Shock rippled through the room. Servants gasped. Even through their drug-induced haze, the five husbands looked stunned.
"What?" Kieran managed to grit out, though his voice ca rough and strained.
Adrian’s golden eyes widened behind his glasses. "You can’t be serious."
The original Empress Celeste had never invited any of them to her chambers. Not once in three years of marriage. She’d known they wouldn’t co willingly, and honestly, she hadn’t wanted them either. Her chambers had been her sanctuary—a place to hide from their cold rejection, to cry into expensive pillows, to drink herself numb.
But Heena? She operated on a completely different level.
There was a saying she’d learned across multiple worlds: *If you want to win a man’s heart, go through his stomach. But if you want to ta him? Break him properly first.*
And breaking n? That was Heena’s specialty.
"Move them," she commanded again, ignoring their protests. "Before the drug peaks and they start humping the furniture."
That got the guards moving. They grabbed Lucian first—the general was still on the floor, unable to stand on his jelly legs. He tried to fight, cursing viciously, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. Two guards hauled him up, practically dragging him.
Kieran tried to walk on his own, pride demanding it. He made it three steps before stumbling. His face burned with humiliation as guards caught him.
Adrian was led away still protesting weakly. "This is... inappropriate... you can’t..."
"I’m the Empress," Heena reminded him sweetly. "I can do whatever I want."
Raphael went quietly, too dazed to resist, violet eyes unfocused. The holy priest was already halfway gone, the drug eating through his legendary self-control.
Damien was the last, and even through the haze, he watched Heena with wary fascination. "What are you planning?" he managed to ask, voice thick.
Heena just smiled. "You’ll see."
Her chambers were in the west wing—massive, luxurious, with silk curtains and a bed big enough for six people. The original Celeste had chosen it hoping her husbands might visit. They never did. The bed had been cold and empty for three years.
Tonight would be different.
The guards deposited all five n inside, then quickly retreated, closing the doors behind them. Smart. Nobody wanted to witness whatever was about to happen.
Heena entered last, locking the door with a soft click.
The five n were scattered across her room—Lucian collapsed on the plush carpet, Kieran leaning heavily against a wall, Adrian sitting on the floor with his head in his hands, Raphael curled up on a chair, and Damien sprawled across a couch. All of them flushed, sweating, breathing hard. The drug was hitting its peak.
...
A golden shimr appeared near the ceiling—System 427 materializing in his lion form, invisible to everyone except Heena. He looked at her, then at the five n sprawled across the room in various states of drug-induced desperation, and slowly shook his head.
*Poor bastards.*
There was a reason Heena earned the title "Black Lotus." And it wasn’t so cute nickna—it was a warning.
Every world she’d completed, she didn’t do it by playing the pitiful heroine begging for scraps of male attention. No. She broke the story completely. Shattered it. By the end, those arrogant male leads were on their knees, begging at her feet, desperate for even a glance. She forced them to complete the story—literally dragged them through plot points while they were broken, obsessed sses.
That’s why the Bureau only sent her to the most insane, difficult worlds. The ones where hosts died within days. The ones where male leads were psychotic, where plots collapsed, where success seed impossible. Heena didn’t just survive those worlds—she conquered them so thoroughly that the male leads beca her devoted slaves.
And these five idiots had dared to poison her on day one. Her very first night in this world.
System 427 looked at them again—proud Prince Kieran trembling against the wall, composed Duke Adrian with his head in his hands, battle-hardened General Lucian collapsed on the carpet, holy Priest Raphael whimpering softly, cunning Lord Damien barely conscious on the couch.
*Tch, tch, tch.* The system shook his head in genuine pity.
Even God couldn’t save them now.
Heena stood silently, ignoring the system’s presence completely. She walked across the room toward a massive bookshelf filled with old texts and historical records. Her fingers trailed along the spines until she found one particular volu—"History of the Imperial Chambers."
She pulled it.
A soft click echoed through the room. The entire bookshelf shuddered, then swung inward like a door, revealing darkness beyond. A hidden room. Cold air drifted out, carrying the scent of stone and secrets.
"What..." Adrian’s head lifted slightly, glazed eyes trying to focus. "What is that?"
Heena didn’t answer. She walked to Lucian first—the general was still on the floor, muscles too weak to support him. She grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the opening.
"No—" Lucian tried to fight, tried to pull away, but the drug had stripped his legendary strength. His body responded to her touch with a jolt of heat instead of power. She hauled him through the doorway easily, his boots scraping against marble.
Kieran tried to stand, pride demanding he resist. "Don’t... don’t touch —"
Heena was already walking toward him. The warrior prince attempted to push her away, but his arms felt like lead. She grabbed his collar and pulled. Despite his size, despite his combat training, he couldn’t break free. The drug made him weak, and the original Celeste’s body—trained in martial arts and swordsmanship—was far stronger than anyone expected.
She dragged him into the darkness.
Adrian scrambled backward, panic finally breaking through his logical mind. "Wait, please—"
Too late. Heena’s hand closed around his wrist. He fought, genuinely fought, but she twisted his arm with practiced skill, forcing him forward. His expensive shoes skidded across the floor as she pulled him through the doorway.
Raphael didn’t even try to resist. The priest’s eyes were unfocused, lost sowhere between prayer and delirium. She guided him in almost gently, like leading a sleepwalker.
Damien was last. Even drugged and desperate, the spy master watched her approach with calculating eyes. "Whatever you’re planning," he rasped, "it won’t work."
Heena’s smile was cold. She grabbed him by the throat—not enough to choke, just enough to control—and dragged him toward the hidden room. He clawed at her hand weakly, but she didn’t even flinch.
System 427 watched from above, invisible and silent. He’d seen Heena work before, but it never stopped being terrifying.
She pulled Damien through the doorway. For a mont, she stood at the threshold, looking back at her empty chambers. Moonlight stread through the windows, illuminating the untouched bed, the scattered furniture where five n had collapsed monts ago.
Then she stepped inside and reached for the bookshelf door.
It swung closed with a heavy, final thud.
The chanism clicked. The bookshelf settled back into place perfectly, flush against the wall. No seams. No cracks. No evidence that it had ever moved.
The Empress’s chambers stood empty and pristine, as if nothing had happened at all.
System 427 floated down, examining the bookshelf. Even knowing it was there, he couldn’t see the hidden entrance anymore. The original Celeste had kept many secrets, apparently. And now Heena had five powerful n trapped in a hidden room, drugged, desperate, and completely at her rcy.
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