The party wound down the way expensive things always did—slow, deliberate, like even the wine knew it had to leave a good impression. Guests drifted from salon to hallway, murmuring their promises and threats under chandeliers that didn't care.
Elma was halfway to the balcony again when a voice caught her spine.
"Library."
Nitron didn't raise his tone. He didn't need to. Every nerve in her body answered to that one word.
She followed him through the mansion's veins, past rooms where the walls had ears and the staff had no faces. He didn't look back once, but she felt him, the way the city felt a thunderhead gathering weight.
The west library was cavernous—dark wood, glass cases, a fire that burned like it wanted to witness something. Nitron shut the door and the lock clicked like a sentence.
"On your knees."
Elma arched a brow, a smirk tugging at her lips. "You don't even say hello anymore."
"Don't make me repeat myself."
She obeyed, slow, deliberate, silk pooling around her legs as she knelt on the rug. He stepped close enough that she could smell the smoke of his cologne. His hand gripped her jaw, tilting her face up until her neck strained. His eyes were red, faint, banked like coals.
"You're distracted," he said.
Elma's smile didn't falter. "I'm effective."
"You're effective when I allow it." His thumb pressed harder against her jaw. "Tonight you nearly let them touch her."
Her breath hitched before she could stop it. He heard it. Of course he did.
"Calista," he murmured, like tasting a curse. "Do you think I don't notice the way her eyes linger? The way yours answer?"
Elma swallowed, heat burning her throat. "If you knew everything, you'd already have killed me."
For a flicker of a second, Nitron's mouth curved. Amusement or threat, it didn't matter. He released her jaw, but not the leash—never the leash.
The system chimed in her skull.
[Leash Check: Active]
Loyalty threshold: 63%
Risk: Punishment sequence may trigger.
Nitron stepped back, poured himself a drink, and didn't offer her one. "Prove you're not distracted," he said. He snapped his fingers.
From the shadows, a trembling figure appeared—a lesser rival, one of Thorn's messengers, shoved into the room by Kade. Eyes wide, breath sharp. Barely more than prey dressed in silk.
"Break them," Nitron ordered. "No climax. No games. Just ruin."
The rival flinched, backing toward the shelves. Elma rose smoothly, brushing the rug's fibers off her knees. Her body still throbbed with Calista's kiss, but her role snapped back into place like a blade sliding home.
She stalked the rival slowly, circling like a lioness. Their pleas spilled out, but she didn't hear them. Not with Nitron's eyes burning into her back. She shoved the rival against the case, hand wrapping their throat, nails grazing skin. A twist, a slash—blood welled. Their gasp echoed through the library.
Nitron didn't blink. He just sipped his drink.
When it was over, the rival crumpled to the rug, breathing shallow, ruined but alive. Elma stood above them, chest rising and falling, blood dripping from her nails. She turned, lips curling into a grin that wasn't quite sane.
"Effective enough for you?"
Nitron's smile was thin, cruel. "Better. You're still mine."
The system purred.
[Quest Complete: Display Loyalty]
+2 Levels.
Status: Leash tightens.
Nitron set down his glass. "Go. Clean yourself. Tomorrow, you'll handle House Thorn again."
Dismissed. Like a tool. Like a thing.
But Elma knew what she was. Not a leash. Not a crown. A knife that cut both.
She left the library, body humming with violence, blood drying on her skin. The corridor beyond was empty except for Calista.
The wife stood in the half-light, crimson gown catching the fire glow from the room behind. Her eyes dropped to Elma's hands, then back up. There was no mistaking it—jealousy burned there, sharp and ugly, even as she tried to bury it under ice.
"You always smell like him after he's done with you," Calista said coldly.
Elma smirked, stepping close enough that their skirts brushed. "Funny. I thought I still tasted like you."
Calista's mask cracked—just for a second. Her hand shot out, gripping Elma's wrist, nails digging into her skin. Not passion this time. Possession.
"You'll never belong to me," she hissed, voice shaking with the truth she hated. "Not while he breathes."
Elma leaned in, lips ghosting her ear. "Maybe that's what makes you want me more."
Calista's breath caught, her composure trembling. She released Elma as if burned, turning sharply, gown whispering down the hall.
When Elma reached her chambers, she caught the faintest sound—footsteps too deliberate, too slow. She turned.
Nitron stood at the far end of the corridor, watching. His gaze traced the wrinkles in her gown, the faint smear of crimson on her collarbone.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to. His silence was a blade, and Elma felt it cut deep.
The system pulsed once more.
[Suspicion Level: Rising]
Warning: The Master knows.
Elma smiled anyway, leaning on her doorframe. "Goodnight, Nitron."
He turned away, cloak of power trailing after him. But she could feel it—the leash had never been tighter, and Calista's jealousy had never burned hotter.
The triangle was no longer just desire.
It was war.