Emma Frost

Sharon R18 chapter is released on patr*on.

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May 1944 – Las Vegas

The bar smelled like cigar smoke, gun oil, and ambition. It wasn't the kind of place a Frost should've been caught dead in—but there she was.

Emma Grace Frost.

Eighteen, porcelain-skinned and fire-eyed, in heels too sharp and a dress too dark for the company she kept. She sat alone at the back of a smoky club, dressed in white satin that clung to her like guilt. A girl with a woman's eyes—tired, guarded, and old beyond her years.

She was 18. Just old enough to run from her father's suffocating empire, but too young to realize what kind of trap she was walking into. She was about to sell her soul to Vinny Lavecchia—a mid-tier mobster who saw her as a tool. He didn't know she was more than just a runaway telepath. She was the daughter of Winston Frost the owner of Frost Industries. And he'd never get the chance.

The man she was supposed to meet—Vinny Lavecchia—was late.

She was going to become the mistress of Vinny Lavecchia, a Mafia boss based in Las Vegas, Nevada. Aware of her mutant abilities, Lavecchia used her telepathy in order to advance his career, eventually becoming the youngest boss in Nevada - with a significant influence around the Las Vegas strip.

But that was supposed to happen according to the X-Men Movies but not in this world. Because I wasn't going to let that happen.

I approached when the moment was right.

I stepped through the doors like I owned the place. Because I did—at least tonight. Money talks, and I'd bought out the front room for a "private gathering."

"Mind if I steal a minute?" I said smoothly, eyes locked with hers, ignoring the mobster entirely.

He scowled, but Emma raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. "And why would I let you?"

I let my smile flash—not arrogant, just enough charm to hook.

"Because I am someone who sees what you are. Not just a pretty face," I said, pulling out the chair. "But a mutant. Like me."

"You've felt it, haven't you?" I continued, voice smooth as silk. "Thoughts that aren't yours. Sensations you can't explain. The pressure. The noise. Like the world's talking behind your back—inside your head."

Her mask didn't crack—but her heartbeat spiked. I heard it.

I didn't need telepathy to read her.

I had instincts, observation, and a growing arsenal of copied skills—including psychological warfare, charisma, seduction, and behavioral analysis.

Her eyes narrowed, and I felt it—like pressure behind my eyes. She tried to peek.

But I was ready.

[System: Personal Mind Manipulation – Active.]

I made my surface thoughts like the static sounds of a radio on loop.

Her brow furrowed. She leaned back slightly, like something just pushed back against her. A flicker of doubt crossed her eyes.

"What the…?"

"You won't get in," I said calmly. "You're not the only one with gifts."

She stared at me, now truly interested. The suspicion faded just a little, replaced with curiosity. And fear.

"Who are you?" she asked.

That got her.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Magnus Brooks," I said. "A person with powers just like you but a rich one and... someone offering you a way out."

I stood slowly, removed my coat, and loosened my shirt just enough to show the corded muscle underneath.

Then I moved.

I caught the table and lifted the steel base of the table off the ground—one-handed.

Her eyes widened slightly. No more fear but recognition.

" You were going to become his mistress. A mafia boss but do you think Lavecchia will protect and support you because he likes you?" I asked. "He doesn't want you. He wants a tool. A telepath. And what better than a young beautiful lady like you."

"And you don't?" she whispered.

"I want a partner. And I am leagues better for the choice of a lover than a mafia boss. And I want someone who can stand beside me—and stand tall. Someone who could walk into a room full of monsters and not only survive but make her own stand. Not a tool to use and discard"

I knelt slightly beside her chair, lowered my voice.

"Come with me. I'm not just a man with a fortune and power. I'm someone who can give you something Lavecchia can't—power, safety, and revenge."

She hesitated.

"…Revenge?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

"On your father. On the ones who threw you away."

[Copy Active]

[Subject: Emma Frost]

[Abilities Detected: Mutant Gene (Unstable – Latent Telepathy)]

[Skills Detected: Seduction (Lvl 8), Manipulation (Lvl 7), Observation (Lvl 6), High Society Etiquette (Lvl 5).....etc]

[Abilities ETA: 6 months]

[Skills Copied]

[Skills Copied: Social Engineering, Lip Reading, Body Language, Mind Games, Upper-Class Mannerisms.....etc]

"You said you're a mutant," she said finally. "What else can you do?"

I smiled.

"Stick with me, Emma. And you'll find out I can do just about anything."

I extended a card. Gilded edge. Clean serif font.

Magnus Brooks

Strategic Advisor – Stark Industries

"…or you can walk away now, and talk with someone who sees what you are. Not a pretty face. Not a rebellious girl. But a force of nature waiting to be sharpened."

She didn't take the card right away.

But her eyes never left mine.

"There's more about what I want to tell you. But not here. The walls have ears."

She looked at the table one last time… and then stood.

"Alright, Mr. Brooks. Let's see where this goes."

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