Still she could not take more than six inches of him and lately that limit had been increased slightly from her training:

The Void-Ice construct that rested inside her pussy; cold and patient, reshaping what needed time to change, slowly preparing her tight, responsive core to take more of him, to feel every ridge and pulse with an intensity that would eventually shatter that famous composure into something hot, wet, and beautifully honest.

Eventually, she would take more.

Properly and comfortably without hurting her.

And when she did, she would pretend it had always been inevitable.

Phei could already see the look she would wear. Calm. Superior. Deeply fraudulent; the victorious face of a woman accepting a miracle while acting as if the universe had merely corrected a clerical error.

Unfortunately, Cassiopeia’s pride was not the thing pulling at his mood.

Her absence was.

Yesterday, he had called it work.

That had been a reasonable lie since Cassiopeia had duties he’d assigned her and the private knives moving in private shadows; so the distance she kept from him yesterday did not automatically mean avoidance.

Except this did.

Busy had a shape, a rhythm and the messy residue of motion.

Avoidance was cleaner. Too clean; not it left the air arranged behind it, as if every silence had been placed carefully where a natural excuse should have been.

Cassiopeia had stepped back from him.

Deliberately.

And she was in a bad state.

Something had happened.

Something she was hiding.

Phei gave her one day.

That was generous.

His patience had run out.

He looked once more at the bed: Valentina slept like a conquered storm, her lustrous, thoroughly used curves still calling to the dragon in him even in repose. Maddie looked sweet enough to fool someone who had never heard her speak for more than five minutes, but he knew exactly how that playful mouth and those soft, jiggling curves responded when he leaned in and told her how fuckable she looked when she came.

Sierra remained beautifully still, though Phei suspected she was gathering information in her sleep out of pure spite — her elegant form a refined promise of passion he would enjoy drawing out later with low, filthy compliments until she blushed and begged.

Eira’s presence lingered somewhere in the suite, faint and warm, half-watching, half-judging, probably already drafting a complaint about being left as a chaperone while he ran off to deal with yet another emotionally complicated woman.

She would guard them and then she would complain later with the full confidence of someone who considered complaining an art form.

Good.

Phei now had somewhere else to be.

Void-Ice answered before his thought fully sharpened.

Cold threads bloomed over his skin, darker than midnight and smooth as sin, shaping themselves into fitted black trousers. A soft coat followed, sliding over his shoulders in clean, elegant lines, its fabric edged with a faint frost-sheen that made normal tailoring look like something peasants invented to survive weather.

He left it unbuttoned.

No shirt and no apology.

This was not a meeting but rather an intrusion of his slave he had decided was necessary, and he saw no reason to dress like he was attending court.

The mirror caught him for a moment: loose dark hair, bare chest cut by amber light, open coat framing him like trouble had learned how to dress itself.

He looked sinful enough to make a priest reconsider doctrine and expensive enough to make Paradise assume he owned the building.

He wondered if Cassiopeia would blush when she saw him like this; bare-chested and the hungry dragon that was barely leashed and wasn’t satisfied from Valentina, Sierra and Maddie — and how he would use that moment to murmur something low and filthy about how her body was made to be pressed against his, how those perfect breasts and that proud supple ass had been haunting him since yesterday.

A portal opened beside him.

Space split quietly, a vertical wound edged in cold black shimmer with no dramatic screaming from reality. Reality had been trained; around Phei, it opened its mouth only when spoken to and otherwise kept its complaints professional.

He stepped through.

The bedroom disappeared and a new room replaced it.

Cooler air, softer lights, polished walls. Thick carpet and the kind of luxurious silence designed to make suffering look impolite. Expensive world was talented at that; a woman could be breaking behind a door while the room where she was coming apart remained immaculate, scented, and entirely useless.

Rich people had perfected the art of hiding ruin behind good housekeeping.

Phei stood before her room as his portal sealed behind him.

He did not move at first and he just listened.

The construct inside Cassiopeia pulsed faintly through his senses, she was there, awake and still. Too still.

Her body carried strain like wire pulled too tight while her emotions were locked down so hard the lock itself seemed to be cracking.

Phei’s expression cooled...

Cassiopeia could be proud. Difficult. Sharp. Cold. Secretive. Fine. Those were not flaws in his world anymore. They were practically entry requirements. But if she thought she could sit alone behind a locked door and quietly break apart and rot even while he politely respected the furniture, then she had mistaken him for someone with healthier boundaries.

Tragic misunderstanding.

He raised his hand and knocked.

Once.

Softly.

"Cassiopeia."

Her name left his mouth low and calm.

No teasing. No sweetness. No lust.

Only the voice of a man who had given her a day of silence and considered the charity finished.

But the Young Dragon was already crafting the words he would use the moment that door opened; if that didn’t work he’ll use the low, filthy, flirty compliments about how her body was a masterpiece of discipline and desire, how her curves had been made for his hands and his cock, how he would make her blush and admit she missed this, missed him, until that famous ice melted into something hot, wet, and tell him what was wrong with her.

He was not leaving until she remembered exactly who she belonged to.

He waited.