The chandeliers above the guest hall had barely stopped swaying when Elma slid herself off the banquet table, breath heavy, lips swollen. Her pulse was still racing, a reminder of what just happened between her and Calista. The CEO's wife stood across from her, fixing the neckline of her gown, cold eyes trying to erase the red flush across her cheeks.
"You say one word of this," Calista hissed, her tone sharp as broken glass, "and I'll have Nitron carve your tongue out."
Elma smirked, tugging her skirt back into place. "Funny. You didn't sound so threatening when you were moaning into my mouth."
For a moment, Calista's hand twitched like she might slap her. Instead, she turned, pacing toward the tall glass doors that overlooked the glowing city below. "You don't understand what you've done," she muttered. "Nitron is not a man you can toy with. Not even I dare—" She stopped herself, lips pressed tight.
Elma crossed the room, her heels clicking like little daggers against the marble. "And yet here you are, risking it all for me. You think I don't notice the way you look at me when he isn't watching? You want me, Calista. Admit it."
The silence stretched. Calista's reflection in the glass looked like another woman entirely—hungry, guilty, alive.
Then a shadow flickered in the hallway outside. Voices. Male. Guards? No. Rivals. The kind Nitron liked to throw into the fire pit to see if Elma could dance around the flames.
Calista stiffened, panic rising in her chest. "We can't be seen together," she whispered, her voice sharp but trembling.
Elma's grin widened. "Relax. Let me handle this."
The doors slammed open. Two men in tailored suits stepped in, their eyes glinting with something not entirely human. One's smile stretched too wide, showing teeth sharp enough to cut glass. The other's pupils flickered silver like coins under water. Rivals—hungry ones.
"Ladies," the silver-eyed one drawled, his gaze crawling over Elma's body before flicking toward Calista. "Looks like we arrived at a… delicate moment."
Calista's nails dug into her palm. Elma stepped forward, hips swaying like she owned the room. "You're late. Nitron said I'd be warming up his guests, not babysitting them."
The toothy one chuckled, low and guttural. "Is that what he told you? Or did he forget to mention we don't play by house rules?"
Elma tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "Then you'll learn the hard way."
The air shifted. A surge of power—demonic, sharp—rolled off the rivals. Calista's breath caught in her throat, realizing just how dangerous these men were. Elma only smirked wider, heat still simmering in her veins from the hall's secret encounter.
Her thighs were still damp, her body still pulsing for another climax, but now the hunger twisted with something darker: the thrill of combat, of proving herself, of daring these bastards to make her break.
"Careful," she purred, rolling her shoulders back as she summoned her aura. Her eyes burned with a red glow that made the chandeliers flicker. "I bite harder than I fuck."
Calista's lips parted, stunned by how easily Elma shifted from lover to predator. The rivals grinned, their power swelling. The room became a powder keg—sex, danger, and bloodlust tangled into one unbearable heat.
For the first time, Calista understood why Nitron both relied on and feared the half-demon waitress. Elma wasn't just temptation. She was chaos, wrapped in silk and fire.
And chaos was about to explode.