When she spoke, her voice was steady. Controlled. But there was sothing underneath—sothing that sounded almost like grief.
"Do you know what you’re asking to consider?"
"Yes."
"You’re asking to doubt my family. To hedge against my own blood. To treat family loyalty like a... like a commodity to be traded."
"I’m asking you to survive."
"At what cost?" Brielle’s voice cracked. Just slightly. "If I start thinking like you—if I start treating every relationship as a transaction, every bond as a potential liability—what does that make ? What’s left of when I’ve calculated away everything that matters?"
Paige didn’t answer imdiately.
"The Heavenchilds demand absolute loyalty," Brielle continued. "You’re right about that. They demand we put family first, always, without question. And yes—maybe that’s controlling. Maybe it’s suffocating. Maybe it ans we never get to be fully ourselves."
She stepped closer to her twin.
"But it also ans sothing. It ans we belong to sothing bigger than ourselves. It ans we have a place, a purpose, a people who will claim us when the world tries to tear us down. Is that worth nothing? Is belonging worth nothing?"
Paige’s expression wavered.
"Because I look at you," Brielle said softly, "and I see soone who’s so afraid of being discarded that she’s already discarding herself. You’re so busy preparing for betrayal that you’ve already betrayed everything that makes us us."
"That’s not—"
"If Phei wins and you profit from it, what then? You think the family won’t find out? You think they won’t rember?" Brielle shook her head. "You’re not hedging, Paige. You’re burning bridges and calling it strategy. And when you need those bridges—when you need the family you’ve been betting against—they won’t be there."
The sisters stood in silence.
The corridor felt smaller sohow. Darker. The muffled roar of the stadium felt very far away—like a distant war they were both pretending not to hear.
"Maybe you’re right," Paige finally said. "Maybe I’m being paranoid. Maybe I’m seeing threats that don’t exist."
"Or maybe I’m being naive," Brielle admitted. "Maybe I’m clinging to a family that would sacrifice without blinking."
They looked at each other.
Twins. Sa blood. Sa face. Completely different conclusions drawn from the sa evidence.
"I’m not changing my bet," Paige said quietly.
"I know."
"Are you going to tell anyone?"
Brielle considered the question for a long mont.
"No."
Paige blinked. "Why not?"
"Because you’re my sister, stupid." Brielle’s voice was tired now. Heavy. "And whatever else we disagree on, that still ans sothing to . Even if you’ve decided it shouldn’t an anything to you."
She turned toward the door.
Paused.
"I hope you’re wrong, Paige. I hope Marcus destroys him and your paranoia turns out to be just that. But if you’re right..." She glanced back. "If you’re right and the world shifts like you say it will... don’t forget that I kept your secret. Don’t forget that loyalty flowed both ways, at least once."
She pushed through the door.
The roar of the stadium swallowed her.
Paige stood alone in the corridor.
Her phone felt heavy in her pocket.
For the first ti since she’d placed the bet, she wasn’t sure if she’d made the right call.
But she didn’t cancel it.
So doubts, she’d learned, were worth living with. Others like this one were worth betting your life on.
In the lights ca on.
No dramatic countdown. No theatrical buildup. No pounding bass drop or laser grid or any of the spectacle that had preceded Marcus’s entrance.
Just light.
And then—
200,000 people gasped.
A collective intake of breath that swept through the stadium like a shockwave—like every single person had forgotten how their lungs worked at exactly the sa mont.
Phei walked out of the tunnel.
And the world stopped.
He moved like he wasn’t aware of the caras. Like he didn’t notice the twenty thousand eyes fixed on him. Like the global livestream, the VIP boxes, the weight of an entire community’s expectations were nothing more than background noise—irrelevant static to a creature that had already outgrown the need for applause.
His kit was simple—Academy colors, nothing special, the sa uniform any player would wear.
But on him, it looked different. He looked different.
His hair caught the stadium lights like frozen moonlight, those few icy black strands weaving through it like shadows refusing to fully surrender. His skin seed to glow against the dark accents of his uniform—pale, almost luminous, as though the blue rim-light from the arena had seeped into his pores and decided to stay. And his eyes—
Those athyst eyes swept across the crowd with the casual disinterest of a god surveying mortals who had gathered to witness sothing they couldn’t possibly comprehend—and who would probably still disappoint him.
He wasn’t trying to be intimidating.
He wasn’t trying to be anything.
He just was.
And that was sohow worse. Sohow more devastating than any amount of posturing or showmanship could have been.
Dominance Aura Lv.10 rolled off him in slow, heavy waves—draconic authority pressing down on the arena like gravity turned personal. Every woman in range felt it first: an instinctive pull to submit, to obey, while n wanted to kneel as weight that settled low in the belly... for won, it made their thighs press together without permission, made breaths hitch and pupils dilate.
The student section—girls sixteen to twenty-five—leaned forward as one, eyes glazing, lips parting.
The cheer squad faltered mid-routine—pom-poms dropping, knees buckling slightly. Even the older won in the VIP boxes felt it: a sudden, shaful warmth blooming between their legs, a primal recognition of alpha that bypassed logic entirely.
While Marcus had walked out like a prince expecting worship.
Phei walked out like worship was irrelevant—like the concept of impressing anyone had simply never occurred to him.
The cold radiated off him in waves.
People in the front rows actually shivered as he passed—rubbing their arms, looking around in confusion like soone had cranked the AC to arctic levels—or like their own bodies had just rembered they were prey.
Compelling Gaze activated the instant eyes found him.
Any woman who looked at him felt her thoughts scatter like startled birds—logic evaporating, nothing left but fixation on the figure walking across that court, froze mid-sentence—dark eyes locked on him, chest rising and falling too fast, thighs clenching under the table, cheeks flushed crimson; she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, smirk vanished—replaced by parted lips and shallow breathing, fingers digging into her own thigh like she was trying to anchor herself.
Daddy humd beneath everything for every female aged 16–25—all of them feeling that instinctive recognition of authority, mild wetness blooming without permission, bodies leaning forward before minds caught up.
Nipples hardened under uniforms. Breathing turned shallow. A few girls visibly shivered—not from cold, but from the sudden, overwhelming need to be claid.
Cucklord’s Dominance Lv.2 and Cuckold Awareness Lv.2, Dominance Aura hit every man whose woman was present—Harold feeling sothing wrong he couldn’t na, Harold’s jaw tightening without knowing why, boyfriends throughout the stadium sensing a threat they couldn’t identify, that primal understanding that the thing walking onto that court could take what’s theirs.
A low, uneasy murmur rippled through the male sections—shoulders hunching, eyes darting, hands tightening around girlfriends’ waists like they could physically hold back what was coming.
Cool Aura made every simple action look effortless, magnetic, iconic—the way he walked beca a strut without trying, the way he waved beca graceful, the way he stood beca a pose worth photographing.
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