Caught in the Cat's Web

Chapter 18

"What are you doing?" Miguel sighs, finding Felicia pacing around the living room in the early hours of the morning.

"Thinking." She sternly replies, her brows knit together as she mumbles to herself.

He sighs and enters the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. He already knows there's no chance of them going back to sleep. After fixing his cup, he settles down in the arm chair, watching Felicia, his head moving as if he were watching a tennis match.

"Alright, what's going on." Miguel's free hand reaches out to grab her arm, pulling her to sit on his lap.

Felicia huffs in frustration, "I'm trying to figure out who's stealing the tech. At first I thought we had been infiltrated by someone who didn't have powers, but we would have sensed that. So, it has to be a Spider-Person. Unless... It's Margo Kess. We can't sense anything about her, she's a projection. It would make sense, but what's her motive-"

Miguel pulls her closer, "You're spiraling." He whispers, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Felicia looks at him with eyes full of sorrow. "In New York, I could easily pin which villain committed a crime or did the heist, but this... There are thousands- maybe millions of us. It's going to get more dangerous, I can't just sleep comfortably at night knowing they'll make their next move at any moment."

"I know," he sighs. "I'll tell you what," Miguel rubs his hand up and down her arm. "Let's have a lazy morning. Then you get changed into something special, there's an event in New York tonight you'll like."

Felicia narrows her eyes at him. "What event?"

"You'll see." He smirks.

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Their destination remained a mystery, right up until Miguel swung them to a smooth stop across from the grand entrance of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The towering stone columns and sprawling steps gleamed under the city lights. Felicia raised an intrigued eyebrow, her lips curving into a smile as she noticed the banners promoting a small charity event inside.

Miguel offered his arm, and together they strolled through the museum's grand halls, the rhythmic click of Felicia's heels echoing on the polished marble floors. He wore a sleek black suit, perfectly tailored to his muscular frame, and she, draped in her favorite black dress, looked effortlessly stunning. Heads turned as they passed, but neither of them noticed, lost in their own world.

As they moved through the exhibits, Felicia's eyes gleamed, a spark of joy lighting her face. Her love for art came alive in these moments. She pointed out paintings, sculptures, and tapestries, sharing little-known stories and fascinating bits of history with a passion that left him captivated. He listened, but more than the art itself, he was mesmerized by her—by the way her face lit up with every piece she described, her voice soft but animated, as though the weight of the world had slipped off her shoulders.

For the first time in a long while, she wasn't burdened by their complicated lives or the ever-present threat of another attack. Here, among priceless works of art, she was free. And Miguel? He didn't care about the paintings—at least not in the way she did. His focus remained on her, soaking in the way she looked tonight. He silently vowed that he'd do whatever it took to keep her in this state of happiness.

They paused in front of a particularly striking painting of a woman—rich, dark hues layered with golden accents, the brushstrokes alive with movement. Miguel squinted at it, something about it felt oddly familiar, pulling at the corners of his memory.

"Why does this one look so famili-" He broke off mid-sentence, his eyes catching the word "Reproduction" on the small brass plaque below the frame. He blinked, and the pieces snapped together in his mind. He turned to Felicia, whose lips were now caught between her teeth, a guilty look in her eyes as she avoided his gaze.