Chapter Five

A deafening silence overcame the audience, and except for the hum of the camera still rolling and thus broadcasting her words live and without any filter to the rest of the world. The reporters gaped and her 'bodyguard' heroes froze, speechless.

She paid no mind to it, rolled her eyes even, as she continued.

"I will not defend Rovanoff. He has done fucked up shit, but tell me, where did you find evidence of him torturing me, or brainwashing our child? He may be a villain to the world, me included, but to our daughter he had been nothing but an amazing dad. I am certain, if my daughter asked for the moon, he would find a way to pull it out of the sky for her. He is cruel, sadistic, even an outright psychopath perhaps, but he leaves all of that in his office when he leaves for the day."

"I am not even speaking as his wife. I speak as the Head of Management of the Villains' Association when I say that unless you have earned his ire, he will treat you with utmost respect. Perhaps those who died at his hands deserve it—what will we know?"

Before she could speak any further, a hand appeared in front of her, blocking her from the view. A moment later, her mic disconnected.

Her bodyguards ushered her backstage, and she relented easily, understanding belatedly that she had overstepped.

From behind her, the Leader of the Hero Committee started his speech, and the few sentences she heard had her blood boiling again.

She has been with that villain for over a decade. It is clear that despite how much she protests, she has been brainwashed. She is also his wife and she will have her bias. We will assure her recovery and provide her with the essential psychologist help required.

Instead of taking her back to the room she was shown to when she was first escorted here, they took her to the cells this time.

It was expected—she had said more than she wanted to, needed to. She accepted her fate graciously, entering the cell without any argument.

One of her so-called bodyguards sneered at her.

"Well, aren't you one dedicated little plaything?" he crooned, "Here we were trying to help, and you went and dug your own grave."

Morrigan scoffed, turning away from the guy and instead examined the cell she was thrown into. For someone associated with such a high-level criminal, they left her pretty free—a decent sized cell, with a decent bed and a working bathroom.

She might even pass as privileged.

Suddenly, realisation dawned upon her.

Of course, they will treat her like that. No matter how much they puff up their chests, the Hero Committee at its core, are weak cowards. If they treated her badly, and then her husband got the word, he will destroy their entire institution as revenge.

And the heroes will fall like a pack of cards when faced even half of the Villain Association's might.

-----

A knock sounds on the door.

The door opens and a man in black greets the one standing by the floor-length window, a cup of steaming coffee held up to his face.

The man by the window does not return the greeting. He does not speak at all.

Instead, he looks out of the window, and sips his coffee in serene peace.

The man wearing black does not speak either, after his greeting. He puts down the file he carries on the office desk, a firm hit on its surface to emphasise its presence.

He leaves, door clicking shut.

The man by the window allows his lips to pull into a half smile, a half mad grin.

He puts the coffee down and picks up the file.

Flips it open and laughs out loud, somewhat maniac, exuding an air of achievement.

He flings the folder back on the desk, picks up his coffee and returns to the window.

A man in black enters her cell sometime before dawn. She had been nodding off, halfway between sleep and wakefulness.

When the man enters, he does so with courtesy, quietly and politely.

She shakes herself into awareness and stares quietly at the man. He does not speak and neither does she. They hold each other's eyes, refusing to back down first.

After what feels like hours the man shakes his head minutely, and shuts the door to her cell, walking to the chair by the door and taking a seat. He seems unbothered in a way that barely any of the heroes she encountered before were.

She does not let it frazzle her. She is Morrigan Rosa-Rovanoff. Not much can frazzle her. Not even a hero who seems capable of the name bestowed upon him.

Instead she stares at him, continues even when he arches a questioning brow.

Finally the hero gives, sighs as he rubs his forehead.

"Morrigan Rovanoff." He says, voice professional edging indifference.

"Rosa." She counters back. "Morrigan Rosa."

The hero arches his brow yet again and Morrigan easily ignores it. The hero doesn't seem too bothered at that.

"Morrigan Rosa then." The man agrees. "You let yourself be caught."

Morrigan huffs. Turns out not all heroes are clueless.

"What gave it away?" She asks.

"Your presence here," The hero returns, something like mirth dancing in his eyes. "Daughter of Rosa, wife of Rovanoff. If you did not seek it, no matter how talented we are, you would remain out of our reach."

She huffs again, amusement clear in her tone when she speaks, "Seems not all of you lot are as dumb as I thought."

The hero chuckles. "What will you know?"

Alarm goes off in her head at the tone, at the gaze that meets her eyes.

This one is dangerous. Her instincts scream.

She ignores it, leaning forward in her chair.

"I know more than you can imagine." She returns before she stands, "Can we have this conversation later? I am quite tired."

"Of course, Morrigan Rosa." The hero grins at her, standing himself. "I would not want Viktor Rovanoff to raid us just yet."

With that he leaves and Morrigan is left wondering just why the man had even come in so early, considering just how pointless the last, she glances at the clock outside her cell, the last forty-five minute had been.