The Heart System

Chapter 157: Chapter 157

I jolted awake to a sharp, ragged scream, my heart slamming against my ribs. Gasping, I whipped my head to the right. Nala was curled tight, knees drawn to her stomach, chest heaving like she’d been drowning. Her hair spilled across the pillow in a wild mess, my oversized t-shirt riding up to expose the smooth plane of her stomach. I wasn’t thinking about that, though—not now.

”Fuck,” I muttered, sitting up. ”Nala, you okay?”

”I... I’m sorry,” she gasped, eyes wide, still caught in whatever nightmare had her.

”No, no, it’s okay.” I reached out, hand hovering before settling gently on her shoulder. Her skin was clammy. ”Bad dream?”

”I... can’t remember.” Her voice trembled, barely holding together.

”It’s alright,” I said, softening. ”Want some water?”

”No, no, I’m... I’m okay.” She exhaled shakily, pushing herself up on one elbow.

I nodded, easing back onto the pillow but keeping my eyes on her. She mirrored me, lying down, our faces inches apart in the dim glow of the streetlight filtering through the blinds. My hand found her shoulder again, a tentative anchor. Our gazes locked for a split second—hers raw, vulnerable—before she turned away, back to me. Shit. Did I creep her out?

Then she scooted closer, her spine brushing my chest. My breath caught. I hesitated, then slid my arm around her, hugging her from behind. She gasped, a tiny, startled sound, but didn’t pull away. Her hand found mine, fingers curling shyly around my wrist.

”Everything’s fine,” I murmured, fighting the heat pooling in my gut.

’Don’t you dare get hard, Evan.’

”Just breathe.”

She nodded, grip tightening. Then, suddenly, she twisted around, burying her face in my chest. Quiet sobs shook her frame, muffled against my shirt. I held her closer, one hand stroking her hair, the other steady on her back.

”It’s okay,” I whispered, over and over. ”You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Minutes bled together—five, maybe ten. Her crying slowed, then stopped. I leaned back just enough to see her face. Her eyes were closed, lips parted, breath steady. She’d fallen asleep against me, one hand still clutching mine. The position was awkward, her weight pinning my arm, but I didn’t move. Couldn’t.

”Goodnight, Nala,” I said softly, fingers still combing through her hair. ”Tomorrow... it’s all over soon.”

I blinked, and*she was there.

Dierella.

Hovering by the window, wings lazily fanning the air, moonlight glinting off their edges. Her silhouette was sharp against the blinds, eyes glowing faintly.

I jolted, heart lurching. ”What the—”

”Are you going to fuck her or not, Evan?” she snapped, voice low but irritated, like I’d kept her waiting. ”I didn’t give you those powers to play hero with nothing in return. She’s right there. She wouldn’t say no if you ask for her consent.”

”It’s not about yes or no,” I hissed, keeping my voice barely a whisper, arm still around Nala. ”It’s about the right time.”

She rolled her eyes, wings flicking. ”Teaching me how this works? I’m a Goddess, in case you forgot. Get your cock out and fuck her pussy.”

”No.” My jaw tightened.

She floated closer, looming. ”What did Karamine even see in you? Nala’s practically begging. Pick up the breadcrumbs, Evan. Fuck her.”

”No.” I glared, voice a razor. ”Get out. I’ve got three hours till six-thirty.”

”Unbelievable.” She shook her head, disgusted.

I blinked—she was gone... huh, I was getting used to her, actually.

I exhaled, slow and shaky. ”Weirdo...”

❤︎‬‪‪❤︎‬‪‪❤︎

Today was the day.

I leaned against the rough bark of an ancient oak across from the hotel’s grand entrance, cigarette pinched between my fingers, smoke trailing up into the merciless sun. The air shimmered above the pavement; heat radiated from the concrete in visible waves. I’d bet my last dollar that if I cracked an egg on the sidewalk right now, it would sizzle and cook in under a minute. Sweat already clung to my back, soaking through my black t-shirt, but I didn’t move. My eyes stayed locked on the revolving glass doors.

Nala appeared in a simple sundress, nothing like the cosplay from last night, hair tied back, sunglasses shielding her nervous eyes. She paused at the threshold, glanced over her shoulder, and found me in the shadows of the tree. Her nod was quick, shaky, lips pressed into a thin line. I lifted my chin in return, took one final drag, and crushed the cigarette beneath my boot.

Twenty minutes of Time Stop. Two charges. That was all I had. I could trigger it inside the lobby for extra buffer, but the cameras were the real threat. Even with the safe zipped inside my backpack, I couldn’t risk a single frame catching me. This had to be clean. Fast. Invisible.

”Okay, Evan,” I whispered, wiping sweat from my brow with the back of my gloved hand. ”Lobby. Stairs. Bedroom. Painting. Plant the safe. Call Anotta. Done.”

I still didn’t know what was on that USB. Sick had been cagey, Tuck had been terrified. ”Don’t plug it in,” he’d warned over the phone this morning, voice low, eyes darting like someone might be listening.

Sick was a monster in human skin. If the contents were half as bad as they hinted, Guy would fold like wet paper. Penthouse. Company. Freedom. All of it mine. Or he’d rot in a cell. Either way, the bastard was finished.

”Two Time Stops,” I breathed, checking my phone. My pulse thrummed in my ears. The safe in my backpack felt like a brick of lead, dragging at my shoulders.

Nala’s text buzzed.

’I’m inside. Should I open the door?’

I flexed my fingers, rolled my neck, and typed back.

’Do it.’

A few seconds later, another buzz.

’The door is open.’

I activated Time Stop.

The world snapped into silence.

Birds froze mid-wingbeat. A droplet of sweat hung suspended on my temple. The distant honk of a taxi stretched into an endless drone. Everything locked in perfect, golden stillness. My heart was the only thing still moving, hammering like a war drum.

I ran.

I push through the revolving door. The lobby was a cathedral of wealth: polished marble veined with gold, crystal chandeliers dripping light like frozen rain, a fountain in the center with water suspended in mid-spurt. Guests mid-stride, bellhops mid-bow, a woman at the concierge desk with her mouth open in mid-sentence.

Elevator panel: dead. Of course. Time Stop killed power.

”Stairs it is.”

I bolted left, past the frozen concierge, and shouldered open the stairwell door. Up. Three steps at a time. My thighs burned by floor five. Sweat poured by ten. I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. The backpack bounced with every leap, the safe inside clanging softly against my spine.

Floor fifteen. I slammed against the wall, chest heaving, vision tunneling. My legs were jelly, lungs on fire. I cursed under my breath, pushed off the wall, and kept climbing. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Each flight blurred into the next, my breath ragged, sweat stinging my eyes. The stairwell smelled of bleach and carpet glue, the air thick and stale.

Finally—top floor. A single, ornate door at the end of a plush, carpeted hallway. Nala stood frozen mid-motion, fingers curled around the handle, the door cracked exactly two inches. Behind her, a maid in a crisp black uniform, arms crossed, lips pursed in mid-annoyance, feather duster suspended mid-air.

I slipped past, shoulder brushing Nala’s frozen sundress. The penthouse unfolded like a fever dream of luxury: eleven rooms total—eight grand living spaces flowing seamlessly into three service areas tucked discreetly behind frosted glass panels. The main salon stretched fifty feet, floor-to-ceiling windows framing a panoramic city view that made the skyline look close enough to touch. Sunlight poured over Italian Carrara marble floors veined with gold, hand-knotted Persian silk rugs in deep crimson and ivory, and a grand Steinway piano positioned like a throne beneath a crystal chandelier the size of a car. A massive abstract bronze sculpture twisted in the foyer, its surfaces catching the light like liquid metal.

”His room...” I muttered, recalling Nala’s whispered directions from last night. ”The one with the tree painting outside.”

Right hallway. There it was, a door flanked by a towering oil painting of an ancient oak, roots gnarled, branches reaching like desperate fingers. A discreet camera perched above the frame, red light frozen solid. The maid stood three feet away, stationed like a sentinel, her glare locked on Nala’s back.

I eased the door open. Guy’s bedroom was perfection weaponized: a king bed on a raised dais, draped in midnight-blue silk sheets and a cashmere throw worth more than my rent. The headboard was hand-carved ebony, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Floor-to-ceiling windows with remote-controlled blinds half-drawn, letting in slanted bars of sunlight. A walk-in closet the size of a studio apartment yawned open, rows of tailored suits and Italian leather shoes glowing under recessed lighting. A minimalist fireplace flickered with frozen flames. And beside the bed—the painting. A moody seascape, waves crashing against jagged rocks, frame heavy and gilded.

I lifted it carefully. Behind it was a space in the wall, fit for the safe I had in my backpack.

I swung the painting onto the bed, unzipped my backpack with trembling fingers, and pulled out the safe with the USB inside it. I slid it into the recess—snug, perfect. Hung the painting back, straightened the frame until it sat flush.

I checked the alarm I set on my phone. Twenty seconds. Nineteen. Eighteen...

Couldn’t risk a soul seeing me exit. I triggered the second Time Stop.

Everything froze again. My credits hit five. I was officially broke.

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- SHOP

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• Aphrodisiac Drink (10c)

• Silk Lingerie Set (25c)

• Sensual Massage Oil (15c)

• Mystery Pleasure Toy (30c)

• Flirt Potion (20c)

• Hypnotic Perfume (40c)

• Time Stop (90c)

• 500 Dollars (50c)

• 1 Ability Point (150c)

==========================

- Credits: 5c

- Select item to purchase.

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