[Isabella Total: 3,680 SP]

[Current Balance: 373,680 SP ($37,368,000)]

It took time for Isabella to recover, her body spent and her spirit serene. I cleaned her with a tenderness that felt both new and ancient, washing away the evidence of our passion in the penthouse's spacious shower.

The hotel's service was impeccable; after each guest, the suite was not just cleaned, but restocked with a new wardrobe. The clothes were of good quality, though not the bespoke luxury my women should now be accustomed to.

Still, Isabella had no complaints as I dressed her in a simple, elegant dress.

She would, of course, need to bring her new things here from the estate or purchase more to leave at the penthouse, as she'd be visiting my estate often and she would bring things over each time, such a hassle.

The latter option was best—a fresh start, a new collection for this new chapter, for both her and her daughter.

There was only one agenda remaining: meeting Maya.

Yes, Isabella had expressed her desire for me to meet her daughter, to be introduced not as a secret, but as her man.

According to her, Maya was eager to meet me. The mother and daughter shared everything—a fact I'd learned from Isabella's stories, both during our intimate moments and in the quiet aftermath.

Talking about her daughter during sex would have been decidedly weird, but afterward, wrapped in each other, the stories flowed freely.

Now, Maya was retrieving their essentials from the motel, where they'd been staying since they left their home to here, and bringing them here. The least I could do—since I was ravenously hungry, Isabella would be too upon waking, and Maya likely was as well—was to provide a meal.

No, a feast. A celebration to mark this pivotal day: the day I met my woman's daughter, my step-daughter in any meaningful sense of the word. The irony that she was a year older than her potential step-father was not lost on me.

I stood in the penthouse kitchen, adjusting the final silver dome over a spread I'd cooked but I will probably say I ordered from the hotel's five-star restaurant. The marble countertop was a landscape of luxury: lobster thermidor, wagyu beef, delicate desserts.

It was a statement.

I had shifted into a new attire after Isabella fell asleep. The cream-colored knit polo I wore clung to my frame—not tight but fitted enough to trace the powerful outline of my chest and shoulders. At six-foot-three, my physique was a presence that casual clothing could not conceal.

The short sleeves revealed forearms that looked sculpted from marble, and the ribbed texture of the fabric seemed to accentuate every defined muscle. Black, perfectly tailored slacks completed the look—understated yet undeniable.

Through the vast floor-to-ceiling windows behind me, Los Angeles glittered in the late afternoon sun, a kingdom sprawled out fifty-one floors below.

I pulled out my phone and dialed the front desk.

"Celestial Grand, how may I assist?" Crisp. Efficient.

"This is Eros Desiderion, Penthouse 5101. Expecting a visitor—Maya Rodriguez. Escort her directly upon arrival. She's a student. About seventeen and eighteen."

"Certainly, sir. We'll bring her up immediately."

Addendum needed: "Ms. Rodriguez—Isabella—resting. Ensure discretion."

"Understood."

I ended the call. Everything was ready. The stage was set for a girl to meet the man who loved her mother. The impression needed to be perfect: approachable yet formidable; a safe harbor, but one that commanded absolute respect.

I stood at the doorway of the penthouse's master bedroom.

I paused just inside the entrance, leaning against the doorframe. The air was still, heavy with the scent of fresh linen, the faint, lingering perfume of Isabella's arousal from earlier, and the subtle, clean smell of money.

Isabella lay asleep in the center of the California king bed. The sheets were a mess of tangled silk, pulled up loosely around her waist, leaving her upper body exposed.

The soft light from the windows hit her skin like a painter's final brushstroke—illuminating the peaceful curve of her shoulder, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the dark cascade of her hair fanned across the pillow.

Her face was completely relaxed, a stark contrast to the raw passion etched there just hours before. She looked younger, vulnerable, and heartbreakingly beautiful.

My gaze swept across the room, taking in the rest of her sanctuary.

The bed itself was a masterpiece of Italian design, low-slung and immense.

To the right, a sitting area furnished with plush velvet couches in a deep emerald green, facing a minimalist fireplace that currently held only neatly stacked logs, awaiting a fire. Beyond that, a door probably led to the luxurious en-suite bathroom I'd glimpsed earlier.

On the opposite side of the bed stood a vanity table, sleek and modern, and beyond that, a wall of custom-built closets that stretched to the ceiling—Isabella's new wardrobe, already partially filled with the clothes I'd ordered for her, but still cavernous, waiting for the belongings she'd bring from her old life.

The space wasn't just big. It was hers. Every detail, from the neutral palette to the clean lines, spoke of quiet luxury and sophisticated taste. There was no clutter. No personal touches visible yet, but the potential was there.

This wasn't just a place to sleep; it was a fortress, a sanctuary, a throne room for the queen of this penthouse. It was the heart of our new empire, the place where Isabella would recharge, plan, and rule from.

I watched her breathe for a moment longer, the silence deep and comforting even in its emptiness.

The sheer scale of the room, the view, the peace on her face—it all resonated with the significance of the day.

This was more than a home now. It was a statement. A beginning. Isabella's beginning, as the owner of the penthouse. Our beginning, as a family, expanding soon to include Maya.

Oh, Maya, Taboo have mercy on me.

[No, promises, Master.]

Quietly, I pushed off the doorframe and stepped fully into the room. My entrance made no sound on the thick carpet. I approached the bed, my gaze drifting from Isabella's sleeping form to the vast city beyond the windows, then back to the sheer, untouched elegance of the closet.

The space felt alive with possibility, waiting for them to fill it.

Finding her asleep felt like finding a rare gem. The way her chest rose and fell—each breath a quiet testament to exhaustion—stirred something deep in my chest I hadn't acknowledged even with the System's hum in my veins.

This wasn't just my woman resting. This was the heart of the empire I was building-- each one of my women was -- and she looked peaceful in it.

My eyes tracked the light catching on the curve of her cheekbone, the way her dark hair fanned across the pillow like spilled ink.

Even in sleep, she owned this space. The view beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows was a kingdom of twinkling lights.

To the left, a sitting area with velvet settees begged for late-night conversations. A private fireplace sat cold and ready, a silent promise of warmth.

I moved silently across the carpet, the cream polo feeling suddenly too heavy. When I reached the bed, I let my fingers ghost over her hair, not touching, just hovering over the loose silk strands.

She shifted, a soft murmur escaping her lips, and the sheer scale of the room made her look even smaller. Fragile. A vulnerability she never showed me when awake. This half-billion-dollar fortress was her cocoon, the safe place on earth for a woman who'd been running her whole life.

The irony was sharp. One day she was my teacher, now she was here, naked in my bed. Soon I'd meet a girl barely older than me, bound to her by blood--her daughter, my step-daughter.

System or not, this moment felt precariously human. I sat there, watching the lights dance on her skin, feeling weight settle in my chest I hadn't known I was carrying. Whatever came next—meetings with Maya, deals for the hotel, demands from my women—it started here. With her. With this room. With them. My other new family.

But plans never go as planned, do they?

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