Chapter 54: Chapter 54

Richard slowed the car to a stop, gravel crunching under the tires as we rolled up by the curb. A puff of smoke left my lips, curling against the glass before the breeze sucked it out through the crack of the passenger window. I flicked the ash, watching it scatter, then dragged my hand down my face.

“Fingers crossed, man.” Richard muttered, half a sigh, half a prayer.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “If you make up with her… no cheating next time, okay?”

“Fuck no,” he shot back instantly, shaking his head. “Never.”

“Good.”

We bumped fists, quick and solid, and then he opened the door and stepped out. The slam echoed against the quiet street. I leaned back in the seat, watching him cross the little strip of cracked sidewalk. Guess this was it—the big moment. Would Mendy forgive him for being a dickhead? Would this whole stupid “quest” actually count as completed? Honestly, I half-expected Kayla to backpedal, twist her words, and screw me over, but she hadn’t. Props to her.

This place itself was… peaceful. Rural, almost. Rows of two-story houses lined up like they’d been copy-pasted, each with their little porch, a yard half-wild with green. Some had laundry lines stretched out, others just small gardens overrun with weeds. Trees swayed gently, their leaves whispering in the breeze, and the whole block smelled faintly of grass after a fresh cut.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, snapping me out of it. I pulled it out, saw the name, and answered.

“Ivy?”

“Hey,” she said, voice light, curious. “So… how did it go?”

“What go?”

“The massage with Kayla?” Her tone tightened. “God, Evan, she was so pissed about me. Saying I tricked her and shit.”

I chuckled under my breath. “It went well. Don’t worry. I didn’t see you there, though.”

“Because I booked it,” she replied flatly.

“Sheesh. Could’ve said hello at least.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She brushed it off, clearly not caring. “Say, is she your, you know, girlfriend?”

“Fuck no.” I barked a laugh. “That… arrogant woman? No, no, no, no. Nope. Nuh-uh. Naah.”

“Huh,” she hummed, like she knew something I didn’t. “Got it.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Then… why did you wanna meet her?”

“To talk,” I answered, keeping my voice even. “Look, it’s best if you let this go. It’s complicated, I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

“Fine,” she relented after a beat. “How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow works. After my morning shift ends. We meet at Burney’s at six?”

“Yep.” She smiled through the line—I could almost hear it. “See you when I see you.”

“Hmm. Bye. And thanks again.”

I ended the call and let the silence return, leaning my head back against the seat. The smoke in my lungs felt heavier now. I turned to my left.

There they were. Richard and Mendy, standing in the front garden of one of the houses. Her house.

Mendy looked like the kind of girl who didn’t need much to shine—long dark hair tied back in a messy bun, skin smooth with just a natural glow, wearing nothing fancier than a soft sweater and leggings. Pretty in that effortless, girl-next-door kind of way.

They were hugging. No yelling, no slapping, no storming off. Just… hugging. Her arms locked around his shoulders, his face buried in her neck. They made up.

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Quest Completed

Title: Peace

Reward: 25 EXP

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“Good,” I muttered, watching them sway slightly in each other’s arms. “Quest completed. And that puts me…”

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Name: Evan Marlowe

Age: 21

Height: 179 cm

Weight: 73 kg

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Level: 4

EXP: 80 / 311

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“Nice,” I breathed out with a grin. “Getting closer to level five.”

Richard turned, calling back over his shoulder with a big, sloppy wave. I half-raised my hand and gave him one in return.

“No, you idiot!” he shouted, louder than he needed to. “This is a ’come here’ gesture. Not wave.”

“Oh…” I said, lowering my hand and trying not to laugh.

I stepped out and stretched my arms. The evening air hit like a cold slap—grass and wood smoke, the kind of quiet that makes everything feel smaller. I flicked the butt to the gravel and crushed it with the toe of my shoe, grinding the ember out until it went dead. Then I walked up the cracked path toward them.

They were on the little front lawn—Richard with his hands shoved in his pockets, Mendy standing there with her arms crossed.

“Hey,” I said. “Mendy, right? I’m Evan.”

She gave me a that-again look, like she was trying to place me. “We… already met,” she replied slowly. “When you were drunk.”

“Oh…”

“You came into my house and drank with Richard,” she continued, eyes narrowing slightly as she remembered.

“Oh…”

“Then you threw up onto my TV.” Her tone was flat but amused.

“Oh…”

“And headbutted my window. Cracked it.” She actually looked me over like she expected to see a scar. “How’s that wound, by the way? It didn’t leave a scar, right? I mean it didn’t bleed?”

Shit. A memory of the headache hit me full force. “That’s why I felt a nasty one two weeks ago,” I muttered. “Shit, you’re right.”

Richard laughed, a loud, proud chortle. “We were… drunk off our minds. LET’S DO IT AGAIN, BABY!”

“Nope,” Mendy said flatly, deadpan as anything. “We eat. That’s why I told Richard to get you.”

“Eat?” I brightened instantly. “Perfect. I was hungry as a wolf. What’s on dinner?”

She smiled. “Mom made spaghetti.”

Richard elbowed Mendy and grinned. “And your knees get weak when you’re with me in your bedroom, remember?”

I arched an eyebrow at him, so did Mendy. Richard coughed, embarrassed by the bit of intimacy he’d just put on display.

“You know which song I was referencing,” he said, sheepish.

I folded my arms and adopted my best fake-serious voice. “You can still break up with him, Mendy.” I nodded like a dad reminding a kid to eat their greens. “It’s not too late.”

“You’re right,” she said finally, softer. “I’m having second doubts now.”

Richard grinned like he’d won the lottery. “Ah, bite me, you two. I’m happy, and no one can break that. Come on—let’s eat.”

Mendy sighed, the tension in her shoulders easing as she let a small smile slip. Richard took her hand like he meant it, tugged her gently toward the porch, and I hung back a second longer, watching them move inside. The little domestic picture—two messy people trying to make good on something—felt oddly satisfying.

I nodded to myself, flicked my jacket straight, and followed them up the path.

The three of us walked up the narrow steps and Richard swung the door open like he owned the place. The smell hit me first—tomato sauce, garlic, fresh bread—and then the sight of a lived-in home that screamed family.

The living room spread out in front of us, cozy in that rural, mismatched-furniture kind of way. A two-seater sofa that had seen better years sat angled toward a fat old TV perched on a cabinet with doilies under the flower vases. Next to that, a dinner table already set, plates stacked, silverware shining under the yellow ceiling light. A couple of family photos lined the walls, smiling faces, some Polaroids pinned beside them, and a cross hanging above the door frame. The kind of place you couldn’t fake, it had history in the wood.

Before I could take more in, a figure moved into the scene. She was setting a plate down on the table, bending slightly forward, and that was when my brain hit the brakes.

Her tits. Jesus Christ. I’d seen big, I’d seen heavy, I’d even seen the kind of size that makes you question gravity—but these? These were bigger than my fucking head. Each one. Perfectly round, taut under the thin tank top she wore, nipples pressing faintly against the fabric as if daring anyone not to notice. They dominated her frame, like her body had been built around them. Short brown hair cut to just under her jawline framed a face that was oddly soft, almost cute if you ignored the engineering miracle hanging off her chest. She was shorter than me by a few inches, toned thighs sticking out from tiny hotpants that didn’t leave much to imagination.

Richard didn’t even blink. Just walked past like it was Tuesday. Which meant he knew her. He had to know her. No way he hadn’t noticed those.

“Yes,” the stranger said dryly, glancing up at me as she set the plate down. “My tits are fake.”

I opened my mouth, maybe to deny staring, maybe to apologize—but nothing came out.

“Penelope!” A sharp voice cut through the room. An older woman shuffled in from the hallway, gray hair tied back in a bun, her steps sure even if her body looked worn thin. Her face had lines of both sternness and worry, the kind you get from raising kids while working too many jobs. She wore a simple cardigan over a flower-print dress, apron tied around her waist. Arms crossed, she gave the girl a withering look. “What are you saying!”

Penelope barely flinched, muttering, “Sorry, Ms. Olel,” before ducking back toward the kitchen.

Richard, of course, took charge of introductions like he was the local tour guide. “Ms. Olel,” he said respectfully, then turned to me. “This is my friend Evan. Evan, Ms. Olel—Mendy’s mother.”

Her eyes snapped toward me like a hawk’s, narrowing into immediate suspicion. “Why is this… this ’gaping man’ in our house, Mendy? Get out of here!”

I froze mid-step. “’Gaping man’?”

“It was AI, mother,” Mendy said quickly, her tone clipped, like she’d rehearsed this one. “That woman tricked me. Told me she was in love with him and tried to… play some tricks.”

Richard’s head whipped toward her, voice rising. “Did you make your mother watch that video!”

“Yes,” Mendy shot back without hesitation. “She took my phone and saw it. But anyway, it was fake. I’m glad she actually didn’t see you… that way.”

If only she knew.

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