[Third Person POV]
Felicia stood amidst towering shipping containers stacked high along the docks. Around her, half a dozen thugs lay sprawled in awkward heaps—some slumped against containers, others face-down on the cold concrete, their weapons scattered like discarded toys.
She exhaled through her nose, brushing a stray lock of silver hair from her face as she placed her hands on her hips. "Come on, boys," she said with a playful sigh, her voice dripping with amusement. "You should know better than that. Seriously—shipping containers? That's your big master plan? Hiding inside metal boxes to run your little drug deals?"
Felicia crouched down in front of the one conscious thug, tilting her head to the side as her eyes gleamed mischievously. "Desperate times, huh? Gotta say, it's a little sad."
The thug, a burly man with a split lip and sweat streaking down his temple, growled and raised his pistol with trembling hands. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding as he pulled the trigger—
Click.
Nothing.
Felicia's smirk widened, sharp as a cat's grin. "Aww," she cooed in mock pity, "what's the matter? Having a little bad-luck streak?" She extended two fingers almost lazily and flicked him on the forehead. The motion was effortless, but the force sent the man flying backward into a metal wall with a clang before he slumped unconscious beside his friends.
Before she could revel in her own handiwork, a soft buzz vibrated in her pocket. Felicia straightened with a faint frown, slipping a gloved hand behind her to retrieve her phone. The screen lit up with her customized wallpaper—a photo of her holding Peter's face while planting a kiss on his cheek, both of them framed by digital heart filters.
Her playful smile faltered. The new message at the top of the screen was from her mother, and it contained only two words: Home. Now.
"…Eh?" Felicia blinked, suddenly uneasy. That was never a good sign. She immediately typed back: I'm in the middle of something. Can it wait?
Her boots clicked lightly on the damp concrete as she paced between the unconscious bodies, heart beating a little faster than she cared to admit. A second vibration nearly made her jump: You have 5 minutes.
Felicia froze, staring at the glowing text. "…The hell?" she muttered under her breath. "Am I in trouble? I didn't even do anything." Her words sounded unconvincing even to herself.
Clicking her tongue in irritation, she snapped her fingers and summoned a swirling portal of shimmering light. The distorted circle opened into a quiet alleyway only a block from her apartment. With a final glance at the fallen thugs, Felicia stepped through.
As she emerged, her sleek black hero suit unraveled, melting away to reveal her civilian outfit—a faded jean jacket paired with matching denim, a crisp white blouse tucked beneath, and sturdy black boots. She reached up to undo her ponytail, letting her wavy platinum hair fall around her shoulders. A quick ruffle with her fingers gave it the perfect casual look.
Despite the urgency of her mother's message, Felicia deliberately slowed her pace as she approached the apartment building. Arriving too quickly would only scream that she'd been up to something.
When she finally stepped inside, the warm glow of the kitchen light revealed Lydia Hardy leaning over the counter, a half-full glass of wine in her hand. The air smelled faintly of oak and tension.
Felicia arched an eyebrow and tried to defuse the heavy atmosphere with a teasing lilt. "Isn't it a little early to be drinking, Mom?"
Lydia didn't answer right away. She simply stared at her daughter, eyes sharp but weary, and exhaled a long, heavy sigh. Her shoulders slumped as she tipped her head forward and drained the wine in one strong gulp.
Felicia blinked, momentarily taken aback. "…Okay. My bad," she said, her tone softening. That wasn't the reaction she'd expected.
Lydia set the empty glass aside, leaning back against the counter and crossing her arms. One hand rose to press against her temple as though warding off a headache. "I honestly don't know what to do with you, Felicia," she said finally, her voice a mix of exasperation and exhaustion.
A prickle of nervousness ran down Felicia's spine. "Okay, seriously—what did I do? You're freaking me out," she said, glancing around the room.
Lydia held up a single finger. "Let's start small." Her tone sharpened as she reached across the counter for something Felicia hadn't noticed before. With deliberate calm, she placed a tiny scrap of fabric on the countertop.
"Want to explain to me what this is?"
Felicia's eyes widened. Her heart plummeted straight to her stomach as she recognized the offending item—a barely-there micro-bikini she'd bought as a joke…and maybe, maybe as a private surprise for Peter.
Her face ignited crimson. "Wha—! Don't go through my stuff!" she blurted, practically vaulting over the back of the couch to snatch the bikini off the counter.
"I do your laundry!" Lydia shot back, throwing her arms up. "Do you think I had a choice?"
Felicia frantically stuffed the bikini into her jacket pocket, cheeks burning hotter by the second. Her voice cracked as she stammered, "It's not what you think! I wasn't actually going to wear this outside or anything. We—uh—Peter, Gwen, MJ and I—we planned a beach trip, and we went swimsuit shopping, and I bought this as a joke! For laughs! I bought a normal one to actually wear!"
"Uh-huh. Right," Lydia replied dryly, arching a brow. "Totally just a joke. Definitely not something you tried on for Peter, hmm?"
Felicia choked on air, eyes widening in horror. "Eh?! W-What the hell are you even talking about?!" she yelped, her voice climbing an octave. "What does this have anything to do with Peter?!"
"Felicia, I'm a lawyer," Lydia scoffed, her voice sharp and biting. She crossed her arms tightly across her chest, staring her daughter down. "I've seen my fair share of clients and partners caught in affairs. You're not fooling anyone by thinking you're good at hiding yours." She gestured vaguely toward the pocket where the bikini was stuffed. "Honestly… isn't Peter dating one of those two girls he's always with—Gwen or MJ, right? I thought he was better than that. He seemed like a decent boy at first."
She sighed heavily, disappointment dripping from every syllable.
Felicia's mouth opened and closed before she managed to grumble out, "It's not like that…" She tugged at her jacket sleeve nervously, her voice losing its usual confidence. "It's not what you think."
"Oh, really?" Lydia arched a brow, her voice laced with suspicion. "It's not like what I think? Then how is it, hm? He's not with either Gwen or MJ, and you're secretly his girlfriend? Is that the story?"
Felicia's lips curled into a scowl. Heat prickled her cheeks—not just from embarrassment now, but from irritation building in her chest. "What I have going on in my private life isn't any of your concern. Mind your own business, Mom."
The air in the kitchen froze. Lydia slammed her hand against the counter, making the glass clink dangerously. "Not my concern? Not my business?!" Her eyes flashed as she leaned forward, glaring down her daughter with fiery indignation. "I have stretch marks that say otherwise, young lady. And it became my business the second I started getting implicated in your little… rendezvous."
Felicia blinked, taken aback, her irritation giving way to confusion. "…What?"
Wordlessly, Lydia pulled her phone from her pocket. With a flick of her finger, she unlocked it and began scrolling, her mouth tightening as though she could barely contain her frustration. She held a finger up to silence Felicia before she could protest further.
"What I'm about to read," Lydia said coldly, "are the messages I've been receiving since last night. I had my phone turned off, so I only saw them this morning."
Felicia felt her stomach plummet. Her pulse quickened, her skin going cold even as her face burned with heat. "...Oh no."
Lydia cleared her throat and began reading aloud, her voice flat and deliberate:
"'Hey, can you keep your moans down? I have work in the morning.'"
Her eyes flicked up with a sharp glare before continuing.
"'Your moaning is waking up my kids—keep it down in there!'"
Felicia's hands flew up to her face, palms pressed tightly as she trembled, muffling a choked whimper. Her blush crawled all the way down her neck.
Lydia's tone only grew more pointed:
"'Wow, girl, if it's just a one-night stand, give me his number. I want to moan like that too.'"
Felicia let out a strangled squeak and crouched down, shoulders hunched as though trying to physically make herself smaller. "Oh my God… please stop…" she cried into her hands, her voice breaking.
But Lydia was relentless, pacing now as she scrolled.
"'It can't be good for you—stop exaggerating. Moan softer, please, I have work.'"
Felicia shook her head rapidly, curls bouncing, as her muffled voice cracked again. "Please, please stop…"
Her mother ignored her daughter's pleading, her voice climbing with every new message. "'For how many more hours will this go on? I have work! I'll have to report you to the superintendent—'"
The phone slammed onto the counter with a loud thud. Lydia's face was flushed crimson now, half from rage, half from sheer humiliation. She jabbed a finger toward her daughter. "Hours, Felicia! Hours! What kind of—what kind of fuck-fest were you having in here?!" Her voice broke into a half-screech, half-groan of disbelief.
Felicia buried her face deeper in her palms, rocking slightly in place on the kitchen floor.
Lydia wasn't finished. Her words tumbled out in a furious rush. "Do you have any idea how many strange looks I've gotten since I came home? One lady actually asked me how I was still able to walk! I was so confused until I checked my messages this morning—and then it all made sense. Do you know how embarrassed I am right now?!"
Felicia's muffled reply came out small and trembling, her voice cracking with shame. "…F-faintly."
She refused to look up, wishing more than ever that the ground would just open beneath her and swallow her whole.
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