Later...
Steam still clung to the mirror.
The room smelled like soap and sex and ambition.
Malvor stepped out of the closet shirtless, holding a jacket slung over his shoulder, only to freeze in place like he'd walked into a spell.
"You're not wearing that," he said. Except it wasn't a question. Or a judgment. It was more like awe. Or prayer.
Annie turned slowly from the mirror, adjusting one final cross of fabric with the serene grace of someone who knew the effect she had and wasn't sorry.
The "dress" was an illusion. An art piece. Black fabric that wrapped around her shoulders and breasts in a perfect X, exposing the tantalizing curve of both upper and under cleavage like a celestial offering. The fabric twisted again across her abdomen, leading to a barely-there skirt that made no promises of coverage from behind.
Her lashes were long. Her makeup was soft. Her jewelry? Simple diamond studs. A whisper of elegance in a thunderstorm of temptation. Black pumps. Nothing else.
She signed:Too much?
He stared at her like he was being smited in real time. "I am never letting Maximus see you like this. He will ascend."
She smirked.That's the goal.
He pointed dramatically. "You are not allowed to be the hottest person in his realm. He'll throw a party in your honor and then sulk when you don't seduce him first."
She shrugged one shoulder.
Then we seduce them both.Let them worship me. Then give me power.Then we leave.
Malvor groaned, dragging his hand down his face. "You're going to get me murdered by godly jealousy, and somehow I will thank you for it."
She winked.
He muttered under his breath as he finally pulled on his tailored black button-down and deep wine-colored blazer, the fabric shimmering faintly with chaos enchantments.
"You look like war in heels," he grumbled.
She signed, twirling once:I look like a rune activation.
With a lazy snap of his fingers, the world shimmered—
—and reformed into velvet sin.
They stood at the top of a grand staircase overlooking the heart of Maximus's realm, a nightclub carved into the bones of ancient Rome and rebuilt with divine chaos and premium bottle service.
Golden columns towered above a dance floor made of glowing marble, shifting gently with every bass beat like the floor itself was drunk. Archways wrapped in ivy and silk led to hidden lounges, each one dimly lit and soaked in red and amber light. Fountains bubbled champagne. People lounged on chaises like cats in heat. A harpist and a DJ shared a booth in the corner. It was, in short, exactly what Maximus would build if he had unlimited power and no shame.
Which he did.
The crowd barely glanced up, until they did.
And when they saw her?
The whole damn room paused.
A goddess had arrived. And she wasn't subtle about it.
Annie descended the stairs like temptation incarnate. Every step in her black pumps made the hem of her almost-dress sway, threatening to give away more than it concealed. Her skin glowed under the low, golden lighting, rune pulsing faintly beneath the surface. Her smile? Absent. But unnecessary.
She didn't need to smile.
She was the smile people had after they sinned.
Malvor followed a step behind, eyeing the crowd with narrowed eyes, already regretting every life choice that led him to this moment.
"Do not touch her," he muttered to no one in particular. "Do not look at her. Do not breathe in her direction unless you have a power signature equal to or greater than a minor god."
A server tried to offer him a drink.
Malvor bared his teeth. "That includes you."
The server turned on a heel and vanished into a decorative curtain.
A deep, velvet laugh echoed from above.
"Darling, if I'd known you were bringing her," came the voice, slow and golden, "I would've canceled the rest of the evening and prepared a sacrifice."
Maximus descended from his private balcony like a man born of champagne bubbles and scandal. He wore something that might once have been a toga before it lost a fight with a tailor and turned into a silky open-front robe. Gold chains glimmered at his throat. No shoes. Obnoxiously perfect toes.
He kissed the air on either side of Malvor's face. Malvor did not move.
Then he turned to Annie.
And stared.
"Well well well," he breathed, eyes raking over her outfit with gleeful disbelief. "You brought me a sacrament."
She didn't respond.
Didn't flinch.
Just tilted her head and offered a slow, deliberate smile.
Maximus froze. "She doesn't talk?"
Malvor muttered, "You should try it sometime."
Maximus ignored him. He took Annie's hand, kissed the back of it, and said with all the reverence of a man who had just glimpsed divinity:
"I would write a hymn about you. In wine stains."
From the back of the room, a voice called out, dry and unimpressed:
"You always say that."
Vitaria.
She stepped from a shadowed archway, barefoot and silent as the breeze that follows a storm. Her white silk dress clung to her curves like water, her hair crowned with tiny blooms that pulsed with life.
She looked at Annie.
Not up and down.
Not lasciviously.
Just looked. Measured. Curious.
"She is not here for flattery," Vitaria said softly. "She is here for power."
Annie met her gaze.
Held it.
Then slowly, nodded.
Malvor muttered, "Oh no. They're making eye contact. This is the start of a religion."
Maximus clapped his hands once. "Then let us begin the rite."
Maximus swept an arm toward a private lounge in the back if "lounge" meant a silk-draped coliseum of sensual worship with a sunken velvet floor, flickering golden candles floating midair, and cushions arranged in a pattern that looked suspiciously like a sigil if one were feeling poetic (or slightly tipsy).
"Please," he purred, "let us celebrate this divine convergence with style."
Annie didn't hesitate.
She walked ahead like she owned the space.
Malvor trailed behind, eyes scanning every corner like a man on high alert in a gilded war zone. "You're lucky I love her," he muttered, "or this would be the part where I started knocking over wine goblets and lighting curtains on fire."
"You say that like it's a threat," Maximus replied, throwing himself onto a reclining couch with one leg draped over the side. "But I only get more aroused when things catch fire."
Vitaria entered last, her expression unreadable. She did not sit. She stood behind Annie, placing one hand gently at the base of her neck, cool, grounding. Not possessive. Not commanding. Just there.
"You are sure?" Vitaria asked softly.
Annie nodded.
She signed with steady hands:
I want this.
Maximus sat up straighter. "Gods. She even seduces with fingers."
Malvor glared. "Do not make me curse your ability to climax."
Maximus raised both hands in surrender. "No smiting in the ritual chamber, please. It's bad for ambiance."
Vitaria gently turned Annie to face her, then guided her to kneel on a low, cushioned dais in the center of the room. The silk pooled around her knees like spilled ink. Maximus came to the other side, his usual swagger tempered with something slower, deeper, an indulgent reverence.
She walked like someone who knew she was the main event.
Every step across the velvet floor echoed like a heartbeat, steady and slow. She didn't falter. Didn't glance back. Her silence wasn't a lack of words, it was the loudest thing in the room. Her dress shifted with her movement, catching the candlelight like a promise. The air seemed to lean in.
Annie didn't just own the space.She commanded it.
Vitaria watched her with something unreadable in her gaze. Not approval. Not judgment. Something older. Something like... understanding.
Maximus looked positively feral.
Malvor looked like he wanted to punch both of them and maybe himself, for letting this happen.
And Annie?
She knelt in silk and silence, surrounded by gods and golden light—And for the first time, she felt it settle in her chest:She was not less for surviving.She was more.
She was the hunger after the feast.The silence after the storm.The storm itself, waiting to be unleashed.