"Sarah, wait."

The words left his mouth before his brain fully approved them.

She paused at the elevator threshold, turning back with a polite, questioning expression. "Yes, Mr. Ryujin Tiamat?"

Mr. Ryujin Tiamat. That was going to take some getting used to. Every time someone said it, he felt like he should be looking over his shoulder for his father.

"The receptionist," Phei said. "The one at the front desk. What's her name?"

Sarah's eyebrows rose just slightly. Professional curiosity, maybe. Or maybe she was mentally filing him under "probably going to be one of those residents."

"Calistra," she said. "Calistra Vance."

Calistra.

The name rolled through his mind like honey over gravel. Smooth and rough at the same time. Unusual. Memorable. The kind of name that belonged to someone who made receptionists at luxury towers look like runway models.

"Thank you," he said, keeping his voice casual. Unbothered. Like he asked about random staff members all the time.

Sarah nodded. Then paused, her professional mask slipping just a fraction. Something warmer underneath. Something genuine.

"Mr. Ryujin Tiamat?"

He turned.

Her professional mask slipped just a fraction, showing something warmer underneath. Something genuine.

"That was a good thing you did. With the little girl." A small smile. "Not everyone would've moved that fast."

Before he could respond—before he could deflect with a joke or dismiss it with false modesty—she stepped into the elevator.

The doors slid closed.

Gone.

Phei stood in his massive living room, alone with his thoughts and the glittering view of Downtown Paradise.

Calistra.

He couldn't get her face out of his head. Those cheekbones. Those lips. Those eyes that had looked at him with all the warmth of a bank vault.

She'd been completely immune to him. His Dominance Aura, his Cool Aura, his whole "awakening dragon" energy—none of it had touched her. She'd processed his documents like he was just another rich kid moving into daddy's investment property.

And for some reason, that made him restless.

Not angry. Not frustrated. Just... unsettled. Like an itch he couldn't scratch. A puzzle with a missing piece.

Everyone else had reacted to him although mostly it was minimal but there. The man in the suit had shifted away. The older woman's dog had wagged its tail. The young couple had kept stealing glances.

Even Sarah—professional, composed Sarah—had been affected after he'd saved the kid.

But Calistra?

Nothing.

Why does that bother me so much?

He knew the answer, even if he didn't want to admit it.

It bothered him because he wanted her to notice him. Wanted her to look at him with something other than polished indifference. Wanted to crack that ice exterior and see what was underneath.

And he wasn't sure yet—wasn't certain, couldn't be certain, this was crazy—but he was probably going to make sure she thought about him constantly. Every day. Every time he walked through that lobby.

Until she couldn't look at him without feeling something.

Until she became his.

Not soon. He wasn't an idiot. This would take time. Patience. Strategy.

But eventually?

Eventually.

His pride swelled at the thought. Actual pride—the kind he'd forgotten he was capable of feeling. That had been beaten and mocked and humiliated out of him over ten years of being the Maxton charity case.

But now?

Now he had it back. Had reclaimed it in less than forty-eight hours. From the rooftop to the bounce house to Melissa's library to Brett's public destruction to this—this ridiculous condo with its heated floors and wall of books and view of the entire goddamn city.

His pride was his again.

And it was hungry.

Ahem.

Phei caught himself. Forced the swelling young confidence to calm the fuck down before it got out of hand.

He'd wanted to ask Sarah more about Calistra. Where she lived. How long she'd worked here. What she did after hours. Whether she had a boyfriend, a girlfriend, a complicated situationship with a mysterious stranger.

But that would've been creepy.

Very creepy even.

He had a class to keep now. Not "class" in the educational sense—school could go fuck itself for all he cared at this moment—but class in the reputation sense.

He was Phei Ryujin Tiamat, resident of Floor 98, Unit A in the tallest building in Downtown Paradise. He had an image to maintain. A persona to build.

And that persona should probably not be "the teenage pervert who interrogates staff about hot receptionists."

I'm not a pervert.

The thought came defensively. Automatically.

I'm NOT a pervert, alright?!

He'd just noticed an attractive woman. That was normal. Healthy, even. Completely standard heterosexual male behavior. Nothing perverted about appreciating aesthetic excellence when it was standing right in front of you being professionally dismissive.

Right?

Silence from the empty condo.

RIGHT?

The city lights twinkled mockingly through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"I'm not a pervert," Phei said out loud, to no one, in his empty three-story unit, because apparently he needed to hear himself say it.

The words echoed off the high ceilings and came back sounding unconvincing.

Great. Fantastic. Ten out of ten for self-awareness there, Phei.

He ran a hand through his hair, turning away from the windows. The view was beautiful, but it wasn't going to help him sort out whether he was developing an unhealthy obsession with a woman who'd looked at him like he was a moderately interesting tax form.

Calistra Vance.

I'll figure you out eventually.

But for now...

He looked around his new domain. The impossible TV. The leather furniture. The spiral staircase leading up to floors he still couldn't quite believe were his.

He had rewards to claim. Powers to unlock. A life to rebuild from the ground up.

The receptionist could wait.

His pride—newly reclaimed, still fragile, burning like a small flame in his chest—demanded that he become someone worthy of her attention first.

Then he'd make his move.

Then she'd notice him.

Then she'd be his.

But for now?

Phei cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, and headed for the spiral staircase.

He had a date with a gaming chair and a 55-inch curved monitor.

And some basketball skills that needed downloading.

But first—

He stopped at the base of the staircase.

Silence.

Real, actual, physical silence. The kind that came from walls thick enough to block the apocalypse, from being ninety-eight floors above the noise of mortal concerns, from finally being alone in a space that belonged to him.

Just him.

No Danton bursting in without knocking. No Delilah looking for something to mock. No Melissa's cold stare or Harold's practiced indifference or Sienna's unsettling emptiness.

Just Phei.

In his home.

He walked to the windows. All the way up to the glass. Pressed his palm flat against it, feeling the cool surface, the thin barrier between him and the ninety-eight-floor drop.

Downtown Paradise glittered below him. The Celestine. The Apex. The Obsidian. All below. All looking up at where he stood—whether they knew it or not.

And beyond them, somewhere in the darkness, the Maxton mansion. Where Harold was probably eating dinner and ignoring his wife. Where Danton was probably being a piece of shit to someone. Where his old room sat empty, still probably smelling like piss.

Look at me now.

Look at where I am.

Look at what I have.

Phei smiled.

Not the cold smile. Not the calculating one he'd been practicing. A real smile—the kind that hurt because his face had forgotten how to make it.

The child of shadows had found his lair.

And it was fucking magnificent.

Now. About those rewards...

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