Downstairs, Phei poured the wine.
Red. Dark. Sothing obscenely expensive from lissa’s private rack—he didn’t glance at the label, didn’t need to.
He filled the glass with the sa casual authority he used to fill anything else that needed filling: steady hand, no spill, the deep crimson rising slow and thick like blood in a vein, swirling lazily against the crystal before settling with a soft, viscous shimr.
Water for himself. Straight. No ice.
Cold enough to bite the back of his throat like frost.
He carried both glasses to the floor-to-ceiling window where Cassiopeia stood—her back still to him, midnight silk clinging to every lethal curve like it had been poured molten over her skin insteadof sewn.
The city lights danced generously and lovingly across the fabric in dark, liquid ripples, turning her ass into sothing sculpted from shadow and sin: full, high, the kind of heart-shaped perfection that begged to be spread, slapped, bitten.
The dip of her waist was a cruel invitation, the flare of her hips a silent command to drop to your knees and worship.
He extended the wine glass to his side without turning his head.
Not rudeness.
Deliberate invitation: stand beside , look at what I see, share the view instead of staring each other down.
She took it.
Her fingers brushed his—deliberate, lingering, nails grazing the inside of his wrist just long enough to send a low, electric current straight to his body that made him nearly shiver, making his cock thicken and twitch against the seam of his trousers.
Because honestly... despite what she was here to do to him... the woman was freaking hot!
Then she pulled away, slow, letting the contact stretch like warm honey before it snapped.
He felt her eyes on the side of his face—steady, predatory, cataloguing every micro-expression, every flicker of pulse at his throat, the way his jaw flexed once when her perfu hit him: dark and alluring and the faint tallic tang of old power.
Phei didn’t turn.
He looked out at the city.
Downtown Paradise sprawled ninety-eight floors below—a glittering sprawl of light and geotry, towers like upthrust cocks, streets like veins pulsing gold.
The Hell River sliced through it all, black mirror reflecting the skyline upside-down, trembling, obscene in its perfection, as if the city itself were fucking its own reflection.
"Beautiful, isn’t it," he said. Not a question.
Cassiopeia didn’t answer right away.
Her gaze stayed glued to his face.
"The most beautiful I’ve ever seen," she murmured—and the words ca out raw.
Too honest. Too unguarded.
Her voice slipped its leash for a heartbeat, landing sowhere younger, softer, surprised by its own truth.
She caught herself. Blinked. Dragged her eyes down to the city.
Took a slow sip of wine.
Her lips stained alluringly darker, glistening like fresh blood.
"Paradise," Phei said, rolling the na on his tongue like he was tasting her instead. "You would argue it’s the most beautiful place on Earth. And you’d be right."
Cassiopeia nodded once, slow. "After all, it’s where the real rulers live. The ones who pull strings the world never sees. The ones whose nas never dirty Forbes or the Financial Tis—because visibility defeats the purpose."
She swirled the wine as she watched it catch firelight on glass, the liquid clinging to the bowl in thick, lazy legs.
In this peace, she looked so beautiful and attractive at the sa ti vulnerable at so point although she hid it. Or maybe it was just Phei seeing it all.
In any other setting he would’ve felt more drawn to her than he was already... if his soul wasn’t on line here.
"The rest of the world thinks they understand wealth. Power. How things really work. But Paradise isn’t what it seems. Its existence itself a secret. The Legacy families aren’t what outsiders imagine—old money, philanthropy, generational trust funds. The world doesn’t see..." She paused, voice dropping to velvet smoke. "...what’s underneath."
Phei nodded. "That’s the beauty of it. Ignorance keeps you safe. The less you know, the longer you live. A bliss indeed as the saying goes."
The words landed light. Conversational. But they carried the weight of soone who’d paid in blood, bruises, and nine years of having his na beaten out of his mouth until only silence remained.
Cassiopeia turned fully to him now.
"Then why did you do it?" Her voice was still velvet, but the steel underneath pressed closer to the skin. "Why clear the penthouse tonight? Do you see as a threat, Phei?"
He chuckled—low, warm, unbothered.
Turned to face her. Let her see his eyes: calm, amused, the eyes of a boy who wasn’t intimidated by a woman in midnight silk who could kill with a rune or a glance—or by wrapping those long legs around his waist and riding him until he forgot his own na.
"Why would I see you as a threat?" he said easily. "You’re family."
He took a sip of water. Held her gaze over the rim, letting her watch the slow roll of his throat.
"I just figured you didn’t fly across half the world for polite small talk and hugs. You ca because you want sothing from . And whatever that sothing is—" He shrugged one shoulder, casual, cocky. "—I figured you’d feel freer to ask for it without fourteen witnesses watching every move."
He set his glass on the wide window ledge. Folded his arms across his chest. Smiled—slow, playful, edged.
"So. You’ve got days with , Aunt Cassiopeia. No rush. No pressure. Whatever you need... I’m right here."
She studied him. The calculation in her eyes was almost audible—gears shing, variables shifting, the quiet algebra of a woman deciding whether the boy in front of her was deliciously naive or quietly lethal.
He leaned in just a fraction. Dropped his voice to that low, intimate rasp that always made won’s thighs clench and their cunts flutter on nothing.
"Also... I have to admit. I wanted to know what my second-favourite aunt wanted from bad enough to show up unannounced." His smile turned filthy-warm. "And a few days felt like long enough to unravel you... explore you to every inch either with my hand, or mouth and tongue or just my cock or maybe all three... figure out exactly how much of that silk I’m gonna have to peel off before you tell the truth—or before you’re too busy screaming my na to speak."
They both laughed.
Hers—low, surprised, genuine despite the predator beneath it. The laugh of a woman who kept finding the prey more entertaining than anticipated.
His—easy, warm, the laugh of a boy who’d just said sothing filthy and ant every fucking word.
Eira—still frozen in aftershocks, still reeling from Maya’s impossible stare—chuckled faintly from whatever shadowed corner she’d retreated to.
And she understood exactly what he was doing.
Phei wasn’t disarming Cassiopeia with power displays. Not with Void-Ice. Not with those so much stats he had which were now x3 what he once had before awakening. Not with the system that let him shatter worlds.
He was disarming her with flirtation.
Hiding behind the mask of what he appeared to be: a horny, cock-led teenager who couldn’t look past the hot aunt who’d brazenly grabbed his dick in front of the entire family an hour ago.
A boy whose brain short-circuited at the sight of full tits in silk, long legs that promised to wrap around anything that moved, and an ass that jiggled just right when she walked.
Predictable.
Controllable.
Seducible.
The ’days’ he’d just handed her—"take your ti, no rush"—were bait. Designed to make her lower her guard.
To convince her she had space to maneuver, space to plot, space to wait for the perfect mont when he was balls-deep, hips rolling slow and deep, her cunt stretched thin and creamy around every veined inch, clit throbbing against his pubic bone, squirting in helpless arcs while she sobbed his na—then draw the rune, bind his soul, claim him while he was still panting, leaking thick ropes inside her, too blissed-out to notice the trap closing.
He knew the ga.
And he was already three moves ahead.
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