By afternoon, the morning’s softness had already been swallowed by the louder machinery of Phei’s life.

That was how it always happened around him, but the world did not give Phei long pauses. It gave him moments, then sent chaos with a handwritten invitation.

Lunch was arranged around the long table and while it should have looked like a simple family meal, it did not.

Nothing involving Phei’s women ever looked simple, because beauty, pride, old blood, new bonds, jealousy, affection and food had all been placed around one table and told to behave.

The result was warm, loud, elegant, slightly dangerous and only technically civilized.

Sierra sat near Phei with the soft glow of a woman who belonged there without needing to announce it.

Phei’s gaze drifted over her for a quiet second, lingering on the gentle curve of her neck where the afternoon light kissed her skin, the way her soft lips parted slightly when she laughed, the delicate rise of her breasts beneath the thin fabric of her top.

Maddie leaned back like the table itself had been conquered and was now part of her territory.

Patricia was composed, sharp-eyed, occasionally smiling into her glass like she was collecting evidence against everyone.

His eyes caught the elegant line of Patricia’s throat as she tilted her glass, the soft gleam of her collarbone, the way her blouse sat just tightly enough to hint at the full, warm curves beneath.

A darker thought flickered through him — for one reason what surfaced was the memory of those same breasts pressed against his chest, the quiet, sinful sounds she made when he took his time with her.

He looked away before the heat could rise further.

Valentina carried herself with mature ease. Delilah watched quietly. Victoria sat with glacial beauty, Nastya close enough to her that their silent alliance felt like another chair at the table.

Maya was beside Phei for much of it, silver-soft and luminous, fielding questions with the heroic disaster of a girl whose short answers required border control, her soft, luminous presence beside him was like a quiet torment.

’Gods, how much I want her...’ Luckily for the Young Dragon, he could hold himself, for now.

But as every small movement made the light catch on the pale curve of her shoulder, the delicate swell of her chest, the way her silver hair brushed against her neck, Phei’s fingers flexed once against his thigh, remembering how that same soft body had melted under his hands, how her quiet gasps had filled the air when he took her slowly and yet since then she had never let him touch her.

And then there were the quiet ones.

Elena.

Noor.

Soraya.

Lydia.

Catrina.

They had all been present through the morning’s revelations, they had been through laughter, the shock, the subtle lines of belonging forming between the women.

But until lunch, most of them simply observed.

Not because they had nothing to say.

Because they did not yet feel they fully belonged.

That was the common thread between them, though each woman wore it differently.

Noor sat with her shoulders controlled and her eyes sharp, quieter than her usual tongue would have suggested. Soraya sat near her, soft-faced but alert, following the movements of the room with the faint caution of someone entering a family that already had history, jokes, scars and seating politics.

They had been welcomed, yes, but the table had a rhythm formed before them. A language of glances, teasing, inside insults and old emotional debts.

Entering that kind of circle was not as easy as opening a door.

It was more like stepping into a river and pretending the current was not testing your ankles.

Phei’s gaze moved slowly over Noor and Soraya, lingering on the soft, full curve of Noor’s lips, the elegant line of her neck, the way her blouse sat against the generous swell of her breasts.

A quiet, sinful heat curled low in his stomach at the memory of how those same small breasts had filled his hands, how her soft moans had broken against his mouth when he took her slowly and thoroughly.

Soraya’s softer face held a different kind of allure — the bold flush that still rose to her cheeks, the delicate way her body had trembled the first time he opened her, the quiet, almost unreluctant hunger that had made him want to push deeper.

’Fuck, all I can think about is sex! Is this what I’ve become... a few hours without fucking someone and all I that goes on in mind is who can satisfy me better?’

Lydia, on the other hand, did not look troubled.

She listened, smiled when necessary, ate with elegant care and watched the entire table through lowered lashes as if drawing private lines across a map only she could see. Lydia did not feel much discomfort about belonging, because Lydia had her own designs.

Whatever place she wanted, she would not beg for it. She would identify it, study the walls, learn the locks, and enter when the hour suited her.

’Charming quality.’

Terrible for him now that all he could think about how she’ll fit in his arms and later...

’ahem’

Phei’s eyes caught the soft, knowing curve of Lydia’s mouth, the elegant line of her throat, the way her dress clung just enough to hint at the warm, full body beneath.

How those same lowered lashes would flutter when he takes her slowly, how her soft gasps would turn into quiet, sinful pleas.

Catrina was the one who carried the ache most visibly, though she tried very hard not to.

She sat among them with a faint smile, beautiful and composed, but her fingers kept tightening around her glass. Every laugh seemed to reach her one beat late. Every touch Phei gave another woman seemed to flicker through her eyes before she could hide it.

Not jealousy exactly, resentment but...

’Doubt.’

Catrina had not taken what she thought was the final step with Phei.

Worse, in her own memory, she had failed spectacularly at it.

She had passed out from pleasure, and because the human mind was a dramatic little parasite always looking for ways to torture itself, she had twisted that memory into proof she had not truly crossed the threshold.

Somewhere inside her, she had begun to believe, foolishly and painfully, that the reason these women were all his women was because he had already shared that deepest intimacy with them... sex.

It was not true.

Anyone with eyes could see that.

Delilah had not crossed that line either, and no one questioned her place. Victoria, complicated as she was, still stood close to the family orbit because she was a princess, his cousin, his past, his future problem and perhaps one day something more.

But Catrina did not see herself that way. She did not have familiar blood to lean on, years of history like Sierra; she did not have Maddie’s violent certainty, Patricia’s polished confidence, Valentina’s mature place, Maya’s strange moonlit gravity or Delilah’s silent claim by proximity and blood.

She saw herself as an outsider.

Phei noticed.

For all the chaos going live-wire in him, Phei had a cruelly sharp eye for the small injuries women tried to hide from him. He saw Catrina smiling too carefully, she did not reach for the dish near him even though it was closer to his side and she laughed when the others laughed, but did not lean into the laughter.

His gaze lingered on her longer than the others, taking in the soft flush still lingering on her cheeks, the delicate curve of her neck, the way her blouse sat against the soft swell of her breasts, the faint tremble in her fingers around the glass.

—the memory of how those same soft thighs had shaken around his head, how her tight, virgin pussy had clenched so desperately on his cold tongue.

The thought of finally teaching that same soft body the full shape of him made something dark and patient coil low in his stomach.

So halfway through lunch, while Maddie was in the middle of accusing Maya of having "ancestral fog privilege," and Maya was attempting to explain that fog could not be privileged because fog did not possess civil status, Phei stood.

The table quieted.

Catrina looked up too late.

Phei crossed behind her chair, placed one hand gently on the back of it, and bent down.

"Phei?" she whispered.

He turned her face toward him with two fingers beneath her chin and kissed her in front of everyone.

Not a teasing kiss.

... it was soft enough not to embarrass her beyond repair, but public enough that no doubt could survive it without filing a formal complaint and losing in court.

His mouth moved against hers with soft, claiming pressure, tasting the faint sweetness of her lips, feeling the way her soft body trembled as she melted into it. His free hand rested lightly at the side of her waist, thumb brushing the warm curve just beneath her breast, a private, delicate claim that only she could feel.

When he finally pulled back, her soft lips were slightly parted, glossy, and flushed a deeper pink.

Catrina went still.

When he pulled away, her eyes were wide with lips still parted, cheeks flushed so deeply that even Maddie, professional menace and part-time chaos manufacturer, chose not to ruin the moment immediately.

Look at that, restraint. Nature heals.