The loophole that had handed him victory was so laughably simple it almost felt like cheating.

Old Phei.

The pathetic ghost of the boy he'd been—the spineless doormat who swallowed every insult, absorbed every humiliation, and thanked the world for the privilege of bleeding quietly.

That reputation had been a ten-year sentence in hell.

Today, for the first time, it had been the perfect disguise.

Everyone who truly knew him—the Legacies, the bullies, the teachers who pitied him in silence—had expected the same broken script: head down, shoulders hunched, voice trembling, backing away while Sierra performed her little theater of destruction.

Sierra most of all.

Phei replayed it frame by frame as he strode toward the cafeteria, the hallway still buzzing in his wake like a hive that had just watched its queen get stung.

The exact second he'd taken that first deliberate stride toward her—long, unhurried, radiating ownership—something behind those ice-blue eyes had glitched. Her entire plan hinged on him retreating, on him giving her the stage, the space, the fear she needed to sell the lie.

Instead, he'd invaded.

Claimed.

Made her world shrink to the heat of his body and the weight of his stare.

Her brain had blue-screened. One heartbeat. Two.

And in that tiny, delicious window, the Dragon had struck.

Dominance Aura at point-blank range—like a tidal wave of raw masculine command crashing over her pristine defenses.

Charm Speech weaving through every word, silk ropes tightening around her thoughts, her pride, her slick, aching core.

Maybe Daddy's had kicked in too—he still wasn't sure of the exact trigger—he wasn't sure if that ability worked exactly to his success as Sierra did not strike him as one with Daddy Issue, but who knew what was covered in that hell bitch queen dominance concrete she built around herself.

—but Sierra was prime age, prime prey, and the system had clearly decided she qualified.

By the time her perfect mind rebooted, it was far too late.

She was already pinned.

Already trembling. Already the one exposed, chest heaving, nipples stabbing through cotton, thighs clenching around the sudden flood of heat between them while the entire school watched their untouchable Hell Queen get masterfully, publicly put in her place.

Outmaneuvered before the first shot was fired.

Defeated by her own certainty that Phei Maxton would never dare.

And then there was the other discovery—the one that still sent dark, hungry satisfaction curling through his gut.

No one had ever handled Sierra Montgomery like that.

Not a single soul.

The Hell Queen of Ashford Elite ruled with charging-dragon energy: cold, cutting, always on top.

Boys approached her already half-kneeling, hearts pounding, cocks leaking, praying for a scrap of her attention. She decided who spoke, who touched, who breathed in her presence.

She was the Domme incarnate—born to it, bred for it, armored in it since the day she first learned her last name opened every door.

The natural order. Undisputed.

Except…

Phei's lips curved into a slow, wicked smirk as he pushed through the crowd, the noise of chatter dipping for a split second as heads turned, eyes widened, whispers erupted.

Except deep down, buried beneath layers of Legacy steel and perfected cruelty, Sierra Montgomery was a submissive waiting to be cracked open.

He'd felt it the instant his fingers closed around her wrist—her pulse leaping, not just from shock, but from recognition.

The moment he'd pulled her flush against him, her body had softened, molded, surrendered in tiny, traitorous increments. When he'd pinned her arms high and ground the thick, ridged heat of his Dragon against her stomach, that soft, helpless moan hadn't been fear.

It had been awakening.

The Hell Queen had a secret, starving little sub caged behind all that ice—one that had never been touched, never acknowledged, probably never even admitted to herself.

And Phei had reached right through the bars and stroked it awake.

He could still feel the echo of her trembling, the way her hips had rolled forward once—just once—seeking more pressure, more dominance, more of the Dragon who'd finally dared to claim what everyone else only worshipped from their knees.

She was going to fight it. Of course she was. Pride like hers didn't bend easily.

But it bent today.

And when it finally broke…

When it finally broke, Sierra Montgomery was going to kneel so beautifully the entire school would feel the earthquake.

He just had to be patient.

Real dragons didn't chase.

They waited.

And when the prey came crawling—wet, desperate, ready to beg—he'd make sure she never wanted to stand again.

He'd be lying through his teeth if he claimed he hadn't been scared shitless.

Every single second of that encounter, a frantic voice in his skull had been howling that this was suicide—louder, more public, more irreversible than the original timeline. That Sierra would twist it, scream louder, rally faster, and bury him so deep even the system couldn't dig him out.

But he'd leaned into the terror. Let it sharpen his edges instead of dulling them. Used her frozen heartbeat of shock, used the treacherous flood of heat between her thighs, and turned her own trap into his coronation.

And now…

Now he was striding away from one of the pivotal moments that had driven nails into his coffin the first time around.

Not just surviving—no, he'd conquered. Taken a guillotine disguised as a hallway prank and forged it into a throne he was already sitting on, crown crooked but undeniable.

The Queen's Conqueror.

That was his new title, carved into the whispers already chasing him down the corridor. Whether he wanted it or not. Whether Sierra wanted it or not.

Sierra Montgomery—one of the Academy Belles, the untouchable pantheon of Ashford princesses that boys jerked off to in secret and never, ever dared speak to in daylight. Daughters of gods in tailored suits, girls who walked like they owned gravity itself.

And he had just publicly dominated her.

Pinned her. Made her freeze to his mercy. Made her tremble and tear up and moan while half the school watched their ice queen melt under the charity boy's hands.

Not even the top-tier boys had ever managed that.

Not the Unholy Trinity with their sculpted bodies and Legacy pedigrees. Not Danton, golden manipulator supreme. Not Marcus—the very boy she'd been willing to ruin lives to impress.

None of them had ever made Sierra Montgomery submit.

Phei had.

And the ripple effects were going to be catastrophic—for them, delicious for him.

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