Three months later
The penthouse had transformed from a lonely bachelor pad into something alive.
Felicia had moved in gradually—first leaving clothes in my closet, then claiming a corner of the living room for her equipment, and finally admitting that she spent more time here than at her own place. We'd fallen into an easy rhythm: planning heists, executing them flawlessly, and celebrating our successes in increasingly creative ways.
But we'd also built something beyond the professional partnership. She'd opened up about her past—her father, the original Black Cat, his arrest and death, her descent into thievery as both homage and rebellion. I'd shared my own story, or at least a version of it—the orphaned rich kid trying to find purpose in a world that offered none.
I didn't tell her about my powers. Not yet. That secret was too dangerous, too intimate to share until I was absolutely certain.
Tonight, she was sprawled on the couch in one of my shirts, reading through dossiers I'd compiled on potential targets. Her hair was still damp from the shower we'd shared an hour ago, and the sight of her made something warm settle in my chest.
"This one," she said, tapping a folder. "The Santori Collection. They've got three Picassos that were definitely stolen from Jewish families during World War II. Nobody even knows they exist."
"Morally justified theft," I mused, moving to sit beside her. "I like it. When?"
"Give me two weeks to scout the location." She set the folder aside and curled into me, her head on my chest. "Marcus?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you happy?"
The question caught me off guard. Through our physical contact, I could sense her mind—not invading, just aware. She was genuinely asking, genuinely wanting to know.
"Yes," I said honestly. "Are you?"
"I think so." She was quiet for a moment. "I've never had this before. Someone who doesn't want to change me. Who sees me and doesn't run away or try to fix me."
"You're not broken, Felicia. You're perfect exactly as you are."
She tilted her head up, those green eyes searching mine. "You mean that."
"Every word."
She kissed me, slow and deep this time, different from the hungry passion of our first time. This was intimate, trusting. I felt her walls lower even further, felt the depth of her feelings—
And I pulled back from her mind before I could invade that privacy.
She deserved better than that. She deserved someone who respected her boundaries.
When she pulled back, her expression was soft. "Stay like this with me? Just for tonight. No plans, no jobs. Just us."
"As long as you want," I promised.
And I meant it.
Six months later
My empire was growing in the shadows.
I'd used my powers strategically over the past half year, building a network of influence that stretched through New York's underworld and legitimate business sector. CFOs who gave me insider information without realizing why. Politicians who voted the way I needed on key issues. Criminals who handled my dirty work and forgot they'd ever met me.
I'd amassed fifty million in liquid assets and controlled another hundred million through shell corporations and proxies. More importantly, I'd established myself as a ghost in the system—someone with reach but no face, power but no identity.
Felicia knew I had resources beyond what I'd initially shown her. She'd started asking questions about how I got certain information, how I managed to arrange meetings with people who shouldn't even know I existed.
I'd deflected, but I knew I'd have to tell her eventually. She deserved the truth.
But not yet. Not until I was certain she'd understand.
Tonight, we were attending a charity gala—legitimate cover for me to make contact with a SHIELD contractor who had access to advanced technology. Felicia wore a stunning black dress that made every head turn, while I'd gone with a classic tuxedo.
We looked like any other wealthy couple enjoying New York's elite social scene.
The contractor, Dr. Sarah Chen, was exactly where I'd expected—near the bar, slightly uncomfortable in her formal wear, clearly wishing she was back in her lab. I'd researched her extensively: brilliant materials scientist, divorced, working on next-generation body armor for SHIELD under a civilian contract.
I needed that technology.
"Dr. Chen?" I approached with Felicia on my arm. "Marcus Cole. I'm a great admirer of your work in nanomaterial composites."
She blinked, surprised. "Oh. Thank you. I didn't realize my work was that well known outside certain circles."
"I have eclectic interests." I smiled. "Could I buy you a drink? I'd love to discuss some theoretical applications."
As we talked, I subtly brushed against her mind, reading her surface thoughts. She was brilliant but lonely, passionate about her work but frustrated by SHIELD's bureaucratic restrictions. She wanted to do more, create more, but was limited by funding and oversight.
I could give her that freedom. But not tonight—tonight was just planting seeds.
After fifteen minutes of conversation that left her excited and engaged, I excused myself. Felicia and I drifted toward the dance floor.
"You're collecting people," she observed as we swayed to the music. "That's the third scientist you've charmed this month."
"Building relationships," I corrected. "You never know when you might need specialized knowledge."
"Mmm. And what specialized knowledge does a cat burglar provide?"
I pulled her closer, my lips brushing her ear. "The best kind."
She laughed, but there was something else in her expression—a flicker of uncertainty. Through our contact, I felt it: the question she was afraid to ask.
*What are you really building, Marcus?*
The conversation came two weeks later.
We'd just finished a job—a clean extraction of corporate secrets from a Roxxon executive's private server. Nothing violent, just information that would be worth millions to the right buyer. But as we sat in the penthouse afterward, Felicia was unusually quiet.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
She was silent for a long moment, then: "I need you to be honest with me."
My chest tightened. "About what?"
"About whatever you're really doing. Because this—" she gestured around us, "—isn't just about money anymore, is it? You're building something. A network, contacts, influence. You're moving pieces around like chess while pretending we're just pulling heists."
She wasn't angry. Just concerned. And, I realized, afraid that she was being manipulated.
I could lie. Could use my powers to make her forget this conversation, smooth over her concerns. But that would make me exactly what I'd promised I'd never be—someone who controlled her.
"You're right," I said finally. "It's not just about money."
"Then what is it about?"
I took a deep breath. This was the moment of truth—literally. If I told her everything, she might run. Might never trust me again. But if I didn't, I'd be living a lie with the one person who'd come to mean more to me than I'd ever expected.
"Can I show you something?" I asked.
She nodded, wary but willing.
I picked up a pen from the coffee table and held it in my palm. Then I focused, reaching out with my mind to touch hers. Not to control—just to connect.
*Felicia. Can you hear me?*
Her eyes widened. She hadn't spoken aloud, but I heard her thought: *What the fuck?*
*I'm a telepath. Psychic, technically. I can read minds, control them, rewrite them. It's why I always know where security will be. Why people give me information without remembering. Why I always seem to have the right answer.*
I showed her, carefully, a memory of me using my powers on Bernard Chen all those months ago. Then another of me monitoring the museum security chief. Then a dozen other instances where I'd manipulated situations without her knowing.
When I pulled back, she was staring at me with an expression I couldn't read.
"You're a mutant," she whispered.
"Or something like it. I don't know exactly what I am. But yes, I have abilities that go beyond normal human capability."
Silence stretched between us. I could sense her mind churning, processing, and I forced myself not to peek. Whatever she decided, it had to be her choice.
Finally: "Have you ever used it on me?"
"Once. The night we met. I skimmed your surface thoughts to understand who you were. But I've never controlled you, never manipulated your feelings or decisions. I swear it."
"How do I know that's true?"
"You don't. You have to trust me." I met her eyes. "But think about it, Felicia. If I wanted to control you, why would I tell you? I could have kept this secret forever. Made you believe anything I wanted. But I didn't, because that's not what I want."
"What do you want?"
"You. The real you. Making real choices." I leaned forward. "Everything between us has been genuine. Every moment, every word, every touch—that was real. I would never take that away from you."
She was quiet for a long time, studying me. Then she stood and walked to the window, staring out at the city.
I waited, my heart pounding. This was the moment where I either kept her or lost her forever.
"Prove it," she said finally.
"How?"
"Let me in. All the way. Show me everything you are, every memory, every thought. If you're telling the truth about not manipulating me, prove it by giving me that power over you."
It was a test. A dangerous one. If I let her see everything—my past life, how I'd arrived in this world, every dark thought and calculation—she'd know me completely. And she could leave with that knowledge.
But she was right. If I wanted real trust, I had to give it first.
"Alright," I said. "But I should warn you—what you're about to see is going to be hard to believe."
"Try me."
I stood and walked to her, extending my hand. She took it, and I opened my mind completely.
I showed her everything.