The sun was setting over Paradise when Phei finally made it back to Sovereign Tower.

His body still hummed with something he couldn't name—the ghost of Maya's warmth against his side, the echo of her laughter, the lingering scent of her shampoo that had somehow transferred to his uniform. He'd dropped her off at the academy parking lot, watched her climb into a car that was definitely being driven by someone's hired driver, and stood there like an idiot until her taillights disappeared.

Get it together.

He took the private elevator to his floor, stripped out of his uniform the moment the condo door closed behind him, and headed straight for the gym.

The building's fitness center was on the 95th floor—a sprawling space of floor-to-ceiling windows, state-of-the-art equipment, and that particular hush that came from aggressive soundproofing. At this hour, it should have been moderately busy. Paradise's elite liked their evening workouts, their post-dinner cardio sessions, their excuses to wear expensive athleisure in semi-public spaces.

Instead, Phei had it almost entirely to himself.

Three people in the far corner, using the cable machines. Two more on treadmills, earbuds in, pointedly ignoring the world. The entire free weights section? Empty.

He'd noticed this pattern over the past week. The gym clearing out when he arrived. The pool deck emptying. People finding reasons to be elsewhere, their eyes sliding away from him like he was something they didn't want to look at directly.

Dominance Aura.

At first, he'd thought he was imagining it. But no—his presence was actively uncomfortable for people now. The weak-willed felt it as unease, a prickling at the back of their necks, an instinct screaming predator without understanding why. They didn't know what they were responding to. They just knew they wanted to be somewhere else.

Phei loaded the barbell and got to work.

Two hours.

Push. Pull. Legs. Core. The Dragon Rise routine had become second nature now, his body adapting faster than it should have—the system's influence, probably, accelerating gains that would normally take months.

His muscles burned. His lungs ached. Sweat soaked through his shirt and dripped onto the rubber flooring.

It felt good.

It felt like penance, almost. For the afternoon spent lying in the grass instead of training. For the hours lost to silver hair and warm laughter. For the way he'd let his walls down when he knew—knew—that was dangerous.

He pushed harder. Lifted heavier. Punished his body until thought became impossible and only sensation remained.

By the time he finished, the gym was completely empty.

Good.

The rooftop pool was even better.

Open air, heated year-round, surrounded by glass barriers that made you feel like you were swimming in the clouds.

During the day, it was sectioned off—different areas for different floors, because even in luxury, hierarchy mattered. Floors 97 through 100 shared the premium rooftop section.

But at 7 PM on a weekday evening?

Phei had the entire premium section to himself.

He could see other residents in the general area—a couple doing lazy laps, a group of older men clustered near the hot tub—but his section was a ghost town. Empty loungers. Untouched towels.

Just him and the water and the city sprawling beneath him like a circuit board of lights.

He dove in.

The cold hit him like a slap—they kept the temperature brisk up here, none of that bathtub-warm nonsense—and he let the shock of it clear the last of Maya from his head. Stroke after stroke, lap after lap, his body cutting through the water with efficiency that surprised him.

Thirty laps.

His arms should have been screaming. His shoulders should have given out. But the stats were doing their work, transforming him from the skinny charity case who couldn't manage ten push-ups into something harder. Faster. More.

More.

That was the word, wasn't it? The system's promise. More strength. More power. More control. More women. More everything.

Was Maya part of that "more"?

He pushed the thought underwater and held it there until it drowned.

****

The surveillance room was exactly as he'd left it.

Three curved monitors glowing softly in the darkness, feeds cycling through the cameras he'd planted across Paradise. Ashford Academy. The Maxton mansion. Street corners and parking lots and the private spaces of people who thought their secrets were safe.

Phei settled into the chair and let his eyes drift across the screens.

Nothing urgent. Danton in his room, playing video games. Delilah on her phone, probably sexting someone inappropriate. Harold in his study, nursing whiskey, completely oblivious to the fact that his wife was texting her nephew from a hidden phone.

Melissa: Did the staff come? Is the fridge full?

Melissa: I told them to stock everything you like.

Melissa: Call me later if you want. I miss your voice.

Melissa: I miss other things too😏

Phei smiled faintly and didn't respond.

The feeds from the academy showed empty hallways, darkened classrooms, the fire pit lounge where he'd sat with Maya just hours ago. He lingered on that footage longer than necessary, watching the flames flicker in the empty space.

Stop.

He closed the surveillance feeds and headed for the kitchen.

The fridge was obscene.

Not just big—though it was that too, a dual-column monstrosity of brushed steel and smart displays that probably cost more than a car. But the contents.

Melissa had apparently given the staff very specific instructions, because every shelf was organized with military precision.

Fresh fruits in the crisper drawers—berries, grapes, pre-sliced mango. Vegetables he didn't recognize, probably organic, definitely expensive. Containers of prepared meals labeled with dates and heating instructions.

Cheeses that looked like they belonged in a museum. Meats wrapped in paper from butchers who probably had waiting lists.

And yogurt.

An entire shelf of yogurt. Different brands, different flavors, the fancy Greek stuff that came in glass jars instead of plastic.

Phei grabbed one—plain—and a handful of berries, and carried his meager dinner to the living room.

He wasn't much of an eater. Never had been. Years of scrounging for scraps at the Maxton house had trained his stomach to expect little, and even now, with unlimited access to whatever he wanted, he defaulted to quick solutions. Yogurt. Fruit.

Unless Melissa cooked.

Or unless Maya made him burnt cookies and watched with those hopeful eyes while he pretended they weren't terrible.

He paused mid-bite, spoon halfway to his mouth.

Another cook at the academy now.

The thought made him smile—small, private, unexpected. Maya in the cafeteria. Maya at the fire pit. Maya tripping over roots and squeaking when he kissed her cheek and rambling about souffle incidents.

Stop thinking about her.

He couldn't afford this. Couldn't afford softness. The last time he'd let someone in—really let them in, the way Maya was slowly, dangerously doing—it had nearly destroyed him.

Selene~

He finished his yogurt in silence and went to read.

The book was something dry about economic theory—useful for understanding how Paradise's old money maintained their empires, less useful for entertainment. But Phei wasn't reading for pleasure.

He was reading while his body worked.

Planks. Side planks. Leg raises. The light core exercises he'd discovered on Pinterest, the ones you could do while focusing on something else. Multitasking efficiency. Every minute optimized.

This was what Maya had caught him looking at, actually. Not just the model with the gray hair—though that image had been there too—but the fitness pages. The exercise guides. The endless scroll of self-improvement content he consumed like other people consumed entertainment.

She'd seen the gray-haired woman and changed her entire appearance.

She hadn't seen the hundred other things he was desperately trying to become.

7:30 PM.

Phei set down the book, unclenched his core, and headed for the shower.

Quick. Efficient. No lingering.

The water was hot enough to steam the glass, and he let it pound his shoulders for exactly five minutes before cutting it off and stepping out.

The closet was still half-empty—he hadn't accumulated much yet, despite Melissa's shopping sprees—but what was there was quality. He selected without overthinking: dark shorts that fit well, a simple t-shirt in charcoal gray. Designer labels, but quiet ones. Nothing that screamed. Nothing that tried too hard.

He looked at himself in the mirror.

Purple eyes stared back. Sharper features than a week ago. Broader shoulders. The beginning of definition where there had only been bone.

Not bad.

Not model-tier. Not yet. But getting there.

He ran a hand through his still-damp hair, decided it looked better messy, and walked out of the closet just as—

RING.

The condo phone. The actual landline, which he'd never heard ring before.

Phei crossed to the wall unit and lifted the receiver.

"Mr. Ryujin Tiamat?" The receptionist's voice was professionally neutral. "You have a visitor. A Ms. Montgomery?"

His lips curved.

Sierra.

"Send her up."

"Of course, sir."

He hung up and walked to the window, looking out at the city lights spreading beneath him like a conquered kingdom.

She was here. Finally. After days of teasing and denial and making her work for every scrap of attention. After sessions in the music room that left her desperate and aching. After texts that got increasingly unhinged as her need grew beyond her control.

Sierra Montgomery was in his building. In his elevator. Rising toward his floor.

Coming to him.

The way it should be.

He'd told her to come at 9. She was early—eager, probably, unable to wait. He'd instructed the receptionist to call when any woman arrived, to let them up without question. His territory, his rules, his game.

And tonight?

Tonight, Sierra was going to learn exactly what it meant to belong to a dragon.

The elevator chimed in the hallway.

Three soft knocks on the door.

Phei smiled.

"Come in. It's unlocked."

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