The Crimson Courtyard was no longer a sanctuary—it had transformed into a battleground where dominance, lust, and power collided in a storm of raw energy. The air was thick with the scent of incense, blood, and ambition, a heady cocktail that pulsed through the veins of everyone who stepped within its obsidian walls.
Lucien sat on the edge of his obsidian throne in the heart of his private chamber, shirtless, his chiseled abs glistening with a sheen of sweat and blood. A fresh claw mark trailed across his shoulder, a memento from the Panthera Twins—not a wound from battle, but a badge earned in the savage, primal game they had played hours ago. The air still hummed with the aftermath, the walls seeming to pulse with the echoes of their surrender.
"You broke them both," Arinelle purred, kneeling beside him, her violet hair cascading over her bare chest like a silken waterfall. Her voice was a low, sultry melody, laced with admiration. "Even Nysaria… and that one doesn't break."
