10x God-Tier Stealing System: Pumping S-Rank SuperHeroines Daily!-Chapter 39- Two Sisters Hatred

Jenny rolled her eyes, her resentment boiling over, masking the deep-seated jealousy of Thalia’s effortless allure.

Thalia’s face twisted—rage and pain warping into something quieter, more dangerous. A single bead of sweat rolled down her slender neck, disappearing into the dark valley of her cleavage.

"Cut it out, Jenny."

Thalia clenched her fist, feeling too much pain and anger from this woman not even realizing what she had done to her body, to her dignity.

"No," Jenny snapped, her voice shrill. "You don’t get to act wounded. Not you. You’ve always been in front. I spent years watching you shine while I was just ’the other girl’. I tried everything. I dyed my hair, I copied your damn handwriting, I—" She paused, voice cracking, tears welling in her heavily mascaraed eyes. "I starved myself just to get a body like yours... just to look like you."

"...You..." Thalia took a slow step forward, the dominant shift in her posture making her look dangerously alluring. Jenny instinctively moved back, but her heel hit the low ledge behind her. She stiffened, her breath hitching in her tight throat.

"You think I wanted that life?" Thalia said, her voice dangerously soft, trembling with a raw, feminine fragility. "I just liked studying. Was it my fault that my handwriting is good or that I was born like this? I didn’t choose to be good at anything when I was born! I lost my mother the day I was born, you idiot!"

Jenny blinked. She didn’t speak.

"You think you’re the victim? You gave me to that man. Like I was trash. Like handing over my body was some small matter." Thalia’s voice cracked again, her fists clenched at her sides, the memory of rough hands and burning humiliation making her slender frame tremble.

Jenny’s arms dropped. Her plush lips parted slightly, face pale as she noticed Thalia’s clenched fist, her eyes darting around the expansive roof for an opening to run.

"I just... I just wanted you to finally fall," she muttered. "Just once. Just once. A-And Mother also gave her permission for this."

’!’

Thalia stilled, the breath knocked completely out of her lungs.

"...What?"

Her eyes widened—not in shock, but in slow, spreading devastation. She stared at Jenny, blinking like she hadn’t heard right, like her ears had betrayed her.

"You’re lying."

But Jenny didn’t deny it.

That was all it took.

Like a fraying thread pulled from the center, something inside Thalia began to unravel. Her knees weakened slightly, and her gaze lost focus, flickering across the rooftop as though she were trying to wake up from a dream—a nightmare.

’So even she...?’

A memory stabbed through her—of standing at the edge of rooms she was never really allowed in, offering smiles to a woman who never smiled back, working harder, quieter, better, hoping... just hoping one day she’d be called daughter.

But she never was.

Drip... drip...

"Wh...y... sob... why...?" Thalia’s voice hitched, choking against the words she didn’t know how to say. Her hands flew up to clutch her head, nails digging into her scalp as her eyes flooded. "You... idiots... all of you..."

The tears broke loose—wet trails down her flushed cheeks, falling freely now.

Her knees finally buckled as she slumped against the cold metal railing, her breath hitching as grief poured out, raw and unbearable.

She tried wiping them away with her sleeves, but they kept coming. Her delicate shoulders trembled, her chest shaking with every wet, broken sob.

It hurt.

It ached.

Like something inside her was breaking in places that would never heal the same again.

"Don’t act weak with me!" Jenny, finally finding an opening to run, hurled the words. She lunged forward, using both palms to push hard against Thalia’s soft chest—shoving her aside with full force to get away.

Hard.

’!’

’Huh?’

Thalia’s tear-filled eyes widened in sheer terror.

Her weightless body staggered back—two steps—three—

The edge.

One slender hand shot out blindly for something—anything. Rough concrete scraped her soft skin, tearing it.

And then—

Gone.

Silence.

Jenny just ran away, her heels clicking frantically into the distance, leaving the cold, wind-swept roof completely empty, with no one left behind.

"Isn’t it funny, Darithi, how some people expect others to realize their mistake and repent it?" Cruxius murmured, his deep voice carrying a lazy, predatory drawl as he moved through the corridor. He spoke directly to her without even bothering to quicken his pace to search for Thalia, his tailored trousers emphasizing the unhurried, powerful stride of his long legs.

He knew it would be far more profitable if she broke emotionally after talking with her stepsister—Jenny would undoubtedly make sure to spoon-feed her the harsh reality humans always seemed to ignore.

And then he, swooping in as her savior, would get to thoroughly savor her soft, trembling body, molding her broken state to his exact liking before saving her.

"I don’t understand, Master," Darithi inquired. Her form-fitting bodyguard uniform hugged her curves tightly as she glanced around, shifting her weight as if wanting to move faster to search for Thalia. The subtle movement drew the fabric taut across her chest, highlighting the soft swell beneath.

But since her master was composed and completely unhurried, she did the same—just tagging along faithfully beside him.

"Have you ever seen a serial killer begging for forgiveness from the victim’s family after being prosecuted?" Cruxius asked, more amused than anything, his dark eyes glinting.

He knew exactly what Thalia wanted to achieve by talking with Jenny.

It reminded him of a particularly odd human trait: expecting those who hurt them to feel remorse or at least ask for forgiveness.

As if making others regret their misdeeds was some kind of fetish weak people developed—blind to the fact that those who commit such acts are often far stronger, and far more ruthless, than the delicate things they break.

"No. Instead, they enjoy the tears," Darithi answered softly, her plush lips parting as she recalled the typical trait of mass murderers—how they didn’t feel an ounce of regret for their crimes.

Rather, they found a sick pleasure in others’ suffering. She relayed this to Cruxius, her obedient eyes fixed on him, though she still didn’t understand why he was asking her such philosophical questions now.