Three weeks later, Asha had mostly recovered from Malvor's birthday.
The glitter, however, had not.
She still found it in her boots. Her bra. The folds of her soul.
November had arrived, dragging Maximus's birthday month behind it like a velvet train soaked in wine and temptation. If Malvor's parties were chaos dipped in cotton candy and set on fire, Maximus's were a slow, seductive descent into indulgence.
She'd been to a few before. They were always the same.
Insanity. Decadence. Opulence. And more sex than a dozen temples could sanctify.
Even after everything she'd been through, even with her past, there were things at Maximus's parties that still made her blush.
The day of his actual birthday, however? That was the pinnacle. Mandatory attendance. Formal debauchery. Gods and mortals alike throwing shame out the nearest gilded window.
It wasn't about celebration. It was about surrender. To excess. To hunger. To power. To pleasure.
Asha arrived dressed like sin dipped in sunlight.
Her outfit was white, barely. A one piece that wrapped around her neck and crossed over her breasts in sharp Xs, lifting her breasts like a divine offering. Round Peaks above and below. White strips curved over her waist in perfect symmetry, sculpting her silhouette before vanishing beneath a skirt so small it was more suggestion than fabric.
It flounced when she walked. Which was unfortunate for anyone trying not to stare.
Thigh high white boots laced with gold gripped her legs like reverence. The heels were six inch stilettos, dangerous, merciless, perfect.
And her skin?
Painted in molten gold. Swirls of red, orange, and yellow danced across her like living flame. She didn't shimmer. She blazed.
Maximus's realm may have been built on indulgence, but when Asha entered, every head turned.
Even the gods shut up.
Malvor had been there for two days. Maybe four. Time was slippery in Maximus's realm, like everything else. Gold drunk hours bled into velvet mornings, and mornings melted into champagne evenings that refused to end.
He was already half bored, half buzzed.
He'd seen a minotaur pole-dancing.
A fae queen start a tequila fueled orgy.
Maximus had challenged Tairochi to a strip duel and lost. Twice.
Malvor had nearly summoned chaos just to stay entertained.
And then—she walked in.
Asha.
Time did not stop. It bent. Curled inward like it knew exactly who the main character was.
Her skin glowed like she had been kissed by fire itself.
There was white. Sharp, holy white. Clinging to curves, flashing bare thigh beneath a traitorous little skirt.
Malvor's mouth actually fell open.
Someone behind him choked on their wine. Someone else whispered, "Is that a goddess of war or seduction?"
And Malvor, God of Chaos, Devourer of Illusions, Collector of Hearts, Forgot how to breathe.
Didn't blink. Couldn't. His hands twitched. His thoughts scattered. All that remained was her.
Asha. Burning. Blazing. Brilliant.
She felt his gaze before she even saw him. Like heat behind glass. Like the silence before a storm that knew it wouldn't miss. Good. Let him squirm. Let him burn.
She didn't look at him. Not even once. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.
And that was the cruelest part, because Malvor knew she had seen him. Felt his eyes on her like a second skin. She walked like a woman who knew exactly what kind of fire she left in her wake.
But she kept walking.
Confident. Languid. Divine.
She greeted Tairochi with a kiss on the cheek. Whispered something that made him smile, an actual rare smile, and kept moving.
Luxor nearly choked on his wine when she passed. The young adult Brigitte applauded her entrance like it was a runway finale. Even Maximus stopped mid-flirt and raised his glass, eyes gleaming with amusement.
Asha smiled at them all. Laughing softly. Flirting like it was a game she'd already won. She touched arms, shoulders, hair, every gesture measured, magnetic, maddening.
She was everything Malvor adored: untouchable, dangerous, radiant. And she wasn't looking at him.
Not out of cruelty. Out of control.
It was seduction in its purest form—A promise withheld. A kingdom offered and denied.
Maximus raised his goblet like a man proposing marriage to himself.
"TO ME!" he roared. "I am not merely a god, I am an experience," Maximus declared, stroking his own thigh while making eye contact with three lovers and one confused centaur.
The room responded with an echo of laughter and applause, some genuine, some just trying to stay in his good graces. Asha clinked her glass with Tairochi's and took a sip. Malvor didn't move.
He couldn't.
He was watching her.
Maximus was still talking. Something about glory, pleasure, power, the miracle of his own existence. Malvor caught a phrase like "paragon of passion" and something about "the art of thighs," but it all blurred into background noise.
Because Asha tilted her head when she laughed.
She did that thing where she pressed two fingers to her full lips before smiling. She leaned just close enough to Luxor that the poor bastard had to physically back away to keep from combusting.
Malvor's fingers curled into the table so hard the crystal cracked under his palm.
Vitaria stood next, elegance embodied, lifting her own goblet with far more restraint. Malvor didn't hear a word. Because Asha twirled a curl of hair around her finger .She was talking to Brigitte now, animated, radiant, alive. His heart did this pathetic little skip thing, like a teenager seeing his crush in math class.
Then came the children. So. Many. Children.
First came Thalia, of course she had to go first, she was older than most civilizations. Then Cassius. Then Lucia. Then Atticus. Then, was that Theodore? Or Titus?
He lost count after the tenth.
Asha, of course, listened attentively. Nodded politely. She even clapped. She clapped. For the children of indulgence like she wasn't the main course tonight.
He could not breathe.
She shifted her weight from one hip to the other and her skirt fluttered, fluttered, just enough to show the curve of flame painted skin. Her thigh gleamed under the light, and Malvor's soul just about vacated his body.
A toast. Another toast. More kids.
He'd slept with at least half of them. Probably. He wasn't proud of that right now.
Because she hadn't looked at him once.
He was wrecked.
Unmade.
Barely functioning.
And she was glorious.
Someone was toasting again.
Was it Maximus? Still?
No, Luxor now. Of course. Golden boy. Literal golden boy.
Malvor squinted at him through the glitter haze. Luxor stood tall, radiant, breathtaking, making some perfectly polished speech about "celebrating divine union" or "the sanctity of indulgence." His voice was silk. His smile gleamed.
Asha tilted her head. Smiled back.
Her dimples.
Malvor didn't even know if she had dimples until now. He wanted to write poetry about them. Or light something on fire.
She laughed at something Luxor said. Touched his forearm lightly. Malvor stopped breathing for three full seconds.
Luxor raised his glass toward her. Toasted her. She raised hers in return, gracious, poised, untouchable. She still hadn't looked at Malvor.
Leyla stood next. A shock to the room. Even Maximus blinked like he wasn't sure she existed outside her own shadows. But there she was, dark and elegant, her voice like cold smoke.
She spoke of mystery. Of darkness. Of pleasure found in surrender.
Asha didn't flinch. She simply listened, respectfully. Even smiled at her. Malvor swore he saw Leyla's lip twitch upward. Just a little. A reaction. From Leyla. He considered flipping a table.
Then Brigitte stood.
Today she looked about twenty. A young, glitter drenched ingénue with lashes for days and a dress that sparkled like stardust had sobbed on it.
She toasted "emotional indulgence." Said something about "healing through reckless joy."
Asha laughed again. Malvor's soul left his body and filed for divine relocation.