’t process what I’m seeing. Never, in all my years of service, have I seen Lady Ruin without her mask. It’s as much a part of her as her green cape or her formidable powers.

But it’s the sound that truly freezes me in place. Wet, eager noises of consumption fill the air, punctuated by occasional grunts of satisfaction. Lady Ruin, the most powerful and enigmatic figure in our world, is... eating? And not just eating, but devouring something with an almost animalistic fervor.

I strain to catch a glimpse of her, but she remains frustratingly out of view. All I can see is the discarded mask, its empty eye sockets seeming to stare accusingly at me for this invasion of privacy.

My mind reels, struggling to reconcile this new information with everything I thought I knew about Lady Ruin. In all our time together, I’ve never seen her eat, sleep, or show any sign of basic human needs. She’s always been above such mundane concerns, a force of nature more than a woman.

Yet here she is, unmasked and feasting like a ravenous beast. The contrast is so stark, so utterly unexpected, that I feel as though I’m witnessing something profoundly intimate and forbidden.

Finally, after waiting for a few more moments, I hear a metallic click followed by a rustle of fabric. Then, Lady Ruin’s voice booms through the chamber, “Enter!”

I push open the massive doors, their weight suddenly seeming insignificant compared to the gravity of what I’ve just witnessed. As I step into the throne room, I’m struck by how normal everything appears.

She’s the picture of composure, her silver helmet gleaming in the ethereal light, her posture regal and imposing. If I hadn’t seen what I just saw, I’d never suspect anything was amiss. But now, my eyes are drawn to a small detail I might have otherwise missed, a tiny plastic cup clutched in her gloved hand.

The cup is unremarkable. Yet Lady Ruin cradles it as if it were made of spun gold and filled with the elixir of life itself. Her fingers curl around it protectively, and even through the mask, I can sense her gaze fixed upon it with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine.

Swallowing hard, I force myself to focus on the task at hand. “My lady,” I begin, my voice steady despite the turmoil in my mind, “I’ve come to voice my concerns about the operative you sent to watch your target.”

Lady Ruin’s head snaps up, her attention shifting from the cup to me with alarming speed.

“You doubt me, Jackie?” Her voice is soft, almost a purr, but there’s a dangerous edge to it that makes my blood run cold.

I feel my heart rate spike, adrenaline flooding my system. Every instinct screams at me to backpedal, to apologize, to do anything to placate her. But I force myself to stand my ground. This is too important.

“Not at all, my lady,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “I would never presume to question your judgment. I merely wish to voice that the operative is one of the least loyal people in Utopia.”

Lady Ruin’s gaze bores into me, the weight of her stare almost palpable even through the impenetrable silver mask. The room seems to grow colder, the shadows deepening as if responding to her mood. I fight the urge to shiver, standing my ground even as every instinct screams at me to flee.

For a moment that stretches into eternity, she says nothing. The silence is broken only by the soft hum of energy that perpetually surrounds her, a constant reminder of the immense power at her command. I can hear my own heartbeat thundering in my ears, each second feeling like an hour as I await her response.

Finally, she speaks, her voice low and controlled but with an undercurrent of steel that brooks no argument. “It’s none of your concern, Jackie.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. “I... I understand, my lady,” I stammer, my usual composure deserting me. “Please forgive my presumption. I only meant to-”

She cuts me off with a sharp gesture. “Leave me,” she commands, her tone leaving no room for discussion.

I nod, feeling a mixture of relief and disappointment wash over me.

‘I just don’t understand why she would trust such an idiot to leave Utopia.’