Chapter Two-Hundred Twenty-Six: The Dragoness

Chapter 226

The Dragoness

That morning, Jordi and Tristan were having tea at Alice’s Dreams. Jordi wore his black suit, white pressed shirt, black tie, and black zip-up boots. Tristan wore a black double-breasted Italian-cut suit, a white pressed shirt, a black tie, and black wingtip Oxfords. The two men were talking over tea and smoking.

Tristan: “So did Minerva ever tell you about a compound of Ehtytrim called ‘Aetheris-9’?”

He asked as he inhaled a drag. Jordi exhaled smoke and shook his head.

Jordi: “No? This is the first I heard of it.”

Tristan: “Apparently, Fen Huang needs some to settle his debt to The Azure Dragon Pavilion.”

Jordi raised an eyebrow.

Jordi: “That crime syndicate?”

Tristan nodded.

Jordi: “Isn’t he Ivy’s father?”

Tristan sighed and nodded.

Jordi: “Do you want to help him?”

Tristan shook his head.

Tristan: “No, but this compound of Ehtytim piques my interest.”

He sipped his tea.

Jordi: “Why is that?”

He asked curiously.

Tristan: “I can’t say. If I knew, I would tell you. It was mentioned in those papers Trevor found in Narcisse’s mansion.”

He twisted his mouth.

Jordi: “What did it say?”

Tristan: “It was used for Project Ghisyn back in the 1960s and injected into the mother’s fetuses to birth ‘God-Tier Etheressums.’ ”

He replied, setting his cup on his saucer.

Jordi: “Why was that in Narcisse’s mansion?”

Tristan looked away.

Tristan: “I don’t know.”

He said tersely.

Jordi: “Maybe your brother is a result of this. Why else was he locked away until now?”

He suggested. Tristan shook his head.

Tristan: “Narcisse told Deimos that he was, but I know Narcisse wouldn’t divulge that information so willingly.”

He bowed his head. Jordi gazed at him.

Jordi: “So do you think you’re a result of this?”

Tristan put his hand up.

Tristan: “Oh, heavens no, Jordi. I had a normal birth and am not a ‘God-Tier Etheressum.’ ”

He laughed. Jordi gazed at him incredulously and smiled.

Jordi: “...I think you’re right.”

Tristan smiled at Jordi.

Tristan: “So, how are things between you and Ashley?”

Jordi raised his eyebrows.

Jordi: “Good! Very good! We’re getting along great, and I wonder if I should ask them to share a room with me or if they should resume dwelling in the basement apartment I made for them?”

He said, his voice trailing off.

Tristan: “Is that something they asked?”

Jordi shook his head.

Jordi: “No, and I figured it was because they rushed in with Lazaros, and don’t want to jinx what we have.”

Tristan: “Why on Reona would them sharing a room with you ‘jinx’ your relationship?”

He stroked his ponytail. Jordi shrugged.

Jordi: “It won’t, but I have this hunch they aren’t asking me that because they go by experiences over hunches, and their experience with moving in too quickly turned out badly, as seen with both Blair and Lazaros.”

He shifted his eyes. Tristan nodded.

Tristan: “Well…”

He began.

Tristan: “After things went south with Lazaros, they moved in with you.”

Jordi: “Yes, but we weren’t in a relationship at that time. I never planned on it. It just sort of happened.”

He interjected. Tristan smiled a bit.

Tristan: “I think keeping the basement apartment is good if they need space from your grandfather or when you work late.”

Jordi smiled a bit and nodded.

Tristan pulled out his pocket watch and looked at the time.

Tristan: “Anyway, I’d love to chat more, but I have an appointment.”

Jordi nodded.

Jordi: “Did you want me to ask Minerva about that compound?”

Tristan: “It’s worth a shot.”

He smiled.

Tristan: “I’ll take care of the bill. Take care, Jordi. Say hi to Ashley for me.”

He said genially and rose to go to the cashier to pay the tab. I’m going to be tickled to death, Jordi thought and groaned.

~

Tristan was in his office with Lazaros before him. Lazaros wore a purple sequin tuxedo, a top hat, and gold loafers.

Lazaros: “Tristan, I need you to do something for me.”

He held up his book of himself and Ashley on the cover. Lazaros was spoonfeeding Ashley some chicken pot pie with a wide variety of food on the counter. The book was titled “Recipes for Ashley.”

Lazaros: “I want you to buy every book like this, and replace Ashley’s dumb name and fat self with a sticker of a ham sandwich! I bought the stickers of the ham sandwiches!”

He held up a sheet of ham sandwich stickers.

Lazaros: “Then put the books back on the shelves!”

He smiled.

Tristan gawked disbelievingly at him.

Tristan: “You made an appointment with me… for this?!”

Lazaros smiled and nodded.

Lazaros: “Sure did! If anyone can do it, it’s you!”

He beamed.

Tristan: “You’re behaving as Blair would, you know that, right?”

He asked with a twinge of annoyance.

Lazaros: “No, not really. Blair writes essays about how Ashley used him, then went to me, and how Ashley had done the same with Maxx before. Huh, maybe he does have a point, but I wasted MY cookbooks on that fat hambeast!”

He pointed at Tristan. Tristan drew a long, exasperated breath.

Tristan: “No, Lazaros, I am NOT doing that!”

He hissed. Lazaros gaped at him, dumbfounded.

Lazaros: “Why not?! I will pay you!”

He whined and stomped his feet.

Tristan: “Because I don’t want to? It’s a waste of my time. If you don’t want those books on the shelves, contact your literary agent and request that he or she cease publication of your books.”

He said firmly.

Lazaros: “Can’t you do that?!”

He whined. Tristan glared at him.

The door swung open, and Deimos barged in. He wore a Pantera tank top, torn jeans, and cowboy boots.

Tristan: “Deimos, I’m in the midst of an appointment!”

He chided him. Deimos glared at Lazaros.

Deimos: “I know him. It’s over nothing important!”

He huffed.

Lazaros: “Deimos, Tristan won’t remove Ashley’s fat head from MY cookbooks! Every time I see that stupid smile, I am reminded of how they domestic abused me!”

He whined. Tristan gaped at Lazaros. Does he listen to himself?! Tristan wondered. Deimos glared at him.

Deimos: “Listen, fuckhead, stop wasting Tristan’s precious time with this BULLSHIT! You want Ashley off your books?! DO IT YOURSELF!”

He bellowed. Lazaros started sobbing.

Lazaros: “But I can’t! It takes time from preparing meals to feed Madelyn! She likes to eat and dress up! She doesn’t talk about moving in and triggering me!”

He cried.

Tristan: “Lazaros, from now on, how about refraining from showcasing your next partner and focus solely on the master chef himself?”

He said wryly. Lazaros sobbed.

Lazaros: “Why would I be a master chef if I don’t show someone to feed?!”

Deimos bared his teeth and clenched his fists.

Deimos: “You ALWAYS do this bullshit whenever you break off with someone! You whine that you don’t want them on your books anymore and tell your agent to pull your cookbooks from the shelves! So, why don’t you take Tristan’s idea?!”

He snapped.

Lazaros: “I told you why!”

He bawled. Deimos seethed.

Deimos: “Whatever, I don’t give a shit, but you came in here and wasted Tristan’s time with your fuckery-duckery, and I am FUCKING SICK OF IT!”

He roared and lunged at him. He slammed Lazaros on the floor, socking him repeatedly. Tristan heaved an exasperated sigh as Lazaros wailed after each blow. Tristan raked his fingers through his hair. It’s one of these days, he thought.

~

Standing proud against the indigo dusk in Little Tokyo, a multi-tiered Chinese mansion loomed over the courtyard, its crimson pillars and brilliant green-and-gold lacquer work gleaming even under the dimming sky.

A heavy, ornate sign hung above the main entrance, its gilded character—黃—catching what little light remained. Below it, paper lanterns glowed a soft, vibrant scarlet, casting warm pools of light onto the stone courtyard and the dense thickets of bamboo that swayed in the warm breeze.

Spanning the dark waters of the canal was a network of sweeping wooden bridges, painted a deep ceremonial red. Their heavy balustrades framed the path forward, leading the eye toward the shadowed archway beneath the main keep—a threshold that felt less like a simple doorway, and more like the entrance to another world entirely.

Stepping inside was like walking into the belly of an opulent, gilded dragon. The grand hall was a staggering expanse of crimson and gold, vibrating with a heavy, suffocating luxury. Overhead, massive scarlet lanterns dangled from the cavernous ceiling, casting a warm, crimson flush over everything they touched.

An elevated wooden gallery wrapped around the upper perimeter of the room, its intricate black-and-gold railings overlooking the main floor like watching boxes in a theater. Gilded plaques bearing bold, authoritative calligraphy—奋, 莉莉, and 下屬—hung high upon the weathered red doors, serving as stern reminders of who ruled this domain.

Down below, the vast floor was dominated by a colossal woven rug, its center emblazoned with a sprawling, coiled serpent. Towering emerald-green vases stood like silent sentinels at the room's edges. At the same time, a massive, free-standing silkscreen anchored the far wall, bearing a singular, enigmatic character rendered in thick black ink. Tucked in the corners were overflowing jars, scattered treasures, and a brilliant branch of red coral, all pointing to a wealth that was as immense as it was dangerous. A grand staircase swept upward into the shadows, a silent invitation to the secrets kept on the floors above.

Deep in the heart of the estate lay the inner sanctum, a place where the atmosphere grew thick with the scent of aged wood and heavy incense. Flanking the threshold were two colossal, golden dragons carved from stone, their jaws parted in a silent, eternal roar as they guarded the entrance with unblinking ferocity.

Between them, a massive, circular moon gate of lacquered red wood opened into the private chambers beyond. The floor was covered in a plush, blood-red carpet, woven with the twisting, serpentine form of a vibrant green jade dragon that seemed to slither beneath one's feet. Overhead, the ceiling was draped in heavy fabrics of royal purple and gold, absorbing the dim light and muting the sounds of the outside world.

Fen was in the bathroom, leaning back and relaxing in the tub. The air was thick with warmth, the sweet scent of cedar, and steam. At its center lay a deep stone pool, its crystal-clear water rippling softly as gentle heat rose from the depths, catching the golden reflection of the paper lanterns that lined the dark timber deck. Beside the water’s edge, a small wooden tray held a solitary wine bottle with two wine glasses, alongside a neatly rolled stack of fresh towels—a quiet testament to an unspoken hospitality.

Through the massive, retracted shoji doors, the indoor sanctuary bled seamlessly into the warm spring night.

Outside, a manicured garden was bathed in the ethereal pink glow of blooming cherry blossoms, their delicate petals occasionally caught by a stray breeze to dance through the air. A stone pagoda lantern stood like a silent guardian among the mossy rocks and carefully shaped shrubbery, mirroring the warm, flickering illumination of the indoor lamps.

Min stepped into the bathroom and smiled at Fen.

Min: “Need anything, sir?”

Fen sipped on his wine.

Fen: “Nothing at all, Min! Things are coming up Fen! I got Zhaolin off my ass, and I’m going to have the birthday of a lifetime at Miss Peahaven! Life is good!”

He beamed. Min smiled.

Min: “Of course, sir. I’ll be around if you need me.”

He said gently and left.

Fen poked his foot out of the surface of the water and curled his toes. He leaned back on the edge of the top and inhaled sharply. He leaned back and closed his eyes.

He then heard heavy footsteps pound on the flooring. The sound grew closer.

Fen: “You’ve been putting on more weight, Min?”

He asked. He opened his eyes to see Helga in the bathroom, and a scream escaped his mouth.

She grinned inanely at him, spreading her lips to show she had some missing teeth.

Helga: “Well, well, well! What a sight for sore eyes!”

She fanned her face. Fen gasped and clutched onto the edge of the tub.

Fen: “L-Listen, I told Zhaolin how to get Percy to comply! I don’t know how else to get him to budge!”

He stammered. Helga guffawed and began undressing. Fen swallowed hard.

Helga: “Oh, honey, I ain’t here for her! I’m here for you! I wanna have some fun in case ya fuck up! I know what happens to those who cross Lan Longtou!”

She undressed down to a sports bra and briefs. She then ran toward the tub and leaped.

Helga: “CANNONBALL!”

She hollered. She hit the hot tub like a meteor. A massive thwack echoed off the floors as a wall of chlorinated, steaming water erupted upward, completely wiping out the peaceful ambiance. A second later, her head popped through the swirling froth, shaking water from her hair like a golden retriever, while the tub sloshed violently over the edges.

Fen wiped the water from his eyes and gasped when she loomed over him.

Helga: “What, can’t handle all this woman?”

She teased. Fen forced a smile.

Fen: “N-No, nothing like that!”

He stammered. Helga put her beefy arm over him, squeezing him close to her. Fen choked and gasped.

Helga: “What a nice moment! Got any booze besides that wine shit?”

She asked gruffly.

Fen: “I-I don’t think so.”

He said in a small voice.

Helga: “Well, I know just how to lighten the mood!”

Fen laughed meekly.

Helga snaked her arm around his ankles.

Fen: “Wh-What are you doing? Hahahaha…!”

She scribbled her fingers over his soles.

Helga: “Cootchie-cootchie-coo!”

She sang. Fen threw his head back and laughed.

Fen: “AHAHAHAHAHAHA!! AhahahahaAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

He flopped around as he laughed.

Helga: “Who’s a ticklish DILF? You are!”

She cackled.

Fen: “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!! NOHOHOHOHO!”

He laughed and whined.

~

Fabien was driving home from work that evening. He wore green hot pants, white calf socks, and green sneakers. He turned into his driveway and parked his car. He stepped into his house and saw Celeste on the couch, sitting and pouting. She wore a Saraya tank top and Daisy Dukes. Fabien kicked off his shoes, took off his socks, and set his server pouch on the shelf.

Fabien: “Hey, babe, what’s wrong?”

He sat on the couch with her and put his arm over her. She leaned on his chest.

Celeste: “I made a pie for Jax.”

She sighed. Fabien gazed down at her.

Fabien: “He didn’t like it, did he?”

He grimaced.

Celeste: “It’s not that. Your dumb housemate took it for Jackie-babe to step into, and he would lick it off her stinky feet.”

She said glumly. Fabien tried his damndest not to laugh.

Fabien: “Sorry, babe. Maybe make it when he’s on DashDish runs. He doesn’t listen to me or anyone, except maybe Jackie-babe, and even then.”

He twisted his mouth.

He rose to the fridge, grabbed a beer, and sat down beside her. He cracked it open and gulped down some beer. Celeste rubbed his stomach and ran her fingers over the band of his hot pants. She cupped his groin and bit her bottom lip. Fabien curled his toes and threw his head back, moaning. She giggled and tugged his hot pants down. She curled her fingers around his cock and guided it into her mouth. Fabien groaned and moved with a slow, steady rhythm as he fucked her mouth. He groaned with each thrust and inhaled sharply.

He gently placed his hand on her head, and she gripped onto his thighs. She took him deeper into her mouth, and he moved harder and faster into her mouth. She tasted his cock, loved hearing his moans, and smelling his arousal.

With a low grunt, Fabien cummed in her mouth, filling it, and Celeste swallowed it. He groaned again and pulled out, collapsed on the couch. His hot pants fell to his ankles as he panted, his chest heaving.

Fabien turned to her, his hands finding her waist, pulling her flush against him. Celeste met him halfway, her hands sliding up his chest to cup his jaw, drawing his mouth down to hers. It was deep, breathless, and urgent, driven by the sudden, overwhelming realization that they were finally alone, and entirely safe.

Slowly, deliberately, Fabien slipped his hands up her tank top and pulled it over her head. It slid to the floor with a soft thud. She fiddled with her Daisy Dukes and slid them past her hips.

When his hands slid around to the small of her back, pressing her closer, a soft sigh escaped Celeste’s lips. She tangled her fingers in his white hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm.

Fabien lifted her slightly, and Celeste instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her the few steps to his bedroom. They sank into the bed together, a tangle of limbs and desperate, breathless laughter.

He hovered over her, his green eyes fierce with an intensity that made her throat go dry. He traced a line of burning kisses down her jaw, past the sensitive hollow of her throat, to the collarbone, making her shiver with a sudden, sharp ache of anticipation. Celeste arched into his touch, her hands gripping his shoulders, anchoring herself in the storm of sensation.

He reached behind her back and unclipped her bra. He brushed the straps past her shoulders. He tugged at her panties and snapped them against her hips. She pulled them down and tossed them by her bra on the floor.

In the quiet sanctuary of the room, the rest of the world dissolved completely. Every touch was an unspoken confession, every breathless sigh a surrender to an attraction they could no longer deny.

There was no hesitation left between them, only a shared, magnetic pull that grew stronger with every passing second. When his bare chest pressed against her large breasts, the heat of the contact sent a sharp thrill straight down Celeste’s spine. She let out a low breath, her fingers tracing the sharp line of his spine, pulling him down until there was absolutely no space left between them. He eased himself inside of her, thrusting her in a slow, gentle rhythm. Celeste moaned and wrapped her legs around him.

Every movement became an unspoken language. The slide of skin against skin, the rough friction of his jaw against the column of her neck, and the sharp, sudden intake of her breath when his hands found the curve of her waist. He moved over her with a fierce, protective reverence, his weight a comforting, solid reality that grounded her in the rush of sensation.

Fabien: “Celeste…”

He whispered. She didn’t answer with words; she tangled her fingers tightly in his hair and pulled him down into a kiss that tasted of absolute surrender. As they moved together, the boundary of where one ended and the other began seemed to blur entirely. The rhythm was intoxicating—a rising tide of heat and friction that built until the rest of the universe narrowed down to just the sound of their combined breathing, the frantic beat of their hearts, and the overwhelming, electric friction of their bodies tangled in the dark.

Fabien picked up the pace with his thrusts, and when his arousal peaked, it was a quiet, shattering release. Celeste clung to his shoulders, her eyes closing tight as a wave of intense warmth rippled through her, matched by the sudden, heavy shudder of Fabien’s body as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

Afterward, the silence of the room returned, soft and heavy. Fabien shifted his weight but didn't leave her, pulling the twisted quilt up over their damp shoulders. Wrapped in the quiet aftermath, Celeste rested her head against his chest, listening to the slow, steady deceleration of his heartbeat, completely safe in the warmth they had built.

The frantic rush of their heartbeats slowly synchronized, settling into a calm, steady cadence that matched the quiet rhythm of the room.

Fabien shifted onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. In the dim, amber light filtering through the window, Celeste could see the softened contours of his face, the fierce intensity replaced by a profound, relaxed tenderness. He reached out, his thumb gently wiping away a stray lock of hair that had stuck to her damp forehead, his touch as light as a whisper.

Fabien: “You’re quiet.”

He said in a low, gravelly voice. Celeste smiled up at him, her body feeling blissfully heavy, entirely hollowed out in the best possible way. She slid her hand up his chest, her fingertips tracing the smooth line of his collarbone down to the steady thump under his ribs.

Celeste: “I was thinking…”

Fabien: “What about?”

Celeste: “You.”

Fabien let out a short, quiet laugh, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to the tip of her nose. He trailed his hand down the length of her arm, his fingers lightly gripping her wrist, anchoring her to him. He pulled her closer, tucking her head under his chin. Celeste wrapped an arm around his waist, burying her face into the warm crook of his neck, breathing him in.

Fabien: “What about me?”

The room was completely still, suspended in that quiet hour just before the rest of the world began to wake. The steady rise and fall of Fabien’s chest beneath her cheek was the only movement, a comforting anchor in the fading dark.

Celeste stared at the faint pattern of light reflecting on the ceiling, the warmth of his body enveloping her. For months, she had kept her guard up, carefully rationing every look, every word, and every emotion to protect them both. But lying here, stripped of all the secrets and the noise of their lives, the truth felt far too large to keep contained anymore.

She shifted slightly, lifting her head from his chest. He smiled lazily, his arm tightening around her waist to pull her closer.

Fabien: “Yeah?”

Celeste looked at him—really looked at him—noting the familiar curve of his jaw, the quiet strength in his eyes, and the sheer vulnerability he only ever showed to her. The fear that usually accompanied her silence simply evaporated.

Celeste: “Fab?”

She said his name softly.

Fabien: “Hmm?”

Celeste: “I love you.”

The lazy smile on Fabien’s face faded, replaced by an expression of profound, arrested stillness. For a second, he didn't even seem to breathe. His green eyes searched hers, looking for any trace of hesitation, but finding only an absolute, fierce certainty.

A soft, breathless exhale escaped his lips, and the tension in his shoulders completely melted away. He reached up, his hand cupping the side of her face, his thumb gently brushing across her cheek.

Fabien: “Celeste…”

He whispered, his voice thick with an emotion he couldn’t quite hide. He pulled her down to him, closing the small distance between them to press his lips to hers. The kiss wasn’t driven by urgency this time, but by a deep, overwhelming relief.

When he finally pulled back just a fraction, his forehead resting against hers, he spoke into the space between them.

Fabien: “I have loved you for a long while.”

He confessed. Celeste smiled happily. He was hers as much as she was his.

~

Jaxon stood outside on the balcony listening to the sounds of frogs mating. He wore a tiger stripe button-down shirt, black jeans, and black Chelsea boots. He was smoking as he leaned on the railing.

He heard the clacking of heels on the bridge. He turned his head to see Olivia approaching him, still in her bunny girl ensemble.

Jaxon: “What?”

He exhaled.

Olivia: “I wanted to say sorry about what happened in Shin-Yamato with Robin. I was spying on her for Percy.”

She smiled.

Jaxon: “Whatever. It’s done and over with.”

Olivia gazed at him.

Olivia: “I knew Chelsea.”

Jaxon froze, and his heart thundered in his chest. He turned to her and gaped at her.

Olivia: “That’s when I started spying on Robin for Percy… When she and your brother killed her.”

She murmured. Jaxon looked away.

Jaxon: “I’m sorry… She died because of me…”

He said glumly.

Olivia: “No, she didn’t. Your brother and Robin targeted her!”

She said doggedly. Jaxon bowed his head.

Olivia: “I loved her and wanted her to get away from Josh, but she was smitten with Tristan, and this is why I went with Robin!”

She explained.

Olivia: “And she took her from me.”

She embraced herself. Jaxon sighed.

Jaxon: “I’m sorry about that… About all of this.”

He sighed.

Olivia: “Okay, I think I knew deep down she would have never wanted me, but… I wanted her to be happy, and she never got that.”

She said with pain in her eyes.

Jaxon: “I wanted her to be happy, too.”

He sighed, looking up at the stars in the sky, recalling the bonfire they shared.

~

The heavy velvet drapes at the entrance of the jazz bar did more than block the wind; they severed the ties to the outside world entirely, swallowing the city’s harsh rattle and replacing it with the low, rhythmic hum of exclusive indulgence.

Step inside, and the world bled into a singular, intoxicating shade of crimson.

The air was thick with the scent of polished mahogany, expensive bourbon, and the faint, ghostly trace of vintage perfume. Overhead, a constellation of crystal chandeliers cast a warm, amber glow across the room, catching the glint of thousands of pristine glasses lined up like soldiers behind the bar. The light didn’t shine so much as it pooled, reflecting softly off the expansive, curved marble counter that swept through the space like a frozen wave.

Beneath the bar’s edge, a hidden ribbon of scarlet light bathed the plush velvet barstools in a sultry, neon embrace, casting long, dramatic shadows across the patterned carpet.

Further into the room, the atmosphere deepened into intimate mystery. Small, circular tables were scattered across the floor, each anchored by the flickering heartbeat of a solitary candle. In the far corner, cloaked in the rich texture of striped red wallpaper, a grand piano sat in silent, elegant anticipation, its glossy black lid propped open like a secret waiting to be told. It was the kind of room designed for hushed confessions, clandestine deals, and the slow, deliberate passage of time.

A tall, muscular Asian woman with large glasses that sat over her spaced-out eyes sat in the audience. She was a striking figure—well over six feet tall, with broad, sculpted shoulders and thighs that looked capable of snapping timber.

Stepping onto the stage, a Latina woman who exuded calculated elegance and high-stakes mystery, her posture a masterclass in poised confidence.

Her most striking feature was a voluminous mane of deep, emerald-green hair. It cascaded past her shoulders in smooth, stylized waves, with a heavy section sweeping across her face to partially veil her right eye. Her visible left eye was wide and expressive, framed by dramatic black eyeliner with a sharp, stylized wing that stretched down her cheekbone. A subtle beauty mark sits just above her dark, matte plum lips.

She had rich, deep brown skin that contrasted sharply with both the vibrant green of her hair and the bright sparkle of her strapless, floor-length evening gown in a deep shade of plum. The fabric was entirely saturated with a glittering, stardust-like shimmer that caught the light in brilliant pink sparkles. A dramatic thigh-high slit ran up her right leg, revealing a glimpse of the gown's smooth, gold-toned interior lining. On her feet, she wore black pumps.

Long, elegant black opera gloves covered her arms, with a thick gold band resting high on her right forearm. A classic string of white pearls hugged her collarbone, and a single gold snake earring peeped out from beneath her hair.

She began singing in her smooth, slithery voice and locked her gaze on the woman whose eyes were too far apart. The woman smiled dumbly at her.

~

To step into the chamber was to step into a myth born of water, marble, and gold.

The air was heavy and warm, thick with the gentle, rhythmic rush of cascading water and the sweet, resinous scent of burning beeswax. At the heart of the cavernous hall lay a serpentine pool of crystalline, teal-blue water, its surface rippling lazily under a constellation of flickering lights.

Along one side, a grand classical colonnade rose like the spine of an ancient empire. Towering marble pillars, crowned with intricate, gilded capitals, disappeared into the vaulted shadows above. Between them, heavy drapes of blood-red velvet hung in deep, theatrical swags, parting just enough to hint at darker, more private alcoves beyond.

Directly opposite the stone pillars, nature had been violently, beautifully tamed. A massive, rugged rock wall loomed out of the dark, its craggy facets smoothed by twin waterfalls that spilled into the pool below. Candelabras clung perilously to the wet stone, their tiny flames dancing precariously beside the rushing white water, casting a surreal, shimmering glow across the subterranean grotto.

The edge of the pool was lined with a continuous ribbon of opulence. Low, plush white daybeds curved alongside the water's edge, piled high with velvet cushions the color of crushed garnets. Dozens of candles—some nestled inside delicate glass lanterns, others standing tall in heavy brass holders—cast a golden, trembling warmth across the marble floor. The water caught it all, shattering the reflections of gold, red, and fire into a thousand restless pieces. It was a sanctuary built not for rest, but for a profound, decadent escape.

Zhaolin sat on her throne. She held a wine glass with her foot and put it to her lips. The Latina woman stood next to her.

The same tall, Asian woman was in a cage, bloodied and bruised. The tension in the underground arena was thick enough to choke on. At the center of the chamber hung a heavy iron cage, its bars thick and rusted from saltwater.

Woman: “Zhaolin, please! I don’t know how to get what you want! It doesn’t exist! IT DOESN’T EXIST!”

She wailed. Zhaolin glared daggers at her.

Zhaolin: “I am sorry, Emily, but you failed me.”

She lifted her other foot and snapped her toes.

Her muscles tautened as she gripped the upper bars of the cage, her knuckles white, her breathing controlled despite the adrenaline surging through her veins.

Below her, the surface of the massive, illuminated pool began to churn.

The shadows beneath the water were long, sleek, and hungry. A dozen apex predators—tiger sharks and great whites, starved for days—sensed the vibrations of the machinery above. Their dorsal fins sliced through the water in frantic, intersecting arcs.

With a harsh, metallic screech, the winch engaged. The chain rattled, and the cage began its slow, agonizing descent.

Emily didn’t scream. She braced her massive frame against the corners of the enclosure, her eyes locked on the swirling vortex of gray and white below. The water rose to meet her feet, freezing cold, then crept up her calves, thighs, and torso.

The moment the water reached her chest, the first strike came.

A massive tiger shark slammed into the side of the cage with the force of a freight train. The iron groaned. Emily was thrown against the bars, but she shoved the beast’s snout back through the gap with a powerful, desperate kick.

But the cage was fully submerged now, and the frenzy had begun.

The sharks attacked from all angles, their jaws gaping wide, revealing rows of serrated teeth. A massive great white rammed the door of the cage, twisting the latch. The barrier gave way.

Emily fought with the ferocious strength that had defined her life. She delivered a crushing blow to the gills of an oncoming predator, forcing it to veer away, but the sheer volume of water and the relentless onslaught of the pack were insurmountable.

Another shark lunged from her blind spot, its jaws clamping down on her shoulder. The sheer force dragged her backward. As the copper scent of blood filled the water, the remaining predators went blind with madness.

The water turned into a chaotic blur of thrashing fins, white underbellies, and clouding crimson. Emily’s immense strength was swallowed by the pool, her final struggles masked by the violent churning of the foam as the ocean's oldest hunters claimed their prize. Within moments, the water slowed, the thrashing subsided, and only the empty, swaying cage remained in the quiet depths.

Zhaolin: “What a waste. Thank you for luring her to me, Veronica.”

She said flatly. Veronica folded her arms over her bosom.

Veornia: “What if she’s right? What if this doesn’t exist? Fen can’t get it.”

Zhaolin scoffed.

Zhaolin: “Fen said that Percy Pearson knows how to get it and provided an angle… If that doesn’t work, the sharks will have a buffet of him and his diaper-wearing daughter.”

She said coldly. Veronica grimaced.

Veronica: “Diapers… Ew.”

Zhaolin: “I am tempted to, so I never have another offer like that again…”

She rose and flipped her hair.