My Taboo Harem! Chapter 427: Unit 70D

The elevator was empty.

Which was rare for Sovereign Tower. Usually there was at least one person inside—so hedge-fund specter or ghoul checking his portfolio on a burner phone, a trophy wife pretending to be on a call, so she didn’t have to acknowledge anyone’s existence, a personal trainer hauling kettlebells to a private session on the upper floors.

The building had over a hundred floors and many countless units, and every single one was occupied by soone who believed their ti was more valuable than yours.

But right now? Empty. Just Phei, the brushed-steel walls reflecting his silhouette, and the faint chanical hum of a machine engineered to move rich people vertically at speeds that would have impressed NASA.

This ti he wasn’t using his private elevator to go to his penthouse after the gym.

He pressed 70.

The button glowed amber. The elevator began its descent from 95 gym floor.

It wasn’t exactly a secret—not among the residents who’d lived here long enough to understand the building’s unspoken economy—that certain units existed for one purpose and one purpose only.

Short-term rentals.

At least ten of them, scattered across the middle floors. Units that didn’t belong to anyone permanently. You could rent them by the hour, by the night, by the week—furnished, cleaned, stocked with whatever you needed, no questions asked, no nas on any register that mattered.

The building’s managent called them "flexible-stay executive suites" or so equally sanitized corporate euphemism that made it sound like they were designed for visiting CEOs who needed a place to review quarterly earnings.

They were not designed for reviewing quarterly earnings.

They were designed for this. For whatever "this" happened to be tonight. For the married Legacy patriarch who needed sowhere to take his mistress that wasn’t a hotel where soone might recognize his Maybach?

For the socialite who needed a location for a party that couldn’t happen at her actual address? For the deals that required a room with no caras and no mory?

For the things that people with obscene money did when they wanted the convenience of their own building and the anonymity of sowhere that technically wasn’t theirs?

Phei didn’t know—or care—what the actual technical na for the arrangent was. So tishare situation? Luxury subletting? High-rise booty-call infrastructure?

He didn’t give a shit.

What he gave a shit about was what was waiting in Unit 70D.

The elevator humd. Floors ticked downward in soft, glowing numbers.

He looked at the keycard in his hand.

Plain white. No markings or na. Just a magnetic strip and a room number written in silver marker on the back—70D—in handwriting that wasn’t his.

He smiled.

Not the predator smile he wore when the system was doing its thing and the Dominance Aura was pressing on soone who deserved to be pressed.

This smile was private. The smile of a man who was about to do sothing he’d been thinking about for longer than he’d ever admit out loud, and the anticipation was sitting in his chest like a warm coal that got hotter with every floor the elevator dropped.

Mother and daughter.

The thought settled into his skull and made itself comfortable.

Because that’s what this was, wasn’t it? That’s what was being assembled, piece by piece, without him having to force a single thing or rushing to ruin everything.

The daughter—chaotic, shaless, the girl who texted you at midnight with no context and no clothes and expected you to keep up. Already his. Already claid. Already broken in the best possible way—the way that made her louder instead of quieter, wilder instead of tar.

And now the mother.

The woman who’d made the daughter. Who’d created that specific, weaponized brand of shalessness from scratch and poured it into her child like filling a mold.

What a sight it would be! Both of them. The matched set. The woman who’d spent years learning exactly what her neglected hot body could do and the girl who’d inherited that quiet hunger and was already putting them to use.

Mother and daughter. Sa hunger. Sa eyes. Sa absolute refusal to be embarrassed about wanting what they wanted.

He was going to have them both.

Not eventually. Not theoretically. Not "if the stars align."

He was going to have them both and they were both going to enjoy it and the only question left was sequencing.

But first—discipline the daughter first before that ti ca!

The elevator slowed. The number on the display ticked to 70. A soft chi. The doors opened onto a corridor he’d never walked before—quieter than the upper floors, the lighting warr, the carpet thicker, a hallway designed to absorb sound because the things that happened behind these doors weren’t ant to be heard by neighbors.

He walked.

70A. 70B. 70C.

70D.

He stopped.

Looked at the keycard one more ti. The silver handwriting. The room number. The plain white plastic that represented a door about to open onto sothing that was going to rearrange the hierarchy of his week.

Placed it against the sensor.

Click.

Green light.

He pushed the door open.

And there she stood.

In the centre of the room. Facing the door. Arms at her sides. She’d been waiting—not sitting, not scrolling her phone, not pretending to be casual. Standing. Waiting.

The way you wait when you’ve made a decision and you want the person walking through the door to see it on your face the second they arrive.

She’d chosen this.

She was here because she wanted to be here.

And she was looking at him with an expression that was equal parts defiance and surrender—the face of a woman who’d spent her whole life being in control and had decided, tonight, to hand the keys to soone else and see what happened.

Phei stepped inside.

The door clicked shut behind him—soft, final.

"Ti to discipline you, bad girl, isn’t it?"

Phei pushed the door shut behind him with a quiet click that sounded louder than it should have in the silent luxury suite.

His pulse hamred in his throat, cock already straining painfully against his zipper.

Fuck... this is my first ti too, the thought flashed through his mind, raw and private. He’d never admit it—not to her, not to anyone.

He was going to be the one who ruined her, not the other way around.

And there she stood in the middle of the room, waiting exactly like the good little maid slut she’d chosen to be for him.