"Like this?" Phei asked, mostly to remind everyone he was still present.

"Perfect." Valentina's hands stayed glued to his hips. "Hold it. Good boy. Such exquisite control."

"Isn't that a tad intimate for form correction?" Sierra's voice could have flash-frozen lava.

"Hands-on is the gold standard," Valentina replied, smile glittering. "Professionals insist."

"How terribly convenient."

The rest of the hour unfolded in the same vein: Valentina groping under the flimsy veil of expertise, Sierra radiating homicide, the air so thick with estrogen and aggression you could bottle it and sell it as aphrodisiac warfare.

By the end, Phei's lats were torched, his girlfriend was one wrong word away from felony assault, and his trainer looked like the cat that had not only got the cream but filmed it in 4K.

"Same time tomorrow?" Valentina asked, hand back on his arm, thumb stroking the vein like it was a clit.

"We'll see," Sierra answered for him, voice clipped enough to perform circumcision. "Busy schedule."

"Such a demanding social life." Valentina's gaze stayed locked on Phei. "Don't be a stranger. I miss you when you're gone."

She sauntered off, ass swinging like a metronome set to "fuck you."

Sierra's nails dug into his forearm hard enough to draw blood.

"I hate her."

"You met her when? For one hours ago?"

"I know she wants to ride your cock until your spine snaps. That's sufficient."

"Plenty of women want to ride me until structural failure."

"That's not the boast you think it is." She yanked him around to face her. "Did you see that? The touching? The 'feel your glutes' bollocks? She was one hip thrust away from dry-fucking you in public."

"She was doing her job."

"Her job description does not include motorboating your trapezius."

Phei cupped her face, kissed her hard enough to shut down the rant and reboot her brain into a lower gear.

"You're the one who fucks me in my penthouse," he murmured against her mouth. "You're the one warming my bed. You're the one who came eight times on my cock like a broken fire hydrant."

Sierra exhaled shakily. "For now. By the way it is eleven times, I have come eleven times."

"For now," he conceded, because dishonesty was pointless. They both knew the scoreboard. Knew he was a greedy bastard with a dragon's appetite and a system that rewarded gluttony.

She searched his face, eyes fierce and fragile at once.

"If you decide to fuck her," she said, voice steady despite the tremor underneath, "tell me. I don't want to be blindsided. I don't want to feel like the last idiot in the harem queue."

"You won't be blindsided. And you could never be an idiot."

"Flattery will get you everywhere."

"Truth will get my cock blown in the shower."

She kissed him this time—slower, softer, tasting like apology and ownership in equal measure.

"Shower," she ordered. "Then food. Then you're doing something romantic with me whether you like it or not."

"Romantic?"

"I have a list. It's colour-coded."

Of course it fucking was.

The "list" was less a romantic checklist and more a military-grade occupation plan.

First objective was... rooftop terrace at golden hour. Sierra dragged him outside, positioned him like a mannequin, tilted his chin, adjusted his arm around her waist, made him smile "less serial killer, more boyfriend" until she'd snapped forty-seven identical selfies against the city skyline.

By the end she had one she deemed postable and the rest earmarked for private worship.

Next was a video of them "cooking dinner together." Translation—Phei actually cooking while Sierra perched on the counter in nothing but his shirt and knickers, stealing bites, criticising his knife skills, and offering running commentary like a particularly judgmental Gordon Ramsay with better tits.

Then dancing. She'd curated a playlist titled, without irony, "slow grinding & feelings."

Phei had pretended the rhythm of a shopping trolley with a dodgy wheel, but Sierra just laughed into his neck, guided his hands to the small of her back, and swayed with him until the awkwardness melted into something that felt suspiciously like contentment.

Finally, was the absurdly large soaking tub. Candles. Some overpriced bath bomb that turned the water the colour of watered-down rosé and smelled like a florist had fucked a sweet shop.

Sierra leaned back against his chest, slick skin sliding against his, while he tried not to think about how quickly this had all gone from casual conquest to something that looked a lot like domesticity on steroids.

Through every mortifying, intimate moment she documented it all on her phone—photos, boomerangs, short clips—curating evidence of their little bubble like a scrapbooker possessed.

A few shots made it to the Academy Belles group chat. Phei caught the screen over her shoulder: a flood of screaming caps and heart-eyes from Ashford's reigning princesses.

WHERE ARE YOU BITCH

IS THAT PHEI MAXTON??

DID YOU STRAIGHT-UP KIDNAP HIM

That jawline ended my bloodline sierra montgomery soft-launch era unlocked i'm unwell

"They're losing their minds," Sierra reported, thumbs flying. "I told them we're at some boutique hotel downtown."

"Thank you."

"This place is your fortress, right? Your one corner of the world no one gets to touch." She tipped her head back against his shoulder, water lapping at her collarbones. "I won't give it away. Promise."

He believed her. That was the terrifying part. Whatever skeletons he had rattling in his closet—system, Marks, harem mechanics—she'll guard them like her own if he told her.

The night unravelled slowly after that, more gaming, a film neither of them watched properly, conversations that stretched past midnight. Eventually she curled into his side on the couch, scrolling through the day's photographic haul, narrating each one with affectionate brutality.

"This one's decent. This one you look like you're plotting murder. Here I'm serving cunt and you're merely adequate. This one—fuck, this one's perfect. We look…" She paused. "We look actually in love."

She said it lightly, like commenting on the weather.

Phei studied the photo. Sunset bleeding gold across the terrace. Her back pressed to his chest, his arms locked around her waist, both of them caught mid-laugh. City lights glittering below like scattered diamonds.

They did look in love.

Maybe because, against every cynical instinct, he waw sliding toward it at terminal velocity.

"Sierra."

"Mmm?"

"About what you said last night—"

"I meant it." She didn't look up from her phone, voice steady. "In case you were spiralling. I know it's fast. I know it's insane. But I meant every word."

"I know."

"Is that… alright?"

"It's more than alright."

She finally met his eyes, searching for cracks in the answer.

"I want to give you something," he said, the words forcing their way out before caution could gag them. "Something permanent. But I don't know how to say it without sounding deranged."

"Permanent?"

"A mark. My mark." He exhaled, hunting for language that didn't make him sound like a cult leader. "It's a commitment. A real one. It would mean you're mine—truly mine—and I'm yours. No expiry date. No escape clause."

She went quiet, water cooling around them.

"Like a ring?" she asked eventually.

"Like a tattoo. But deeper. Irreversible."

"Show me."

"I can't show you without doing it."

"Then tell me what it costs me."

He swallowed. "It binds you to me and me to you. Exclusively. You wouldn't—couldn't—crave anyone else the way you crave me now. Not really. Not ever."

She didn't flinch. "I already don't."

"Sierra—"

"I'm serious." She turned fully, water sloshing, knees bracketing his hips. "I waited for years for a boy who treated me like a porcelain trophy—never touched me, never even tried. Years of being perfect and untouched and fucking miserable. Years that I treated a crush and interest as love which it wasn't.

"Then you looked at me—really looked—and you wanted me so badly you took me apart piece by piece until I forgot how to be untouchable." Her voice cracked, but her gaze held. "You made me feel worth like you promised. Made me feel what love feels like. Treated me the way I deserved to. So if your mark means I'm yours forever, then mark me. I want to belong to you. All of me."

Christ.

She meant it. Every luminous word. She was handing him her future on a platter and daring him to take it.

"Tomorrow," he said, throat raw. "I'll explain everything— and if you still want it—"

"I will."

"Let me explain first."

"Fine." She leaned in, kissed him slow and deliberate, sealing the promise. "Tomorrow. But Phei?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm not changing my mind."

Looking at her—fierce, half-naked, water beading on her skin like liquid diamonds, offering him eternity without a tremor of doubt—Phei believed her completely.

And for the first time since the system had cracked open his life and started rewriting the rules, something shifted.

This wasn't just conquest.

This wasn't just another dragon hoarding shiny things.

This was a girl choosing him—knowing exactly how dangerous he was becoming and the fact that they're chances of him having so many of them—and yet she was asking to be kept anyway.

It felt, terrifyingly, like coming home.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.