Calabasa glowed like a jewel cut too sharp to wear. The mansion stretched across the hillside in layers of glass and white stone, gardens sprawling like green fire around it. Inside, chandeliers dripped gold, violins tangled with bass lines, and fountains poured wine instead of water. This was where the richest humans and demons mingled — where power wore gowns instead of claws.
Nitron's hand was at the small of Elma's back, steady, heavy, the kind of touch that meant ownership. He had dressed her in black silk tonight, a gown cut high on one leg, the neckline a threat as much as an invitation. Diamonds circled her throat like a collar.
"You will behave," Nitron murmured without looking at her. His eyes tracked the crowd like a hunter sighting prey. "This is not Master Club. This is my empire made visible."
Elma tilted her head, lips curling. "Behave? I thought I was the entertainment."
"You are what I say you are," he said, voice silk wrapped around steel. "Tonight, you are mine. Only mine."
Her thighs pressed together. Ever since the rival in the booth, her body had been pulsing with a hunger she couldn't quiet. She wanted another climax, another taste, another ruin. But Nitron's grip at her spine said no.
So she smiled, sweet and venomous, and whispered, "Then don't let me out of your sight."
The ballroom glittered with demons in glamour, politicians with secrets on their lips, monsters pretending to sip champagne. Elma played her part — the stunning ornament at Nitron's side, eyes lowered when spoken to, smile sharp enough to cut.
That's when she felt the stare.
Across the room, a woman watched her. Older, breathtaking, her gown crimson silk, her diamonds heavy enough to break a weaker neck. Her hair was black shot with silver, her eyes molten gold, her smile curved like a blade.
The CEO's wife.
She lifted her glass in a mock-toast. Elma's pulse skipped.
Later, when Nitron was distracted in a circle of men talking contracts and bloodlines, Elma slipped away. She shouldn't have. She knew it. But her body was aching, her skin prickling, her hunger louder than her sense.
The wife found her in the garden. Marble statues towered in silence, roses heavy with perfume, the moon turning the fountain water silver.
"You're even prettier up close," the woman said, stepping from shadow, her heels crunching gravel. "Nitron keeps his toys well-polished."
Elma laughed, leaning back against the cold marble of a statue. "Funny. I don't feel like a toy."
"You will."
The wife was in front of her before Elma could move. She pressed a hand to Elma's hip, the other to her throat, not tight, just enough to remind her of Nitron. Then she kissed her — rich perfume, wine, and teeth.
Elma gasped, her hands grabbing at silk, meaning to shove her away. But then the wife's fingers slid down, teasing along her thigh, slipping under the slit of her gown.
"You're insane," Elma hissed, breath trembling.
"No," the woman purred against her neck. "I'm untouchable."
Her hand slid higher, finding Elma's heat, fingers pressing, stroking, teasing until Elma's head tipped back against marble.
[System Alert: Unauthorized Stimulation Detected]
Risk: Public Exposure
Reward Potential: +2 Level if climax reached without discovery.
Elma's body betrayed her. She moaned, soft and sharp, biting her lip to smother the sound. The wife laughed against her skin, sliding down to her knees in crimson silk, diamonds glittering in the moonlight.
Elma's heart slammed. "Don't—someone will—"
"Let them," the wife whispered, and licked her.
Elma's knees buckled. She clutched the statue, nails digging into stone, her breath hitching hard as the woman's tongue teased, circled, pressed harder, faster. Her gown was bunched high, her thighs trembling, her body already too close.
"Fuck—" she gasped, hips jerking despite herself. "Not—here—"
The wife's eyes glowed up at her, smug, merciless. She licked again, harder, faster, until Elma's body shattered around it.
The climax ripped through her, violent and humiliating. White spark-like fluid sprayed across the wife's face, catching the moonlight in glittering arcs. The woman laughed as she licked it from her lips, smug and triumphant.
[System Surge: Public Release Registered]
+2 Levels Gained
**New Trait: Exhibitionist's Edge — Climax in high-risk environments boosts all stats by 10% for 12 hours.]
**Warning: Nitron proximity detected.]
Elma collapsed against the statue, panting, trembling, hating herself for how hard she'd come.
The wife rose gracefully, silk pooling around her, diamonds dripping with stolen light. She kissed Elma once more, smearing her own release across her lips.
"You'll remember me," she whispered. "Every time you look at him."
Voices echoed through the garden. Nitron's. He was close. Elma pulled her gown down, wiped her mouth, forced herself to stand. The wife was already gone, vanished into the shadows like perfume.
Elma staggered back inside, pulse racing, the system still buzzing warnings. She slipped to Nitron's side as if she'd never moved, her smile sweet, her throat raw.
He glanced at her once, his hand returning to her back. He didn't speak. He didn't ask.
And Elma prayed he hadn't noticed — even as her body still shook with the memory.