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Chapter Text

The Fire Emblem Club was alive with its nightly blend of chaos and allure. Smoky tendrils curled beneath the dim, flickering neon lights, bathing the room in crimson and gold. Music pulsed through the walls, a hypnotic rhythm that matched the sway of the dancers on stage. Men and women sat hunched over tables, cradling their drinks or tossing crumpled bills onto the platform, their eyes glued to the performers.

Eirika moved like silk across the stage, her lithe frame clad in vibrant red and yellow lingerie that shimmered under the lights. Her every motion was calculated—a subtle arch of her back, a turn of her hips, the slow descent of her body against the pole. She was mesmerizing, not because of the sensuality of her movements, but because of the grace she carried with her, a grace that seemed out of place in the sleazy club.

To those watching, she was a goddess on display, untouchable yet tantalizingly close. But to Eirika, it was all a hollow performance, a carefully constructed facade. Behind the sultry glances and teasing smiles, her mind wandered to other things—the rent she was barely scraping together, the brother who depended on her earnings, the dreams she had long buried.

From the shadows, Lyon watched her. He sat at a corner table, far from the raucous crowds, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. His drink sat untouched, condensation pooling around the base of the glass. His hazel eyes followed Eirika’s every move, not with the leering hunger of the other patrons, but with a quiet, almost reverent intensity.

She was beautiful, yes, but that wasn’t what captivated him. It was the sadness she carried beneath her dazzling exterior, the flicker of vulnerability in her eyes when she thought no one was looking. Lyon saw it because he felt it too—a loneliness that gnawed at his soul, an unspoken yearning for something he couldn’t quite name.

“Still staring?” a voice broke through his thoughts.

Lyon turned to see Selena sliding into the seat beside him, her signature smirk in place. She was off-duty tonight, dressed in a sleek black blouse and jeans, but her presence still carried the confidence and allure of Fluorspar, her stage persona. Her blonde hair framed her sharp features, and her piercing gaze seemed to see right through him.

“I wasn’t—” Lyon began, but Selena cut him off with a chuckle.

“Don’t bother denying it,” she said, swirling the drink in her hand. “You’ve been watching her all night. Honestly, it’s kind of sweet. Creepy, but sweet.”

Lyon’s cheeks flushed, and he looked down at his hands. “It’s not like that,” he mumbled. “I… I just think she deserves better than this place.”

Selena raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Better? Sure. But we all deserve better, kid. That’s why we’re here—to make the most of what we’ve got.”

Lyon didn’t respond. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small object wrapped in velvet. Carefully, he unfolded the cloth, revealing a sapphire. The gem caught the light, its deep blue hues shimmering like the night sky.

Selena’s eyes widened slightly. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises,” she said, leaning closer to get a better look. “That’s not some cheap trinket. Where’d you even get something like that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lyon said softly, his gaze fixed on the gem. “I just… I want her to have it. She deserves something beautiful.”

Selena leaned back, crossing her arms as she studied him. “And you think giving her this is the way to show you care?”

Lyon hesitated, then nodded. “I can’t tell her how I feel,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “She wouldn’t understand. She’d think I’m just like everyone else here, only after… after her body. But I’m not. I care about her. I just don’t know how to say it.”

Selena tilted her head, her smirk softening into something almost sympathetic. “You’re a strange one, you know that?” she said. “Most guys here don’t even bother pretending to care. But if you want to give her this, why not just hand it to her yourself?”

“I can’t,” Lyon said quickly, his nervousness returning in full force. “She’d… she’d think it’s weird. She might not even take it. But you… she trusts you, right? You could give it to her for me.”

Selena raised an eyebrow, then picked up the sapphire, turning it over in her hand. It was flawless, catching every bit of light and throwing it back in a dazzling display. “You sure about this?” she asked, her tone skeptical. “What’s stopping me from keeping it for myself?”

Lyon looked up at her, his expression surprisingly firm despite his usual timid demeanor. “Because I trust you,” he said simply. “And because if you don’t, I’ll tell my father.”

Selena’s lips twitched into a grin. “You’re gutsy, I’ll give you that,” she said, pocketing the sapphire. “Fine, I’ll do it. But you owe me one, kid.”

As she stood to leave, she paused and looked back at him, her smirk returning full force. “Oh, and for the record, if I ever end up marrying your father and becoming your stepmother, my first order of business would be getting you out of this club. With a good, long lecture.”

Lyon blinked, his cheeks flushing. “I… I don’t think—”

“Relax, I’m kidding,” Selena said with a wink before sauntering off toward the dressing room.

Lyon watched her go, his heart pounding. He wasn’t sure if he had done the right thing, but a small part of him hoped—prayed—that the sapphire would say what his words couldn’t.

Backstage, the air was thick with the scent of perfume and hairspray, the dressing room a chaotic blend of glittering costumes, makeup palettes, and half-empty champagne glasses. The muffled bassline of the club’s music thrummed through the walls, providing a steady backdrop to the laughter and chatter of the dancers as they prepared for their next routines.

Eirika sat in front of her mirror, reapplying her lipstick with a steady hand. Her reflection stared back at her, a painted mask of confidence that she had perfected over the years. But beneath the carefully drawn lines and shimmering eyeshadow, she couldn’t hide the weariness in her gaze.

As she leaned forward to fix a stray strand of hair, Selena appeared in the doorway, her figure framed by the harsh fluorescent light. “Got a minute?” she asked, her tone casual but carrying an undercurrent of intrigue.

Eirika glanced at her through the mirror and sighed. “If this is about swapping stage slots again, Selena, the answer’s no. I’ve already done two shifts tonight.”

Selena chuckled as she stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “Relax, I’m not here to guilt you into anything. I’m here to deliver something.”

Eirika turned in her chair, curious despite herself. Selena reached into her pocket and pulled out the sapphire, holding it between her fingers like a precious secret. The gem caught the light, its brilliance momentarily casting shimmering blue reflections on the walls.

Eirika’s eyes widened. “What… what is that?” she asked, though she already knew it was far more valuable than anything she had ever seen up close.

“It’s yours,” Selena said simply, stepping forward to place the gem in Eirika’s hand. “A little gift from a certain someone who’s too shy to hand it to you himself.”

Eirika stared at the sapphire, its weight surprising in her palm. “Who… who gave you this?” she asked, though her mind was already putting the pieces together.

“Lyon,” Selena replied, watching Eirika carefully. “You’ve probably noticed him watching you from the corner table. Kid’s got it bad for you.”

Eirika’s heart sank as she closed her fingers around the gem, her expression shifting from surprise to discomfort. “Selena… I can’t accept this.”

“Why not?” Selena leaned against the edge of the table, crossing her arms. “It’s a damn sapphire, Eirika. Do you know how much this thing is worth? You could pawn it and take the month off.”

Eirika shook her head, her grip tightening on the gem. “That’s exactly the problem,” she said, her voice low. “If I take this, it’ll end up in a pawn shop before the week is out.”

Selena frowned, confused. “What are you talking about? You could just keep it.”

Eirika’s lips pressed into a thin line as she looked away, the weight of her secret hanging between them. “It’s complicated,” she said after a moment. “I don’t want him wasting something this valuable on me. It’s better if I don’t take it.”

Selena studied her for a long moment, her usual smirk absent. “This isn’t about you, is it?” she asked quietly. “It’s about Ephraim.”

The mention of her brother’s name sent a chill down Eirika’s spine. She looked back at Selena, her expression guarded. “Don’t,” she warned. “You don’t know anything about him.”

“I know enough,” Selena countered, her tone soft but firm. “Look, I’m not trying to pry, but you don’t have to let him run your life. You’re allowed to want things for yourself, Eirika. You’re allowed to take something just because it makes you happy.”

Eirika laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and hollow. “Happy?” she echoed. “There’s no room for that in my life, Selena. I’ve got responsibilities. I’ve got…” She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

Selena sighed and held out her hand. “Fine,” she said. “If you don’t want it, give it back, and I’ll tell Lyon you refused.”

Eirika hesitated, her fingers tightening around the sapphire. It was beautiful, a rare glimpse of something pure and untarnished in her otherwise bleak existence. For a moment, she wanted to keep it, to tuck it away as a reminder that someone, somewhere, saw her as more than a performer in a club. But then the image of Ephraim’s face flashed in her mind, his sharp words and cruel grip. She couldn’t risk it.

Wordlessly, she moved to place the sapphire back in Selena’s hand, but Selena didn’t take it. Instead, she tilted her head, a teasing but firm look in her eyes. “Oh no,” she said. “I’m not doing your dirty work for you. If you want to break the kid’s heart, you’ve got to do it yourself.”

Eirika froze, her lips parting in surprise. “What?”

“You heard me,” Selena said, pocketing her hands but leaving them empty. “Lyon’s a sweet kid. It’s not my job to shatter his dreams. If you’re so set on refusing, you go tell him.”

“That’s not fair, Selena,” Eirika protested, her voice sharp with panic.

“Life’s not fair,” Selena replied with a shrug. “But he deserves to hear it from you, not me.”

With that, Selena turned and left the room, leaving Eirika alone with the gem still in her hand. She stared at it, the sapphire’s brilliant light mocking her turmoil. She wanted to scream, to cry, to run far away from the mess her life had become. But instead, she swallowed her emotions, the weight of another impossible choice settling on her shoulders. Eirika sat motionless in the dressing room, her hand trembling slightly as she stared at the sapphire. Its radiant blue light seemed to pierce straight through her, exposing the turmoil she worked so hard to bury. The gem felt heavier than it should, a tangible representation of Lyon’s affection and the weight of her own shame.

Selena’s words echoed in her mind, cutting through the haze of her thoughts: “If you’re so set on refusing, you go tell him.”

Why couldn’t Selena just take it back? Why couldn’t she handle the messy feelings, the awkward exchange, the inevitable pain? Eirika had enough on her plate without being the one to extinguish the fragile light in Lyon’s eyes.

But she knew Selena was right. Lyon deserved to hear it from her. It wasn’t fair to shove the burden of her rejection onto someone else. And yet, knowing what was right and finding the strength to do it were two entirely different things.

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Ephraim. His presence in her life loomed large and oppressive, like a shadow that followed her every step. She could already hear his voice, mocking and insistent: “Take the sapphire, Eirika. Squeeze him dry. He’ll give you whatever you want. Why not use it to our advantage?”

Eirika clenched her fist around the sapphire, her nails digging into her palm. It wasn’t our advantage, she thought bitterly. It was his. Everything she earned, everything she sacrificed, ended up lining Ephraim’s pockets or feeding his vices. Her dreams, her happiness—she had given them up long ago, swallowed whole by the insatiable void that was her brother’s greed.

But this was different. This wasn’t about money, or survival, or keeping Ephraim off her back. This was about Lyon—a sweet, gentle soul who saw something in her she couldn’t see in herself. He didn’t want her for her body, for what she could offer or what he could take. He wanted her, and that terrified her more than anything.

The thought made her chest tighten. Lyon didn’t know the truth. He didn’t know the mess she was, the chains she wore, the weight she carried. If he did, would he still look at her with those kind, hopeful eyes? Or would he turn away, disgusted, just like she sometimes wished she could turn away from herself?

Her grip on the sapphire loosened as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t face him. The idea of standing in front of Lyon, of seeing his expression crumble as she handed back his gift—it was too much. But neither could she keep the gem. Keeping it felt like a lie, a promise she wasn’t capable of fulfilling.

Eirika inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself. She wiped at her eyes, careful not to smudge her makeup, and stood. The sapphire gleamed in her hand, a small but powerful reminder of the choice she had to make.

You’re stronger than this, she told herself, though the words felt hollow. You’ve survived worse.

She thought about Lyon’s face, the soft smile he gave her every time their eyes met. She thought about the way he always seemed to sit in the farthest corner, away from the rowdier patrons, his gaze full of quiet admiration. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve her. But he deserved the truth.

With a determined breath, Eirika slipped the sapphire into the pocket of her robe and left the dressing room. The hallway was dimly lit, the distant pulse of music vibrating through the walls. Her heels clicked softly against the floor as she made her way toward the lounge, where she knew Lyon would be waiting.

Every step felt heavier than the last, her heart pounding with a mix of dread and resolve. She rehearsed the words in her head—gentle, careful, but firm. She would thank him, tell him how kind he was, but explain that she couldn’t accept his gift. She wouldn’t let him think it was his fault. She would bear the weight of his disappointment alone, just like she always did.

As she approached the lounge, her resolve wavered. She could see him through the doorway, sitting at his usual table, his hands clasped nervously in his lap. He looked up as she entered, his eyes lighting up with that same, earnest hope that made her stomach twist.

Eirika hesitated in the doorway, her fingers brushing against the sapphire in her pocket. She wanted to run, to turn back and hide in the safety of her dressing room. But she knew she couldn’t. Lyon deserved better than that.

With a deep breath, she stepped into the lounge, her head held high despite the storm raging inside her. Whatever came next, she would face it. For once, she would make a choice that was hers alone.

Eirika approached Lyon with the sapphire still tucked securely in her pocket, its weight a constant reminder of the decision she had to make. Each step toward him felt heavier, her resolve eroding with every nervous glance he cast her way. He looked so small and fragile, sitting there with his hands fidgeting in his lap, as though unsure if he even deserved her attention.

When she reached his table, Lyon looked up, his face brightening. “Eirika,” he said softly, his voice almost drowned out by the muffled bass of the music.

She forced a smile, though her chest felt tight. “Lyon, can we talk for a moment?”

His expression shifted slightly, a flicker of uncertainty passing over his features, but he nodded. “Of course.”

Eirika sat down across from him, her hands clasping together to steady her nerves. She opened her mouth, ready to deliver the speech she had rehearsed in the hallway. But as she looked into his eyes, so full of quiet admiration and hope, the words caught in her throat.

She reached into her pocket, her fingers brushing against the cool surface of the sapphire. All she had to do was take it out, place it on the table, and tell him she couldn’t accept it. That was the right thing to do.

But she hesitated.

The thought of crushing the light in his eyes, of being the one to shatter the fragile connection they shared—it was unbearable. She couldn’t do it. The words dissolved in her mind, replaced by a suffocating silence.

Instead, she pulled her hand back from her pocket and smiled, trying to mask her guilt with an air of casualness. “You know,” she began, her tone light, “I’ve been thinking... You’ve been such a kind and thoughtful customer. It’s only fair I do something for you in return.”

Lyon blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

“A private dance,” she said quickly, her voice slightly too eager. “On the house. For you.”

He immediately shook his head, his cheeks flushing. “That’s not necessary, Eirika. I didn’t—”

“I insist,” she interrupted, leaning forward slightly. Her fingers fidgeted in her lap, but she kept her voice steady. “It’s the least I can do. You’ve always supported me, and I want to show my appreciation.”

Lyon hesitated, his gaze flickering between her face and the floor. “I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything,” he murmured.

Eirika’s chest tightened at his words, a pang of guilt stabbing through her. He was so pure, so genuine in his feelings for her. And here she was, trying to rationalize her decision to keep his gift by offering him something that would only deepen his attachment to her.

“I don’t feel that way,” she lied, forcing another smile. “I just... I want to do this. For you.”

Lyon studied her for a moment, then gave a small, reluctant nod. “If you’re sure,” he said softly.

“I’m sure,” she replied quickly, standing before he could change his mind. She held out her hand to him, and after a brief pause, he took it. His touch was warm and hesitant, sending another wave of guilt crashing over her.

As she led him toward one of the private booths, Eirika tried to push the feelings aside. She told herself this was for the best. She couldn’t give him her heart, but at least she could give him this. Maybe it would make up for her decision to keep the sapphire—if only a little. But deep down, she knew it wouldn’t.

In the private booth, the low hum of music and the faint scent of incense mixed together, creating an atmosphere that should have been enticing, seductive even. Eirika moved gracefully, her hips swaying and her movements fluid, dancing for Lyon with an intensity that belied the turmoil churning within her. She could feel his eyes on her, burning with a mixture of awe and uncertainty, and it only made her more aware of the weight of his gaze.

His awkwardness was palpable, and it threw her off balance. She could tell he wasn’t fully comfortable with this situation, not like the other men who frequented the club. His eyes would flicker away from her too often, and his fingers drummed nervously on the arm of the chair. It was clear he wasn’t used to being in this position, wasn’t accustomed to seeing her—someone he viewed with such reverence—this way.

Eirika forced herself to keep dancing, to perform as if she were truly in control of the situation. She spun, twisted, and swayed, using every ounce of experience she had gathered over the years. But the guilt gnawed at her, a persistent reminder of the choice she had made to keep the sapphire. She had told herself that this was the way to make things right, that Lyon would understand, but the more she performed, the more she realized how wrong it all felt.

His discomfort made her feel small, as though she were betraying him with every step she took. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want her to be here, dancing for him like this. He wanted something more—something real, something pure. She could see it in the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t watching. And yet, here she was, pushing him further into a corner that neither of them truly belonged in.

Unable to shake the guilt that weighed heavily on her chest, Eirika came to a decision. She knew she couldn’t undo what had already been done, but maybe, just maybe, she could do something to ease her conscience—something that wouldn’t be a performance for him, something real.

She dropped to her knees in front of him, the action so sudden and intimate that Lyon’s breath caught in his throat. He blinked, his hands trembling slightly as he tried to understand her movement.

Eirika lowered her gaze, her chest tightening. Slowly, she rested her head against his lap, the weight of her hair spilling across his legs. The gesture wasn’t meant to be seductive; it wasn’t about the dance. It was a gesture of vulnerability, of surrendering to him in a way that she hadn’t allowed herself to do in so long. She wanted him to know that, despite everything, she still cared. Still saw him as more than just a customer, more than just a lonely man who thought she was just a performer.

She didn’t speak at first, allowing the silence to stretch between them. Lyon didn’t move, unsure of what to do with the situation that had suddenly shifted so drastically. His hand hovered over her head, unsure whether he should touch her or not.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of their breathing and the muffled music from outside. Eirika could feel the warmth of his body beneath her, could feel the slight tremor in his legs as he shifted uncomfortably. But still, she didn’t move. She remained there, her cheek pressed against his lap, feeling the weight of everything she had done.

Lyon finally spoke, his voice quieter than before, filled with an uncertainty that mirrored her own. “Eirika, you don’t have to... do this. You don’t owe me anything.”

Eirika closed her eyes, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know,” she said softly, her words heavy with meaning. “But maybe I owe you something more than just a dance.”

She stayed there for a moment longer, gathering the strength to pull herself away. She hadn’t solved anything, hadn’t made the choice any easier, but for a brief instant, she had allowed herself to feel something real with Lyon, something untainted by her actions or her guilt. but the moment was over.

Eirika's fingers trembled as she reached for the button of Lyon's pants. She could feel his gaze on her, heavy with uncertainty, but she pressed on anyway. This was the only way she knew how to repay him, the only way she could begin to make things right.

With a soft rustle, she unzipped his fly, her heart pounding in her chest as she did so. She could feel the heat of his body radiating off of him, could hear the way his breathing hitched as she tugged his pants down just slightly. She didn't look up at him, afraid of what she might see in his eyes—afraid of the judgment she knew she deserved.

But still, she pressed on. She leaned forward, her lips brushing against the fabric of his boxers, her breath hot against his skin. She could feel him twitch beneath her touch, could feel the way his hips shifted involuntarily as she nuzzled him through the thin material.

Slowly, she peeled his boxers down, exposing him to the cool air of the room. He was already hard, his length standing at attention as she revealed it inch by inch. Eirika's heart raced at the sight, a thrill running down her spine at the power she suddenly felt. This was the only way she knew how to make amends, the only way she could show him just how much he meant to her.

She wrapped her hand around him, marveling at the way he felt in her palm—so hard and yet so soft at the same time. She stroked him gently, watching as a bead of moisture gathered at the tip of his cock. She licked her lips hungrily, desperate to taste him, to take him into her mouth and show him just how much she cared.Without warning, she took him into her mouth, her lips wrapping around his shaft as she sank down to the base. She could feel him hit the back of her throat, could taste the salty musk of his skin on her tongue. She moaned around him, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body.

She began to bob her head up and down, her lips sliding along his length with practiced ease. She could hear Lyon gasp above her, could feel his hand coming down to tangle in her hair, but she didn't stop. She wanted to bring him to the edge, wanted to feel him lose control inside her mouth.

As she continued to suck him, she could feel him growing closer and closer to his release. His thrusts became more urgent, more needy, as he bucked into her mouth. She could taste his precum on her tongue, could feel the way his cock throbbed against her lips."Eirika, I'm going to... I'm going to..." he gasped, his voice strained with pleasure.

But Eirika didn't stop. She wanted to taste him, to feel him come undone in her mouth. She wanted to give him this pleasure, to show him that no matter what had happened, she still cared about him.

With a final, desperate cry, Lyon came, his seed spilling into her mouth. Eirika swallowed it down greedily, savoring the taste of him on her tongue. She didn't let a single drop go to waste, drinking down every last bit of his essence.

Eirika pulled back slowly, her heart pounding in her chest as she glanced up. The dim light in the booth seemed to blur for a moment as her gaze met Lyon’s. His face was carefully composed, but she could see the struggle behind his eyes, the mix of conflicting emotions. His jaw was clenched, and his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths as he fought to maintain control. But there, just below his eye, was the faintest glimmer of something that made her heart twist—a single tear, betraying the cold exterior he had tried so desperately to maintain.

Eirika froze for a moment, caught off guard by the rawness of the moment. She had seen many men come and go, their desires and emotions just part of the performance, but Lyon was different. He wasn’t like the others—he wasn’t just a paying customer, not just a man in need of something he could never have. He had cared for her in his own, quiet way. And now, as she saw the tear falling down his face, she realized just how much he had been holding back, just how much pain he was trying to conceal.

A sense of guilt gripped her, suffocating in its intensity. She had done what she thought was necessary, what she thought would resolve everything. But the weight of it all was settling in now. She had crossed a line, and in doing so, she had not only damaged herself but also hurt Lyon in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

She reached up, almost instinctively, as if to comfort him, but she stopped herself before her hand could touch his face. She had no right to comfort him, not after everything. Still, the tear on his face lingered in her mind, echoing in her thoughts.

Lyon’s voice broke the silence, rough and strained. “I didn’t expect... this,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the words themselves weighed too much to carry. “I thought I understood... but now, I don’t know what to feel.”

Eirika bit her lip, the guilt and confusion swirling within her like a storm. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, her voice faltering. “I didn’t want it to be like this.”

Lyon blinked, the tear still clinging to his lashes, his emotions too complex for either of them to untangle in that moment. “You don’t have to apologize. I knew what I was getting into. It’s just... sometimes things happen, and they don’t make sense.”

Eirika nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She couldn’t fix this, couldn’t undo what had been done. But as she stared into his eyes, she knew that the choice she had made would linger for both of them. And no matter how much she wanted to escape the consequences, they would both carry the weight of this moment with them, in silence, for as long as they both lived.

Eirika stepped out of the car, her feet dragging as she walked toward the small RV that had been her home for as long as she could remember. The evening air was cool, and the dim lights of the RV lot cast long shadows against the pavement. She felt the weight of the world on her shoulders, the guilt still fresh from what had happened that night. Her mind kept replaying the image of Lyon’s tear, his vulnerable expression, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had done something unforgivable.

As she approached the door, she heard the muffled sounds of laughter and the clink of beer bottles from inside. Ephraim’s voice called out to her before she even opened the door.

“About time, Eirika,” Ephraim’s voice was thick with annoyance, though there was a slurring quality to his words. “I’m hungry, and you’re late. Get in here and make us dinner.”

Eirika paused, her hand resting on the door handle, taking a deep breath before she stepped inside. The scent of stale beer and cigarettes filled the air, mixing with the sharp smell of cheap takeout containers that littered the small table. Ephraim sat at the table, leaning back in his chair, a beer in his hand, his eyes glazed over as he shuffled cards with Innes. The dim light overhead flickered as if it were protesting the situation, much like she was.

Innes, seated across from Ephraim, looked up and gave her a half-hearted smile. “You’re late, Eirika. Were you busy entertaining another one of your ‘friends’?” His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it, one that she was used to.

Eirika didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of their words settle over her like a heavy, suffocating blanket. Her heart felt heavy, and the last thing she wanted was to be here, to be in this place, pretending everything was fine when she felt so broken inside. But she had no choice. 

Ephraim’s gaze shifted from the cards to her, a mocking smirk spreading across his face. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” He laughed, a sound that always made her stomach churn. “Get cooking. I’m not going to let Innes have all the fun tonight.”

Eirika nodded silently, moving toward the small kitchenette in the corner. Her hands shook slightly as she reached for the pans and ingredients. She moved mechanically, the sound of Innes and Ephraim’s conversation fading into the background as she focused on the task in front of her. She had to do this. She had to keep up the act, keep pretending that everything was okay, even if it wasn’t.

As she started cooking, Ephraim’s voice broke through her thoughts once more. “You’re sure you got enough to feed all of us?” His tone was casual, but she knew there was an unspoken demand behind it. He expected her to always give more than she had. Always.

Eirika didn’t look at him. Instead, she focused on the sizzling pan, the heat of the stove grounding her in the present. She couldn’t think about Lyon. She couldn’t think about the tear she had seen or the guilt that clawed at her every time she closed her eyes. She just had to survive this night, like every other.

“Yeah, it’s enough,” she replied, her voice quieter than usual, betraying the storm of thoughts and emotions swirling inside her.

Innes raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment further. Instead, he turned his attention back to the cards, but Eirika could feel his eyes on her, watching her closely as she moved about the kitchen. She could sense the judgment, the expectations, and the disappointment in the air, all heavy and suffocating.

As the minutes passed, Eirika worked in silence, her thoughts distant. The food was ready soon enough, but the heaviness in the room lingered, and her stomach twisted in knots. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep pretending. How much longer she could keep up the facade of the dutiful sister, the compliant woman who did whatever was asked of her, even as it slowly chipped away at her soul. Eirika watched from the corner of the room as Ephraim leaned back in his chair, a satisfied grin on his face, while Innes cursed under his breath, stacking his remaining chips in front of him. The dim light above cast a harsh glow over the two men, amplifying the tension in the air. Ephraim had won another hand, and this time, he had taken nearly all of Innes' money.

Eirika couldn’t help the sinking feeling in her chest as she observed the scene. Tana had worked hard for that money. Her friend, her coworker at the club, had spent long hours under the harsh lights of the stage, giving her all to earn that cash. And now it was gone, slipping through Innes' fingers like sand. Innes' sister, Tana, was barely scraping by as it was—she worked long shifts to cover rent, food, and the bills that never seemed to stop piling up. And yet here she was, seeing it all disappear in the blink of an eye to Ephraim's careless gamble.

She bit her lip, trying to ignore the storm of emotions brewing inside her. She couldn’t afford to let herself feel too much, not now, not in front of them. But it was hard. Every part of her wanted to say something, to yell at Ephraim for being so reckless with other people's lives, but she knew it would do no good. Ephraim wasn’t just her brother; he was the person she was bound to, the one who controlled everything she did. Any confrontation, any attempt to stand up for herself or others, was met with violence, with more control, with more demands.

She sighed softly, her shoulders slumping as she turned back to the stove. The sizzling sound of the food felt distant now, almost surreal in the face of everything else. Her mind lingered on Tanna, the way her friend had looked when she handed over her earnings after a long night’s work—so proud of herself, so desperate to do right by her family. And yet, she didn’t even get to keep it. It had been stolen from her by someone who didn’t appreciate the struggle, who only saw it as another victory in his personal game.

"What's wrong, Eirika?" Ephraim's voice cut through her thoughts. He was watching her, eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Aren't you going to serve us our food? Or are you too busy pitying yourself over there?"

Eirika flinched, her heart skipping a beat. She quickly moved to grab the plates, trying to hide the tremor in her hands. "Sorry," she muttered under her breath, her voice thin, too quiet. “I’ll be right there.”

Ephraim scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You better be. I'm starving."

Innes didn't say anything; he just slouched in his chair, looking more like a defeated man than someone who had just lost a card game. Eirika could feel the heaviness of the moment pressing down on her. There was no escape from this life, no respite from the suffocating weight of it all. She moved back to the stove, her movements automatic, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn't stop thinking about Tanna, about her friend who had worked so hard only for her efforts to be squandered.

As she plated the food, her thoughts turned darker. This cycle, this miserable loop of exploitation, of giving so much of herself to keep the peace, was never-ending. Every night, every shift at the club, every moment with Ephraim and Innes felt like a small death. And now, seeing the way Ephraim casually squandered other people's hard-earned money, it was more than she could bear.

"Here." Eirika set the plates down in front of the men, forcing a smile on her face. "Dinner's ready."

Ephraim grunted, nodding in acknowledgment as he dug in. Innes, meanwhile, stared at his plate, not touching the food for a long moment. He was lost in thought, perhaps reflecting on his loss, or maybe contemplating how his sister was going to help him cover his gambling debts. Either way, it made Eirika feel small. Useless.

She leaned against the counter, her gaze wandering out the window toward the lights of the RV lot. She wished she could be anywhere else, doing anything else. But the reality of her situation hit her like a cold wave. She was stuck, trapped by the choices she had made, the people she had to take care of, and the lies she kept telling herself.

"Hey," Ephraim said suddenly, breaking the silence. "You got something for me tonight? I'm feeling generous."

Eirika stiffened, her eyes flickering to him briefly before returning to the window. She knew what he meant. She knew what he always meant. And she hated that she could never say no.

"I'll make it up to you later," she whispered, her voice barely audible, even to herself.

"Good." Ephraim’s voice was low, commanding, and Eirika’s heart sank into her stomach. He didn’t need to say anything else. She knew the price of his 'generosity.'

She nodded silently, her face betraying nothing. But inside, the storm raged on, a maelstrom of frustration, guilt, and hopelessness. There was no escape, not for her, not for anyone. Just the endless grind, the endless struggle to survive, with no one to help her but herself.

Eirika stood frozen in the dimly lit kitchenette, her hands continuing to move mechanically as she washed the dishes. The hot water scalded her skin, but it was a sensation she barely registered. Her mind was far away, consumed by guilt and self-loathing. The image of Lyon's tear, the raw emotion on his face, replayed in her mind like a broken record. She had crossed a line that night, and she knew it. But even as she replayed it over and over, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had no other choice. She was trapped—by Ephraim, by the expectations of the world around her, by her own need to survive.

She scrubbed at the dishes with a ferocity that matched the storm brewing inside her, but it did little to quiet the turmoil. Tana's face flashed before her eyes. Her friend, so innocent in her efforts, had worked so hard for that money. It had been stolen from her in an instant, lost to Ephraim’s greed, his insatiable desire to win, no matter the cost. And now, Eirika found herself complicit in it all. How could she reconcile what she had done? How could she undo the damage, when there was no undoing anything? 

Her breath hitched as a painful thought slithered into her mind. Lyon. She had betrayed him. She had used him, just as easily as Ephraim used her. And the worst part was that she had allowed herself to do it. The guilt of what she had done to Lyon, of what she had allowed Ephraim and Innes to do to her, weighed on her chest like a leaden weight. 

The clink of dishes against the sink broke her from her thoughts, but only for a moment. As she gripped the edge of the sink, her fingers white-knuckled, she realized just how deep the hole she had dug for herself had become. She couldn’t keep going like this. She couldn’t keep living this lie, this existence that drained her soul and left her feeling hollow. But what choice did she have? 

She jumped as she felt a presence behind her, and before she could react, Ephraim’s voice cut through the silence. 

"You're taking a long time with those dishes," he said, his tone dark and low, like a predator circling its prey. 

Eirika stiffened, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t need to ask what he meant. She already knew. 

"I thought I told you to make it up to me later," Ephraim continued, his hand landing heavily on her shoulder, fingers digging in as if he wanted to leave a mark. 

Her body tensed involuntarily under his touch. The air felt thick, suffocating. She fought to keep her breathing even, but the nausea was already rising in her stomach. The thought of what he expected from her—what she had allowed him to take from her—made her sick. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered, the words feeling like poison on her tongue. "I'll be done soon."

His grip tightened, and he leaned in closer, his breath hot and heavy against her ear. "You better be," he growled. "I don't like to be kept waiting."

Eirika closed her eyes, the sting of unshed tears blurring her vision. Her heart ached with the weight of it all. She couldn’t do this anymore. But she had no choice. Ephraim had her trapped, just as surely as the walls of their rundown home trapped them both. He had used her, manipulated her, and now she was his prisoner. 

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak again. The lump in her throat made it difficult to breathe. As Ephraim’s footsteps retreated, Eirika allowed herself a small, shaky breath, her body sinking with the exhaustion of it all. It wasn’t just the physical weight of her brother’s presence, or the pain of his abuse—it was the emotional toll that was slowly breaking her down. 

She had no way out. There was no escape, no solution, not unless she was willing to give up everything. 

Her hands faltered, the plate slipping slightly in her grip as her vision blurred with the threat of tears. She couldn’t let herself cry. Not here, not now. She had to keep it together. 

With trembling hands, she finished the last of the dishes, the sound of water running the only noise in the small, cramped space. But even that felt too loud, too jarring in the silence that enveloped her. It was all too much. The weight of her guilt, the constant humiliation, the unrelenting demands from Ephraim—it was suffocating her. 

But she had no choice. She would have to keep going. There was no other option, no escape. She would endure. 

For now, that was all she could do.

Eirika's heart sank as she entered the dimly lit bedroom, her eyes immediately drawn to Ephraim's form sprawled out on the bed. The sight made her stomach churn, dread pooling in the pit of her belly. She knew what was expected of her, and the weight of it settled on her chest like a suffocating blanket. There was no escape from this, not really. Her brother, the one person who should have been her protector, had long since turned into something else—a cruel reminder of how far she had fallen.

Ephraim lounged carelessly on the bed, the dim light casting harsh shadows across his face. His eyes were half-lidded, a beer in one hand, the other resting lazily at his side. He didn’t look at her as she entered, but she could feel his gaze on her nonetheless, as if he were watching her every move, waiting for her to take her place.

"You're late," Ephraim muttered, his voice tinged with annoyance. His gaze flickered up to meet hers, and there was no warmth in his eyes, just the cold expectation of what he believed was his due.

Eirika flinched, feeling her pulse race, but she didn't say anything. She couldn't afford to argue. Not anymore. Not with him. She set the dirty dishes down, her movements slow, deliberate, as if she could delay the inevitable. The silence between them was heavy, oppressive, and it seemed to stretch on forever.

After a moment, Ephraim finally sat up, his expression hardening as he watched her. "Well? What are you waiting for?"

The words were a command, and she knew she had no choice but to obey. There was no fight left in her, no strength to resist. She had given in too many times already. She walked toward the bed, each step feeling like it took her further into the abyss.

Ephraim’s hand reached out, gripping her wrist tightly. She winced at the force, but didn’t pull away. She had learned by now that resistance only made things worse. His grip tightened as he yanked her closer to him, the warmth of his breath brushing against her skin.

"Get on the bed," he ordered flatly, not even bothering to mask the disdain in his tone.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she slowly complied. Every movement felt mechanical, a series of actions she had done too many times before. She crawled onto the bed, her body trembling as she positioned herself in front of him. She couldn't look at him, couldn't bear to see the hunger in his eyes, the way he regarded her like a mere object, something to be used.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to dissociate from the situation, to retreat into the corner of her mind where she couldn’t feel the weight of his gaze or the shame that threatened to suffocate her. But even as she tried to shut everything out, a single thought echoed through her mind—How did I get here?

Her breath hitched as Ephraim’s hands found her, his touch rough, unrelenting. She hated herself for the way her body reacted, for the way she had learned to accept his touch, to endure the abuse as if it were just another part of her life. It was the price she paid for her survival, for the illusion of safety in a world that had no place for her.

But it was no longer just about survival. Somewhere deep down, a part of her had died. It wasn’t just Ephraim’s cruelty that had broken her; it was the quiet resignation, the way she had convinced herself that she could live with it, that she could endure it.

A tear slid down her cheek as Ephraim’s hands moved with familiar ease, his presence all-consuming. Eirika didn’t bother to wipe it away. What was the point? It wouldn’t change anything. She would go through with it, as she always did, because there was no other option.

Eirika’s heart felt like it had shattered into a thousand pieces, each one cutting her deeper than the last. She closed her eyes tighter, wishing she could disappear, wishing for an escape from the nightmare she had come to know all too well.

Eirika's heart raced as she felt Ephraim's weight press down on her, his hands roughly parting her legs. She tensed, her body going rigid with dread as he positioned himself between her thighs. This was it, the moment she had been both dreading and waiting. The price she had to pay for her mere existence.

She could feel the heat of his skin against hers, the hard, insistent pressure of his arousal as it nudged against her most intimate area. Her breath caught in her throat, her nails digging into the sheets as Ephraim's grip tightened on her hips."You better not disappoint me," he growled, his voice low and menacing.

Eirika swallowed hard, her heart hammering against her ribcage as she braced herself for the inevitable. She couldn't fight him, couldn't resist. She had no choice but to submit to his demands, to let him take what he wanted from her. As Ephraim thrust forward, Eirika let out a choked gasp, her body jolting as he entered her in one brutal, merciless stroke. The pain was sharp, searing, and she bit down hard on her lip to keep from crying out. But Ephraim was relentless, his hips pumping furiously as he took his pleasure from her. Each thrust was like a punch to her core, a reminder of the power he held over her. Eirika could only lie there, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as Ephraim grunted and groaned above her, lost in his own selfish gratification.

She tried to block out the sensations, to retreat into her mind and escape the reality of what was happening to her body. But it was impossible. The pain, the shame, the guilt, it all consumed her, dragging her back to the present moment. She was trapped, helpless and alone, as her brother used her for his own pleasure.

As Ephraim's thrusts grew more erratic, his breathing heavy and labored, he suddenly grabbed Eirika by the shoulders and shook her roughly."Move, damn it!" he snarled, his face contorted with anger and frustration. "You're just lying there like a fucking dead cow. I didn't say you could just lay there and take it!"

Eirika flinched at his harsh words, a fresh wave of shame washing over her. She knew she should respond, should do something to please him, but her body felt heavy, numb, and unresponsive. The pain and humiliation of the situation had drained her of any will to move, to participate, to do anything but endure."I... I'm trying," she whispered, her voice thin and reedy with unshed tears."I just... I can't..."

"Can't or won't?" Ephraim snapped, his grip on her shoulders tightening to the point of bruising."You better start trying harder, or there will be consequences. I won't have a sister who can't even fuck properly."

Eirika's heart raced, her breath coming in shallow gasps as Ephraim loomed over her, his eyes dark with anger and lust. She knew she had to do something, had to respond, but the fear and shame held her paralyzed.

Eirika's cheek stung as Ephraim's palm connected with her face, the sharp crack of the slap echoing in the small space of the RV. She gasped, her eyes flying open as the pain registered, tears springing to her eyes. Before she could even process what had happened, Ephraim was shaking her again, his fingers digging into her shoulders with bruising force."Move, damn it!" he snarled, his face inches from hers, his breath hot and heavy against her skin.

Eirika's heart hammered against her ribs, the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she tried desperately to comply with Ephraim's demand. But her body remained stubbornly unresponsive, heavy and leaden beneath his weight. The pain, the humiliation, and the sheer horror of the situation had drained her of any will or ability to move.

Tears streamed down her face as Ephraim's patience grew thinner, his frustration building with each passing moment. She could feel his arousal still hard and insistent inside her, a reminder of his power and control over her. Eirika wanted to scream, to beg him to stop, to plead for mercy. But the words died in her throat, choked by the tightness of her fear.

Ephraim's hands gripped Eirika's hips with bruising force, flipping her over onto her stomach in one violent motion. She let out a yelp of pain as her body hit the mattress, the breath knocked from her lungs by the sudden impact. Before she could catch her breath, Ephraim had already positioned himself behind her, his arousal pressing insistently against her most intimate area.With a single, brutal thrust, he entered her again, his hips slamming against her rear with punishing force. Eirika cried out, her fingers scrabbling at the sheets as Ephraim began to move, each powerful stroke driving the air from her lungs and sending shockwaves of pain through her core. She could feel him pounding into her, his arousal driving deeper and harder with each thrust, as if he were trying to claim her very soul.

The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, a crude, vulgar rhythm that seemed to mock Eirika's suffering. Ephraim's hands gripped her ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave vivid bruises in their wake. He spanked her mercilessly, the sharp sting of his palm against her skin mingling with the dull ache of his relentless thrusts.

Eirika sobbed, her tears soaking into the sheets below her as Ephraim used her body with no regard for her comfort or well-being. She felt like nothing more than a toy, a plaything for his twisted amusement, with no thought given to the consequences of his actions.

As Ephraim's thrusts grew more erratic, his breathing heavy and labored, Eirika knew he was nearing his climax. She tried to steel herself, bracing for the inevitable invasion of his seed deep inside her unprotected womb. The thought of it filled her with a fresh wave of dread and revulsion."Stop!" she cried out desperately as Ephraim's grip tightened, his hips slamming against hers with bruising force. "You idiot, you can't keep cumming inside me like this! I could get pregnant!"The words were barely out of her mouth before Ephraim let out a harsh, mocking laugh."So what if you do?" he sneered, his voice dripping with cruel amusement."At least I'll have gotten something worthwhile out of you for once. Maybe then you'll finally be good for something other than being a useless fucking burden."

As the brutal fucking finally subsided, Eirika lay there in a daze of pain and humiliation, her body trembling with aftershocks. She could feel Ephraim's cum deep inside her, hot and sticky against her sensitive walls. The sensation made her skin crawl as it leaked out around his still hard cock, pooling on the sheets beneath them.

Ephraim pulled out with a grunt, leaving Eirika feeling empty and used. He flopped onto his back beside her without so much as a glance or word of acknowledgment for what he had just done to her. The coldness of the RV's metal wall was a relief against Eirika's flushed skin as she turned away from him, trying to put some distance between their bodies despite their proximity. Even though their hips no longer touched, she could still feel the residual heat emanating from Ephraim's form, mingling uncomfortably with the warmth of his spilled seed inside her.

The silence that followed was deafening. Her heart ached, not from physical pain, but from the emotional toll that had been building for so long. She couldn't escape the overwhelming sense of defeat that clung to her, a constant reminder of the choices she had made and the life she found herself trapped in.

She turned away from Ephraim, trying to find a moment of peace in the quiet. The coolness of the room offered little comfort as she lay there, staring at the cold metal walls of the RV. The space felt suffocating, and she wondered how much longer she could continue living like this.

Her thoughts drifted to the small moments of hope that had once sustained her, the fleeting dreams of freedom and a life without constant fear or manipulation. Lyon's kindness, though painful and complicated, had been one of those moments. But now, with the weight of her actions pressing down on her, even that glimmer of light seemed distant.

Eirika clenched her fists in frustration, pushing away the wave of tears that threatened to rise. She couldn't afford to cry, not now. Not with everything on the line. But inside, she felt a crushing sadness, as if the pieces of her life were slipping through her fingers, beyond her reach.

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the world for a moment, to gather herself. She couldn't keep going like this forever. She needed a way out, a way to reclaim her dignity and her future. But for now, all she could do was survive the night and hope that somewhere, deep inside, there was still a part of her that could fight back.

Eirika woke with a start, the dull morning light filtering through the thin curtains of the RV. The events of the night before felt distant but heavy, like a fog she couldn’t shake off. Her body ached from exhaustion, and her mind buzzed with guilt. As she rubbed her eyes and tried to clear the haze of sleep, she noticed Ephraim already up and moving around.

He was standing near the small kitchenette, rummaging through the few belongings she’d left scattered on the counter. She tensed, immediately aware of the direction his hands were moving in, already knowing what he was looking for. Money. The money she had worked hard for last night, the cash that was supposed to make their lives a little easier, a little more bearable.

But then, her heart stopped as she saw him pick something up off the floor. The sapphire Lyon had given her last night—its deep blue sheen reflecting the dim light of the RV—lay in Ephraim's hand, the delicate stone gleaming innocently.

Eirika froze. The small gemstone, so carefully handed to her, was now in the hands of the one person she feared would destroy whatever little sense of control she had left.

Ephraim looked at the sapphire, turning it over in his hands with a bemused smirk. "What's this?" he muttered to himself, his voice low but tinged with suspicion. "This doesn't look like something you'd just find lying around."

Eirika's heart raced as she quickly moved towards him. "Ephraim, please," she began, her voice shaky, "please don’t take it. Just... just leave it."

Ephraim raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by her sudden plea. "What? You want to keep it?" He paused, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Why? It's just some pretty rock. It won’t do you any good sitting here."

She stepped forward, her hands trembling as she reached out to take it from him, but Ephraim pulled it away, his eyes scanning her face with growing doubt. "I think I’ll take this to the pawn shop later," he said slowly, his smirk returning. "We can use the cash. That’s a lot of money right there, Eirika. Might help us get by for a while. Don’t you think?"

Eirika’s heart sank, and she felt a coldness settle in her chest. She couldn’t let him do that. Not the sapphire, not this time. It was the only thing Lyon had ever given her, and it held more meaning to her than she could explain. If Ephraim took it, it would be gone forever—just another object for him to exploit and discard.

"No," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Please don’t take it, Ephraim. I—I need it." The words tasted foreign on her tongue, but she didn’t care. "Please, just let me keep it."

Ephraim paused, the suspicion in his eyes deepening as he looked her over carefully. His gaze flicked from the sapphire to her face, his mind clearly working through the possibilities. "Why are you so desperate to keep this, Eirika?" he asked, his voice low but sharp. "You’ve never cared about things like this before. So why now?"

Eirika’s pulse quickened. She couldn’t let him see the truth—the real reason she wanted to keep the sapphire was because it had been a moment of kindness, a moment of connection with Lyon. It was a fleeting, fragile thing that she didn’t want to lose to the harshness of her reality. But how could she explain that to him? How could she admit that she had let her emotions get in the way?

"I just... I just don’t want you to sell it," she said, her voice trembling. "It’s... it’s important to me."

Ephraim’s eyes narrowed further, his grip tightening on the sapphire. "Important?" he repeated, his tone dripping with skepticism. "What, is it a gift from someone? Someone you’re hiding something from me about?"

Eirika flinched at the accusation, but she forced herself to look at him, trying to steady her breath. "No," she lied, forcing a calmness into her voice that she didn’t feel. "It’s just something I don’t want to get rid of. Please, Ephraim. I’ll... I’ll make it up to you. I’ll do whatever you want."

Ephraim studied her for a long moment, his gaze unwavering. The suspicion in his eyes was palpable, but after what seemed like an eternity, he finally shrugged, the tension easing just slightly. "Fine," he said, his voice low. "You can keep it. But don't think I'm forgetting this. You’ll finally give me what i have been asking you"

Eirika let out a shaky breath, she knew what he wanted: Her ass. He handed the sapphire back to her. She clutched it tightly in her hand, her fingers shaking as she held it close to her chest.

As Ephraim turned away, muttering to himself about work, Eirika was left standing there, still reeling from the tension. The sapphire was safe, for now. But she knew this wasn’t over. She couldn’t keep living like this—torn between the demands of her brother, the guilt she carried, and the fragile connection she had with Lyon.

But for now, she had the sapphire. And for a brief moment, it felt like something worth holding on to.

Chapter Text

Eirika steps into the backstage area of the club, the faint hum of music and the muffled chatter of patrons filtering through the walls. The familiar sight of scattered makeup, costume racks, and tired dancers greets her, but her attention is immediately drawn to Tana, who sits hunched on a chair in the corner. Her friend’s shoulders shake with silent sobs, her face buried in her hands. 

Eirika feels her stomach twist. Tana is always so upbeat, the bright light in an otherwise dim world. Seeing her like this is like a slap to the face. She approaches cautiously, kneeling down beside her. 

"Tana?" Eirika asks softly, placing a hand gently on her arm. "What’s wrong? Did something happen?"

Tana lifts her head slightly, her face streaked with mascara and tears. Her lips tremble as she tries to speak, but the words catch in her throat. Finally, she manages, "It’s Innes… he—he gambled away all our savings. Everything I worked for, gone."

Eirika’s heart sinks. She’d seen it coming last night when Ephraim took most of Innes’ money during their card game. But she hadn’t realized it had been their entire savings. "Oh, Tana… I’m so sorry," she says, squeezing her friend’s arm. "He didn’t mean to—"

Tana cuts her off with a bitter laugh. "Didn’t mean to? He didn’t even care! He just shrugged and told me to make more. As if it’s that easy, as if…" Her voice breaks again, and the tears flow freely.

Eirika doesn’t know what to say. She wants to comfort Tana, but how can she when her own situation isn’t any better? She’s just as trapped, just as exploited, by the people who are supposed to care for her. 

"I’ll help you," Eirika blurts out before she can think. "We’ll figure something out. We always do, right?"

Tana looks at her, hope flickering in her eyes despite the pain. "Do you really think we can?"

Eirika sat beside Tana, holding her hand as her friend wiped her tears with a tissue, her sniffles quieting down. She hated seeing Tana like this, so broken and defeated. Tana had always been her source of light in this grim existence, the one who somehow found a reason to smile even when everything felt hopeless. To see her now, crumbling under the weight of Innes’ irresponsibility, was almost too much to bear.

The backstage door creaked open, and Syrene walked in. She was older than both Eirika and Tana, her presence commanding in the way of someone who had seen it all. Her makeup was always flawlessly done, her crimson lips a stark contrast to her calm demeanor. While most of the younger dancers were barely surviving day to day, Syrene always seemed composed, as though she were above the chaos. She took one look at Tana’s tear-streaked face and walked over, her heels clicking softly against the floor.

"What happened?" Syrene asked, her voice low and even as she crouched down in front of Tana. Her green eyes held a calm concern, a steadying presence amidst the turmoil.

Tana sniffled and started to speak, but Eirika jumped in, sparing her friend the humiliation of repeating the story. "Innes gambled away everything," she said quietly. "All of Tana's pay. Tana doesn’t even have enough to cover her bills this month."

Syrene’s expression darkened for a moment, a flicker of disapproval at the mention of Innes, but she quickly schooled her features. Without saying a word, she reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a small bundle of cash. She counted the bills with practiced ease before holding them out to Tana.

"Here," Syrene said simply.

Tana’s eyes widened in shock, and she shook her head vehemently. "No, Syrene, I can’t take that. That’s your money. You’ve worked hard for it."

"And you haven’t?" Syrene replied, her tone gentle but firm. She pressed the cash into Tana’s trembling hands. "Take it. Pay your bills. The last thing you need is more stress on your plate."

Tana stared at the money, her lips quivering. "I’ll pay you back," she whispered. "I promise."

Syrene shook her head, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "You don’t have to, Tana. Consider it a gift, not a loan. We’ve all been there. We all need a little help sometimes."

Eirika watched the exchange, her chest tightening. Syrene’s generosity was so effortless, so natural, as if she didn’t even consider any other option. It made Eirika think of her own struggles, of how she could barely hold herself together, let alone offer help to anyone else. But Syrene… she had always been different. A quiet protector, the kind of person who noticed when others were struggling and stepped in without being asked.

Tana clutched the money to her chest, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. But these were different—grateful tears, hopeful tears. "Thank you," she said, her voice trembling. "Thank you so much, Syrene. I don’t know what I’d do without you."

Syrene reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from Tana’s face. "You’d do what you always do, Tana. You’d survive. But you don’t have to do it alone, not while I’m here."

The room fell into a moment of quiet, the three women sitting together in a rare pocket of solidarity amidst the chaos of their lives. Eirika felt a pang of admiration for Syrene, a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be different. They didn’t have to face this world alone. Maybe, with enough small kindnesses like this, they could all find a way to hold on.

Later that evening, when the chaos of the club had settled into a steady rhythm, Tana found Syrene alone near the dressing area, reapplying her lipstick in the cracked mirror. Tana hesitated for a moment, chewing on her lip, before stepping forward.

“Syrene,” she called softly.

Syrene glanced at her reflection, catching Tana’s nervous expression, and then turned to face her. “What is it, Tana?” she asked, her tone as calm and steady as ever.

Tana fidgeted with her fingers, avoiding eye contact. “I just… I wanted to ask if it’s really okay. The money, I mean.” She glanced up, her blue eyes full of concern. “I know how much you do for your family. Vanessa’s always talking about wanting to go to college, and… you’re the one making it happen for her. I don’t want to take anything away from that.”

Syrene sighed, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Tana, you’re not taking anything away from anyone. Vanessa’s taken care of; I made sure of that. What I gave you won’t make a dent in her future.”

“But still,” Tana pressed, her voice cracking slightly. “I’ll pay you back, Syrene. Every cent. I don’t want to be a burden to you.”

Syrene stepped closer, her presence both soothing and magnetic, as it always was. She reached out and gently placed a hand on Tana’s shoulder, her touch warm and reassuring. “Tana, you’re not a burden. You’ve never been a burden.”

Tana’s cheeks flushed, and she looked away, her heart racing at Syrene’s words and touch. “I’ll still find a way to repay you,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Syrene chuckled softly, the sound low and rich, and let her hand slide down to lightly squeeze Tana’s arm. “If you really want to repay me,” she said, her tone teasing, “buy me dinner sometime.”

Tana’s head snapped up, her eyes wide with surprise. “Dinner?”

Syrene nodded, her smile growing. “Yeah. I’m not talking about anything fancy—just a nice meal, some good company.” She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a soft murmur. “That’s all I need.”

There was a flicker of something in Syrene’s gaze, something that made Tana’s stomach flutter. It wasn’t just kindness—it was warmth, intimacy, maybe even a hint of longing. Tana swallowed hard, her heart pounding. Was she imagining it, or was there something more in Syrene’s words?

Tana nodded quickly, her face growing warm. “O-Okay. Dinner. I can do that.”

Syrene smiled again, her expression softening even further. “Good. It’s a deal, then.”

For a moment, they stood there, the air between them charged with unspoken words and lingering gazes. Tana felt a strange mix of emotions—gratitude, admiration, and something deeper, something she couldn’t quite name. She didn’t know what this feeling was or where it would lead, but for the first time in a long while, she felt a glimmer of hope, a sense that maybe there was something worth looking forward to.

Syrene gave her arm one last reassuring squeeze before stepping back. “Now, go get ready for your set,” she said, her tone light and playful. “I’ll hold you to that dinner, though.”

Tana smiled shyly, nodding. “I won’t forget,” she promised before hurrying off, her heart still racing. As she made her way backstage, she couldn’t help but glance back, catching Syrene watching her with an expression that made her chest tighten. There was something there, something real, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Tana dared to hope for more.

The pulsating bass of the club’s speakers thumped against Selena’s chest as she descended the stage, her body glistening with sweat under the harsh, colorful lights. She took a quick swig from a water bottle, her eyes darting once more toward the VIP section where Vigarde sat, a stoic monument amidst the chaos of the club. Despite all her effort—every twirl, every sultry glance—he hadn’t even looked her way. It burned, the rejection she pretended not to care about. She muttered a curse under her breath, brushing her damp hair back as she headed toward the dressing area.

As she approached, she saw Eirika waiting by the curtain, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other. The younger woman’s pale face stood out even in the dim backstage lighting, her expression taut with worry.

"You're up next," Selena said, grabbing a towel to pat her neck dry. "You ready for this?"

Eirika nodded absently but leaned in closer, her voice low enough to drown in the club’s cacophony. "Is Lyon out there tonight?"

Selena blinked, surprised by the question. Her lips pressed into a thin line before she shook her head. "No. Just his father." She gestured toward the VIP section with a quick tilt of her chin. "Vigarde’s sitting in his usual spot, stone-faced as ever. Looks like Lyon stayed home."

Eirika’s shoulders slumped slightly, and she chewed her lip, her gaze dropping to the floor. Selena raised an eyebrow, catching the tension in the other woman’s posture. "Why? Were you hoping to see him?"

Eirika hesitated, the words caught in her throat, but finally, she spoke. "I… I thought he might be here. I wanted to talk to him." Her voice wavered, and she clasped her hands tightly in front of her.

Selena frowned, crossing her arms. "You sure that’s a good idea? After what happened? He’s probably torn up about you rejecting his gift."

Eirika winced at the words, her face flushing. "I… I didn’t reject it," she admitted, her voice barely audible.

Selena froze for a moment, narrowing her eyes. "Wait. What do you mean you didn’t reject it? I thought you were going to give it back."

"I tried," Eirika confessed, her words tumbling out in a rush. "I wanted to, but… I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t give it back to him. I didn’t know how to say it." She wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to shield herself from Selena’s gaze.

Selena exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. "Eirika, what the hell? You know what that sapphire meant to him, don’t you? And now you're keeping it?"

"I didn’t mean to," Eirika whispered, her voice trembling. "I felt so guilty, and I—" She stopped, her hands gripping the edge of the curtain for support.

Selena studied her for a moment, her expression softening. She leaned against the wall, her voice quieter now. "Look, I get it. You were caught off guard. But Lyon… he’s not like the others who come here. That kid’s got a soft heart, and he’s wearing it on his sleeve for you. Keeping the gem… that’s only going to make things harder for both of you."

"I know," Eirika murmured, her guilt weighing heavy in her voice. "But I just… I couldn’t do it, Selena. I couldn’t look him in the eyes and give it back."

Selena sighed, shaking her head. "Well, you’ve dug yourself into a mess now. You better figure out what you’re going to do about it. He’s not going to stay away forever." She straightened, giving Eirika a hard look. "And for what it’s worth? You should talk to him, sooner rather than later. The longer you drag this out, the worse it’ll get."

Eirika nodded, though she looked far from reassured. Her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted the straps of her costume, readying herself to go onstage. Selena lingered for a moment before turning back to the dressing room, muttering under her breath about the tangled emotions of the younger dancers.

As Eirika stepped through the curtain and onto the stage, her mind was a whirlwind of guilt and indecision. The crowd roared as the spotlight found her, but all she could think about was the sapphire waiting her at home—and the young man who had placed so much hope in her.

Tana stood nervously by the dressing area as Syrene began changing, the sound of clothing rustling filling the quiet space. Syrene had her pants on, but her top was still off as she reached for her blouse. Tana couldn't help but notice the older woman's strength and confidence, the way her posture exuded self-assurance even in the midst of changing.

For a moment, Tana froze, her eyes lingering a little too long on Syrene's figure. When Syrene glanced up, their eyes met, and Tana quickly looked away, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. Syrene chuckled softly, a knowing smile on her face.

"I hope you're not planning to stare at me all day, Tana," she teased, slipping her top over her head. "If you're gonna stare, at least wait until I'm done changing."

Tana stammered, her face flushed with embarrassment. "I—I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—"

Syrene laughed again, her tone warm and teasing. "It's fine. Just don't make it weird, alright?"

Tana nodded quickly, still feeling a little awkward. After a moment of silence, she cleared her throat and took a deep breath. "Syrene," she began, her voice quieter than usual. "I... I wanted to talk to you about something."

Syrene finished buttoning her shirt and turned to face Tana, her expression softening. "What's on your mind?"

Tana hesitated for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "I want to repay you for helping me. You know, with the money you gave me last week. It's not right for you to just give it away like that. I want to take you out to dinner tonight, to show my thanks."

Syrene's eyes softened, and she smiled gently. "You really don't have to do that, Tana. I helped you because I wanted to, not because I expect anything in return."

Tana bit her lip, feeling the weight of the words. "I know, but I still want to do something. I don't want to just take from you and not give anything back. Please let me do this."

Syrene studied her for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. Then, she chuckled lightly. "Alright, fine. If it makes you feel better, we can go out to dinner. But no funny business, okay?" Her tone was teasing, but there was a warmth behind it.

Tana smiled, relieved. "Thank you, Syrene. You don't know how much this means to me."

With that, Syrene finished getting dressed, and the two of them left the dressing room together, ready to spend the evening in each other's company. As they walked out of the club, the weight of their shared moment lingered in the air, an unspoken connection beginning to take root between them.

As Tana and Syrene walked through the quiet, cold streets, the night air biting at their skin, Tana couldn't help but feel the chill seep through her clothes. The city was nearly deserted, save for a few late-night wanderers, leaving the streets eerily silent except for the sound of their footsteps on the cracked pavement.

Syrene, ever aware of Tana's discomfort, noticed the way she hugged her arms around herself, her shoulders hunched against the cold. Without a word, Syrene slid her arm around Tana's waist, pulling her closer. The warmth of her body against Tana's was a welcome relief, and for a moment, Tana felt herself relax into the embrace, the cold no longer feeling so harsh.

"Better?" Syrene asked, her voice softer now as they walked side by side.

Tana nodded, though a small part of her still felt self-conscious. She had never been this close to anyone in a long time, and the warmth from Syrene's touch made her heart race, even if she didn't fully understand the feeling. She tried to push the thoughts away, focusing instead on the task at hand—getting through dinner without making things awkward.

Eventually, they reached their destination: a greasy, run-down 24-hour diner that looked like it hadn't seen a fresh coat of paint in decades. The neon sign flickered intermittently, casting a dull, sickly glow over the cracked sidewalk. The place was far from glamorous, its windows fogged from the inside, and the faint smell of fried food lingered in the air.

Tana stopped in her tracks, her heart sinking. This was the only place open at this hour, and, truthfully, it was the only place she could afford. She glanced at Syrene, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck.

Syrene looked around, a slight chuckle escaping her lips. "Well, it's not five-star, but it'll do. I’m starving."

Tana swallowed hard, trying to hide her discomfort. "Yeah... It’s all I can afford," she muttered, feeling the weight of her words.

Syrene gave her a reassuring smile, nudging her lightly. "You don't have to be embarrassed. Food's food. And we’re here to enjoy it, right?"

Tana smiled weakly, grateful for Syrene’s easygoing attitude, but still feeling the sting of her own circumstances. She followed Syrene into the diner, the bell above the door jingling as they stepped inside. The place was empty except for a lone waitress wiping down the counter and a couple of older men in the corner booth, their voices low and gruff.

The waitress glanced up, her bored expression shifting slightly as she eyed the two women, but she didn’t say anything. Syrene led the way to a booth near the window, and Tana hesitated before following her, sitting down across from her.

As Syrene looked over the laminated menu, Tana’s eyes drifted to the plastic-covered booths, the flickering overhead lights, and the greasy scent that clung to the air. She felt her stomach twist, a mix of disappointment and guilt gnawing at her insides.

Syrene noticed her discomfort and raised an eyebrow. "You okay?" she asked gently, her eyes soft with concern.

Tana nodded quickly, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just... never thought I’d end up here, that's all." She bit her lip, looking down at the menu, unable to meet Syrene's gaze for a moment.

Syrene gave her a knowing look, her voice playful yet understanding. "Hey, I’ve eaten here before. It’s not so bad. You get used to it."

Tana finally looked up at her, trying to hold back the surge of emotion rising in her chest. "I know. It’s just... I feel like I should be doing better, you know? Like I should be able to take you somewhere nicer." She fidgeted with her hands, avoiding Syrene’s gaze again.

Syrene reached across the table, her fingers brushing against Tana's. "Tana, listen to me." Her voice softened, more sincere now. "This doesn't matter. I’m here with you, not because of where we’re eating, but because I want to be. Don’t let this place make you feel bad. We’re two people just having dinner together. That’s all that matters."

Tana’s heart fluttered at Syrene’s words, the warmth in her chest making the cold of the diner seem less significant. For the first time that night, she felt the tension ease, a small, hopeful smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Thanks, Syrene," she murmured, her voice quiet but genuine.

The waitress came by to take their order, and as they settled in to wait for their food, Tana felt a small sense of relief. The diner may not have been perfect, but for the first time in a while, she didn’t feel alone. And in that moment, that was enough.

Syrene listened intently as Tana shared the painful story of how her life had unraveled, her voice quiet but steady. She had never spoken of her past to anyone in such detail, but something about Syrene's kind gaze and the way she didn’t judge her made it easier.

“When I was younger, my parents had a lot of money,” Tana started, her eyes distant, as if she were looking at a time long past. “They spoiled me, gave me everything I wanted. I had a good life... at least, I thought I did.”

She paused, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass, the weight of the memory pressing down on her chest. “But everything changed when Vigarde... well, he did what he always does. My father was offered a position at his company, a VP role. It seemed like a big opportunity, you know? But it was a trap. Vigarde set him up. He made sure my dad was promoted, but then he sold all the company’s assets, offloaded all the stocks, and sold sensitive information to the press.” Tana’s voice shook slightly, but she kept her eyes on Syrene. “It ruined my father. The company collapsed, and the people who worked there lost everything. But Vigarde came out smelling like roses, as always. He got richer, and my dad got blamed for everything.”

Tana’s breath caught as the next part of her story spilled out, memories of pain threatening to overwhelm her. “My father couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t find another job because of the scandal. He was ashamed, and he... he couldn’t carry the weight of what happened. He killed himself. My mother, she... she couldn’t deal with it either. The depression, the loss... she died not long after him.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper now, the words tasting bitter in her mouth. “It was just me and Innes left after that. He’s all I had left, but... he changed. He works for a thug named Caellach now, doing muscle work. He’s not the same person anymore. He spends everything he earns on beer and gambling. I don't know where he’s headed. And me... I had no choice but to start working at the Fire Emblem Club.”

Syrene’s eyes softened with sympathy, but she stayed silent, letting Tana speak her truth.

“I didn’t want to get involved with people like Vigarde or Caellach, but it was either this or go under. At least here I can survive. But the worst part is... Vigarde’s not done. He’s done this to so many families. I found out that Eirika’s parents had a similar story, just different circumstances. And to top it off, he has money tied up in this club. The hard work we do here, the things we’re forced to do, all fills his pockets. And he gets away with it, over and over again."

Tana fell silent, her gaze downcast, feeling the weight of her own words. She had never said all of this out loud before, not in such detail, and it felt like a heavy burden had lifted, even if just for a moment.

Syrene reached across the table, her hand gently touching Tana’s. “I’m sorry, Tana. That’s a hell of a thing to go through. No one deserves that kind of pain.” She paused, her fingers tightening slightly around Tana’s. “But you’re strong. You’ve made it this far, and that means something.”

Tana looked up, meeting Syrene’s eyes. She wasn’t sure what to say, but for the first time in a long time, she felt a flicker of hope. It was small, like a candle in a dark room, but it was there. “Thank you, Syrene. I... I needed to say it. I’ve never told anyone.”

Syrene smiled warmly, her gaze soft but unwavering. “Anytime you need to talk, you know I’m here. And don’t ever feel like you’re alone in this.”

Tana’s heart swelled, a mix of gratitude and something deeper, a connection she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in a long time. For now, the diner, the cold streets, and the weight of the past seemed distant, overshadowed by the warmth that came from Syrene’s kindness.

Tana slid out of her seat and moved to sit beside Syrene, her movements hesitant but deliberate. She leaned into Syrene, resting her head on her shoulder. For the first time in what felt like years, she allowed herself to relax, even if only slightly. The warmth of Syrene’s presence was comforting, a balm against the coldness of the world they lived in.

“I’m sorry,” Tana murmured, her voice muffled against Syrene’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t burden you with my problems. You already have so much on your plate. Vanessa, your family… You’ve done enough for me.”

Syrene shook her head softly, her arm instinctively wrapping around Tana in a protective embrace. “Don’t apologize, Tana,” she said, her voice low and steady. “You’re not a burden. You never could be. I care about you.”

Tana’s eyes stung with tears, and she bit her lip to keep from breaking down completely. She didn’t deserve this kindness, not after everything. Yet, here Syrene was, offering it to her without hesitation. The weight of that realization was almost too much to bear.

Syrene turned her head slightly and pressed a gentle kiss to Tana’s forehead, the gesture so tender that it sent a shiver down Tana’s spine. Tears began to spill silently from both of them, unspoken emotions flooding to the surface.

Tana lifted her head, her cheeks wet, her gaze meeting Syrene’s. She hesitated for just a moment, searching Syrene’s face for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But all she found was warmth and acceptance, a quiet strength that made her heart ache.

And then, without thinking, Tana leaned in, closing the gap between them. Her lips met Syrene’s in a deep, heartfelt kiss, one that spoke of gratitude, longing, and a yearning for something neither of them could quite put into words. Syrene didn’t pull away—instead, she leaned into it, her hand cupping Tana’s cheek gently, as if to reassure her that this moment was real.

The kiss lingered, time seeming to slow around them. It was an escape from everything—the club, the pain, the weight of their lives. In that small, greasy diner, with the faint hum of a flickering light overhead, they found a sliver of solace in each other.

Syrene fumbled with the keys as she and Tana stumbled through the dimly lit hallway leading to her apartment. Their breaths were shallow, mingling in the cold night air, as their lips met over and over again, neither of them able to resist the magnetic pull between them. Tana’s hands clung to Syrene’s jacket, pulling her closer, as though afraid she might slip away.

“Hold on,” Syrene murmured against Tana’s lips, her voice tinged with a breathless laugh. She finally managed to get the key into the lock, twisting it open with a satisfying click. The door swung inward, and the two women practically fell inside, their laughter and kisses spilling over into the small, cozy space.

The door shut behind them with a soft thud as Syrene kicked it closed. Tana’s back pressed against the wall, her hands finding their way to Syrene’s waist. Their kisses grew deeper, more urgent, a mix of pent-up longing and nervous energy. Syrene’s fingers gently brushed Tana’s hair, tucking a strand behind her ear as their foreheads pressed together, both of them catching their breath for a moment.

“Are you sure?” Syrene asked softly, her voice tender but steady. Her eyes searched Tana’s, looking for any trace of doubt.

Tana nodded, her cheeks flushed, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. “I’ve never been more sure of anything,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “I… I trust you.”

Syrene smiled, her expression a mix of relief and adoration. She leaned in, capturing Tana’s lips in another kiss, this one slower, more deliberate, as though savoring every second. They moved together toward the small living area, shedding their jackets and shoes as they went, neither wanting to break contact for longer than a heartbeat.

The apartment was modest but warm, filled with little touches that made it feel lived in—photos of Vanessa on the fridge, a stack of books on a rickety coffee table, and a well-worn blanket draped over the couch. It wasn’t much, but it was home. For the first time that night, Tana felt like she belonged somewhere.

Syrene guided Tana toward the couch, her hands never leaving her as they tumbled down together in a tangle of limbs and laughter. In that moment, the weight of the world outside faded away. Syrene and Tana's hands roamed over each other's bodies, their touch a mix of tenderness and urgency. Clothing was shed with frantic movements, buttons popping off and zippers snagging in their haste to feel skin against skin. Tana gasped as Syrene's fingers brushed over the swell of her breasts, her nipples already pebbling beneath the thin fabric of her bra. She arched into the touch, craving more, needing to feel Syrene's hands on her bare flesh.

Syrene's breath caught as Tana's hands slid under her shirt, her fingers splaying over the smooth expanse of Syrene's back. She could feel the heat of Syrene's skin, the way it seemed to burn under her touch, and it only fueled the fire building inside her. Tana's fingers dipped lower, teasing at the waistband of Syrene's jeans, and she heard Syrene's sharp intake of breath in response. "Tana," Syrene breathed, her voice low and heavy with desire."Please..." She didn't have to say more. Tana could feel the way Syrene's body trembled beneath her touch, the way her hips shifted restlessly against the couch cushions. She could see the need in Syrene's eyes, the raw, unbridled want that mirrored her own.

Tana's hands slid lower, popping the button of Syrene's jeans and slowly, teasingly, dragging down the zipper. Syrene lifted her hips, helping Tana tug the denim down her long legs, leaving her in nothing but a pair of plain cotton panties. Tana's breath caught at the sight of Syrene laid out before her, her skin flushed and glistening in the dim light of the apartment.Syrene reached for Tana, her hands slipping under the hem of Tana's shirt, pushing it up and over her head. She tossed it aside carelessly, too focused on the expanse of skin being revealed to her hungry gaze. Tana's bra followed, and then she was bare before Syrene, her breasts full and perfect, her nipples a dusky rose in the low light."God, Tana," Syrene breathed, her hands cupping the soft weight of Tana's breasts, her thumbs brushing over the hardened peaks."You're so beautiful." She leaned down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the swell of Tana's breasts, her tongue darting out to taste the salt of Tana's skin.

Tana threaded her fingers through Syrene's hair, holding her close as she arched into the touch. Her head fell back, a low moan escaping her lips as Syrene's mouth closed around one aching nipple. The heat of Syrene's mouth, the wet suction, sent sparks of pleasure shooting through her body, making her writhe beneath Syrene's touch.Syrene's hand slid lower, over the flat plane of Tana's stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of her panties. Tana's hips bucked as Syrene's fingers brushed over her slick folds, her body already so wet and ready. Syrene's fingers parted her, gliding through the slick heat, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs."Syrene," Tana gasped, her hips rocking against Syrene's hand, seeking more of that exquisite friction.

Syrene's fingers slid through Tana's slick folds, teasing and stroking, drawing out gasps and whimpers of pleasure from her lover's lips. Tana's hips rocked against Syrene's hand, seeking more of that delicious pressure, more of the building heat that was coiling tighter and tighter in her core. Syrene's touch was electric, sending shockwaves of sensation racing through Tana's veins with every brush of her fingers over that sensitive bundle of nerves. Syrene's free hand slid up Tana's side, cupping the weight of her breast, her thumb and forefinger rolling and tugging at the hardened peak.

Tana cried out, arching into the dual sensations, her body writhing with pleasure beneath Syrene's touch. Syrene's lips followed the path of her hand, trailing open-mouthed kisses over the soft swell of Tana's breasts, her tongue darting out to lave at the aching nipples.

Tana's fingers tangled in Syrene's hair, holding her close as she bucked and thrashed beneath her. The heat building between her thighs was becoming unbearable, the need for release growing with each pass of Syrene's fingers over her slick flesh. "Please," she begged, her voice high and thready with desperation.

"Syrene, I need... I need..."She didn't have to finish the sentence. Syrene could feel the way Tana's body clenched around her fingers, the way her hips jerked and twitched, seeking that final push. With a low, wicked chuckle, Syrene slid a finger deep inside Tana's tight heat, her thumb circling and pressing against her clit. Tana's back arched off the couch, a sharp cry tearing from her throat as the pleasure crashed over her in waves. Her walls clenched around Syrene's finger, pulsing and fluttering as the orgasm ripped through her. Syrene worked her through it, drawing out every last shudder and gasp until Tana collapsed back onto the cushions, spent.

Syrene positioned herself between Tana's spread thighs, her heart pounding with anticipation and desire. She could feel the heat radiating from Tana's core, the slick evidence of her arousal glistening on her inner thighs. Syrene's own body ached with need, her sex throbbing and empty, craving the feel of Tana's against her own.Slowly, teasingly, Syrene lowered herself down, until she could feel the first brush of contact.

The sensation was electric, sending a jolt of pleasure shooting up Syrene's spine as her slick folds met Tana's. She rocked her hips, grinding against Tana in a slow, sensual rhythm, savoring the way their bodies fit together, the way Tana's thighs trembled and quivered against her own.Syrene's hands slid up Tana's sides, mapping the curves of her waist and the swell of her breasts. She cupped the soft weight, feeling Tana's nipples pebble against her palms as she kneaded the supple flesh. Tana's hands gripped Syrene's shoulders, her nails digging into the skin as she pulled her closer, urging her on. Their kisses grew deeper, more urgent, a desperate clash of lips and tongues as the pleasure built between them.

Syrene could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter in her core, the heat growing with each roll of her hips, each press of her sex against Tana's. She could feel Tana's arousal coating her thighs, making the glide of their bodies together slick and smooth. The scent of their desire filled the air, musky and intoxicating, driving Syrene wild with lust .Syrene's hand slid between their bodies, her fingers finding Tana's slick heat. She stroked and teased, feeling Tana's walls clench and flutter around her digits as she worked her closer and closer to the edge. Tana's cries grew louder, more desperate, her hips bucking frantically against Syrene's hand as she chased her release.

With a final, hard press against her clit, Syrene sent Tana flying over the edge, her body convulsing with the force of her climax. The sensation was enough to push Syrene over as well, her own orgasm crashing over her in waves of white-hot pleasure as Tana's walls pulsed and clenched around her fingers. They clung to each other, riding out the aftershocks, their bodies trembling and spent.

Tana and Syrene lay tangled together on the couch, their arms wrapped tightly around each other as they basked in the warmth of their shared embrace. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the rhythmic sound of their breathing. Tana nestled her head against Syrene’s chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on her arm, a small smile of contentment on her lips.

But the peace was short-lived. The creak of the front door broke the silence, and both women froze. Tana’s eyes widened in panic as Vanessa stepped into the apartment, her schoolbag slung over one shoulder. The younger girl stopped in her tracks, her gaze falling on the two women sprawled on the couch, their disheveled state leaving little to the imagination.

“Vanessa!” Syrene sat up abruptly, pulling their clothes over herself and Tana with one hand while the other rested reassuringly on Tana’s arm. Tana, meanwhile, turned crimson, hastily trying to cover herself, her embarrassment palpable.

Vanessa blinked, clearly startled, though she tried to mask her shock with a forced casualness. “Uh... am I interrupting something?” she asked, though her disapproving tone was hard to miss.

“You should be asleep by now,” Syrene said firmly, ignoring her sister's pointed question. She kept her voice steady but softened it with a sisterly concern. “It’s late, and you’ve got school tomorrow.”

Vanessa frowned, standing her ground. “I was out finishing that group project for history. Didn’t think I’d walk into… this,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the couch. Her gaze lingered on Tana for a moment, the judgment clear in her eyes. “And besides, you used to stay out all night and skip class all the time. Why is it such a big deal if I’m up late?”

Syrene’s lips tightened, her tone sharpening slightly. “Exactly. I know what happens when you don’t take school seriously, and I don’t want you making the same mistakes I did.” She pulled the fabrics tighter around her and glanced at Vanessa with a mixture of exasperation and care. “You’ve got dreams, don’t you? You said you wanted to go to college. How are you going to do that if you’re not getting enough sleep or keeping your grades up?”

Vanessa shrugged, but her resolve wavered under her sister’s gaze. “I’m doing fine,” she muttered defensively, though her tone lacked conviction.

“Fine isn’t good enough,” Syrene replied, softening her tone again. “You’re smart, Vanessa. You’ve got potential. But you have to work for it. You don’t want to be stuck like me, do you?”

Vanessa shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the floor. “No... I guess not,” she mumbled.

“Then go to bed,” Syrene said, her voice gentler now. “We’ll talk more in the morning, okay?”

Vanessa sighed, lingering for a moment before finally turning to head to her room. She paused at the doorway, glancing over her shoulder at Tana, who was still avoiding her gaze. “Good night,” she said stiffly, her tone cool but not outright hostile, before disappearing into the hall.

As the door to Vanessa’s room clicked shut, Tana let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble…”

Syrene turned to her, a soft smile on her lips as she cupped Tana’s cheek. “You didn’t,” she said gently. “Vanessa’s just... protective, that’s all. She’ll come around. Don’t worry.”

Tana nodded, though her heart still raced from the encounter. Syrene leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. “Now,” she said, her tone lighter as she pulled the blanket more snugly around them, “let’s get some rest ourselves. We’ll need it for whatever comes next.”

The morning sunlight streamed through the small kitchen window, casting a warm glow over the modest room. Syrene stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease, while the faint sizzle of bacon filled the air. She glanced over her shoulder at Vanessa, who sat at the table, staring blankly at the surface with her arms crossed. Syrene sighed softly, plating the food and setting it in front of her sister.

“Pancakes and bacon,” Syrene said with a forced cheerfulness, sliding into the chair across from Vanessa. “Your favorite.”

Vanessa glanced at the plate but didn’t touch it. The silence between them was heavy, and Syrene fidgeted with her coffee cup, searching for something to say.

“Vanessa,” she began carefully, her voice soft. “I know last night was... a lot. But—”

“Don’t,” Vanessa interrupted, her voice cold but quiet. She picked up her fork, poking at the pancakes without looking at Syrene. “I get it. Things are hard right now. You’re doing your best to take care of me. But honestly, Syrene... what would Mom and Dad think if they were still alive?”

Syrene’s heart clenched at the words, but she held her composure. Vanessa continued, her voice trembling slightly as she pushed through her thoughts. “Not only are you working at a strip club, but you’re... you’re sleeping with someone from there. A stripper, Syrene. What would they say? Don’t you think you deserve better than that?”

Syrene swallowed hard, her jaw tightening. “Vanessa, you don’t know Tana,” she said firmly. “She’s been through so much, and she’s trying her best to survive, just like we are. She’s kind, thoughtful—she’s more than just her job. And you shouldn’t judge her for the situation she’s in.”

Vanessa finally looked up, her eyes sharp and accusing. “And what about you? What about what you deserve? Do you really think this is the life you should have? Working nights, dancing for sleazy men, scraping by to make ends meet?”

“I’m doing it for you,” Syrene shot back, her tone steady but tinged with frustration. “So you can focus on school, so you can have a better life. I don’t want you ending up like me, Vanessa. That’s why I’m working so hard—to give you a chance to escape all this.”

Vanessa scoffed, leaning back in her chair. “You didn’t have to end up like this, Syrene. If you’d married one of those rich guys who used to hit on you, you wouldn’t be here now. You wouldn’t have to—”

“I have needs too, Vanessa,” Syrene cut in, her voice sharp and unyielding. “I’m more than just someone who takes care of you. I have feelings, dreams, and yes, love. Tana makes me happy, and that matters.”

Vanessa’s expression twisted with disgust, and she pushed her plate away. “She’s a woman, Syrene,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “No matter how good she is, it’s still... it’s wrong. It’s disgusting.”

The words hit Syrene like a slap, but she refused to falter. She stood up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. “You don’t get to talk to me like that,” she said, her voice firm and commanding. “I’ve given up everything to make sure you have a chance at a better life. If you don’t like how I live or who I love, that’s your problem. But you will respect me, Vanessa. I won’t tolerate anything less.”

Vanessa’s face reddened with shame and anger, but she didn’t respond. She shoved her chair back and stormed out of the kitchen, leaving her untouched breakfast behind.

Syrene stood there for a long moment, her hands trembling slightly as she gripped the edge of the table. Her chest ached with the weight of Vanessa’s words, but she forced herself to take a deep breath. She wouldn’t let her sister’s disapproval shake her resolve. Tana deserved better than that, and so did she.

Lyon sat at a dimly lit table near the edge of the club, nursing a bottle of water he’d barely touched. The pulsing music and low chatter of the room felt distant, drowned out by the storm of emotions swirling in his mind. He shouldn’t have come. He had told himself this countless times, swearing he’d stay away from her. But no matter how much he tried, something about this place—and her—drew him back.

His eyes drifted toward the bar, where Eirika was leaning over, her radiant smile aimed at a man seated in front of her. She laughed at something he said, playfully brushing her hair back in a way that made Lyon’s stomach twist. It wasn’t real—he knew it wasn’t—but the thought of what might happen if the man took the bait lingered like a dark cloud over him.

Would she really take him to one of the private booths? And if she did... what then? His mind spiraled, imagining scenarios he didn’t want to entertain but couldn’t push away. A sick pang of jealousy tightened in his chest, and he clenched his fists under the table.

Why couldn’t he just talk to her? Explain how he felt? But even the idea made his throat close up. What right did he have to feel this way about her when he could never say the words out loud?

“Need another drink?”

The voice jolted him from his thoughts. He looked up to see Selena standing by his table, a practiced smile on her lips. She held a tray in one hand and tilted her head slightly, her expression softening when she noticed his conflicted look.

“On the house, of course,” she added, her tone lighter now.

Lyon shook his head, forcing a weak smile. “No, I’m fine. Just... water’s good.”

Selena raised an eyebrow, setting her tray down for a moment. “You sure? You look like you’ve been staring daggers at that bottle for the last half hour. Not the best way to unwind, you know.”

“I’m fine,” Lyon repeated, but his eyes flicked back to the bar involuntarily. Selena followed his gaze, her smile fading slightly as she pieced things together.

“Eirika, huh?” she said knowingly, her voice quieter.

Lyon stiffened, his cheeks flushing. “I—I don’t know what you mean,” he stammered, but Selena just gave him a look that said she wasn’t buying it.

“You’re not as subtle as you think, you know,” Selena said, crossing her arms. “Look, I get it. She’s... different. Sweet, even here, which is saying something. But if you’re gonna sit here torturing yourself every time she talks to someone, you’re just gonna drive yourself insane.”

Lyon glanced down, his grip tightening on the bottle. “It’s not like that,” he muttered, though even he didn’t believe it.

Selena sighed, leaning against the table slightly. “Sure, it’s not. But listen, if you want my advice? Stop thinking so much. Talk to her. She’s not as untouchable as you think.”

Before he could respond, Selena straightened, picking up her tray again. “Anyway, just let me know if you change your mind about that drink,” she said over her shoulder, giving him a small, knowing smile before walking away.

Lyon sat back, his heart heavy. He glanced at the bar again, catching a glimpse of Eirika throwing her head back in laughter. The man slid a wad of bills across the counter, and Lyon’s stomach sank as he watched her gesture toward the private booths.

He looked away, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. Was this really the only way he could see her? Sitting in the shadows, helpless as she drifted further and further out of reach?

Lyon was still lost in his thoughts when Selena reappeared at his side, her tray now empty. She took a seat next to him without asking, her demeanor more serious than it had been earlier.

“You’re thinking too much about her,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “You need to stop.”  

Lyon blinked, taken aback by her sudden change in tone. “What do you mean?”  

Selena didn’t answer right away. She leaned back in her chair, her eyes distant, and for a moment, Lyon wondered if he had said something wrong. But then, she began speaking, her voice carrying a weight that made him sit up straighter.

“There's a man I used to know. His name was Orson,” Selena began, her eyes narrowing slightly as she remembered. “He used to come around here. A regular. Spent most of his nights sitting at the bar, watching a particular girl—her name was Monica. He’d always stare at her, talking about her like she was his whole world.”  

Lyon’s brow furrowed in curiosity as he listened. He’d seen regulars come and go, but this story sounded different.

“Monica wasn’t like the others,” Selena continued. “She didn’t give him much attention, but it didn’t matter to him. He was obsessed, you could see it in his eyes. He asked her to marry him.”  

Lyon’s mouth went dry. “What happened?”  

Selena’s gaze grew heavy as she recalled the rest of the tale. “They were planning the wedding. Monica and Orson. She’d agreed to it, and he thought he was the happiest man alive. But then…” Her voice faltered for a second, and she looked down at her hands, her fingers drumming the table as she took a breath. “Monica died. A lung disease, out of nowhere. Nobody even saw it coming.”  

Lyon felt a chill run down his spine. “But… she was fine before that?”  

Selena nodded. “Yeah. Healthy. Happy. But she was gone in a matter of weeks. Orson didn’t handle it well. He... he couldn’t. He went mad, Lyon. He couldn’t live without her. It broke him. He stopped coming around here for a while, but then we heard… he took his own life. He couldn’t bear the thought of living without her.”  

Lyon was silent for a long moment, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He tried to imagine what that must have been like for Orson, the kind of pain that could push a person to such a dark place. He couldn’t fathom it.

“Lyon, I’m telling you this for your own good,” Selena said quietly, her voice almost like a warning. “You can’t let yourself get obsessed with someone here. Especially someone like Eirika. You’re just setting yourself up for a fall. I know it’s hard, but you have to keep your distance. I’ve seen this happen before.”  

Lyon’s eyes shifted to the private booths, it had been a while since Eirika entered, and now, both her and her client got out of it. It only made Lyon’s heart sink deeper. He clenched his fists under the table.

“I don’t think I can just walk away,” he muttered, barely above a whisper. “It’s not that simple.”  

“I know it’s not,” Selena agreed, her tone softening slightly. “But if you don’t stop now, if you let this obsession grow, you’ll end up like Orson. Lost. Broken. And nothing good will come of it. Trust me.”  

Lyon exhaled slowly, trying to push down the mix of emotions swirling inside him. “I’ll try,” he said, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. “But it’s hard…”  

Selena gave him a knowing look, as if she understood exactly what he was feeling. “I know,” she said gently. “But you’ve got to take care of yourself too. Don’t let her, or anyone else, take everything from you.”  

Lyon nodded, but his gaze was still fixed on Eirika. Her smile, so radiant and effortless, felt like a distant dream now, something he would never be able to reach. 

Selena was right, he knew. But the hardest part was learning to let go.

Eirika’s eyes flicked across the club, searching for something to distract her from the growing tension in her chest. Her gaze landed on Lyon, sitting at a corner table, his brow furrowed, the bottle of water still in his hand, untouched. She couldn't help but feel a knot twist in her stomach at the sight of him. There was something about him that pulled her in, something that made her want to know what he was thinking, why he was looking at her the way he was.

She watched as Lyon stood up, his movements hesitant at first, like he was about to make a decision. Her heart skipped a beat. Was he coming over? Was he finally going to speak to her? For a fleeting moment, she dared to hope that maybe he would come, maybe he would break the silence that had been hanging between them for days.

But then, as if the moment had evaporated in the air between them, Lyon turned away. Eirika’s chest tightened as she saw him heading toward the exit, the door swinging open with a soft jingle. He didn’t even glance back.

Her stomach dropped, the fleeting hope she had built crumbling with each step he took toward the door. She swallowed hard, trying to push the feeling of disappointment down, trying to convince herself it was for the best, that there was nothing left to say anyway.

The soft click of glass against the counter brought her out of her thoughts. Selena had returned to the bar, her arms full of drinks, ready to carry them to the tables. Eirika forced a smile as Selena approached, trying to shake off the lingering sense of longing that still clung to her heart.

“Did you talk to Lyon?” Eirika asked, her voice betraying a hint of curiosity.

Selena glanced over her shoulder toward the exit, her eyes narrowing slightly as she caught sight of Lyon slipping out into the night. She didn’t answer right away, and when she did, her voice was nonchalant, but there was an underlying tone of something unspoken. “I talked to him,” Selena said, setting the drinks down with a practiced motion. “But he’s… complicated. He’s not going to make things easy for himself.”  

Eirika raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “What does that mean?”  

Selena paused for a moment, her eyes scanning the room as if she were weighing her words carefully. “It means he’s conflicted, Eirika. He’s been stuck in his own head for too long, thinking about things that... probably aren’t worth thinking about.” She shot Eirika a knowing look, one that made her feel exposed, like Selena could see right through her.

Eirika nodded slowly, her mind racing. She knew Selena was right. Lyon wasn’t the type to make rash decisions. But even so, the way he had looked at her before turning away… it stung more than she wanted to admit.

“I’ll be fine,” Eirika muttered, her voice softer now. “I don’t know why I even care.”  

Selena didn’t respond at first, but the way she looked at Eirika—half-sympathetic, half-knowing—said more than enough.

Chapter Text

The club was slowly starting to fill with life as the girls and staff prepared for the night. In the corner of the backstage lounge, Tethys stretched gracefully, adjusting her dancer’s outfit—a shimmering ensemble that caught the light with every movement. She glanced over at Marisa, who stood near the entrance, leaning casually against the wall, her usual stoic expression firmly in place. Marisa's cropped jacket and no-nonsense demeanor gave her an air of quiet authority, and her muscular build only added to her intimidating presence.

Tethys smirked as she sauntered over, her every step deliberate and teasing. "Marisa, darling," she cooed, her voice laced with playful mischief, "how is our fierce little bodyguard today?"

Marisa grunted in response, not even sparing Tethys a glance. "Same as always," she said bluntly, though there was a faint twitch in her jaw—one that Tethys immediately noticed.

The dancer leaned in closer, her bright eyes sparkling with amusement. "You’re so serious all the time," she teased, lightly tracing a finger along Marisa’s forearm. "Tell me, have you even smiled once today? Or do I have to perform a special dance just for you to make it happen?"

Marisa shifted uncomfortably, her ears turning a faint shade of red. "Don’t need a dance," she muttered, crossing her arms and looking away.

"Oh, come now," Tethys said, her voice taking on a mockingly dramatic tone. "Surely you could use some excitement in your life. Or is the highlight of your day just glaring at drunk customers and tossing them out?"

Marisa's lips twitched into the faintest semblance of a smirk, though she quickly suppressed it. "If it keeps them in line, it’s enough."

Tethys chuckled, stepping back and twirling once for good measure, her skirt flaring elegantly. "You’re adorable, you know that? So stoic, so tough... But I wonder—does that tough act melt when Gerik’s around?"

At the mention of Gerik, Marisa’s eyes flicked to Tethys, narrowing slightly. "What are you getting at?" she asked, her tone cautious.

Tethys grinned, knowing she’d hit a nerve. "Oh, nothing," she said innocently, though her tone betrayed her amusement. "It’s just... you get this look when he’s nearby. All quiet and broody, but maybe a little soft too? Almost like you’re—oh, what’s the word—smitten?"

Marisa scowled, her blush deepening. "You’re imagining things," she muttered.

"Am I?" Tethys said with a giggle, tilting her head as she studied Marisa’s flustered expression. "Because I’m pretty sure I’m not. But don’t worry, sweetie, your secret’s safe with me."

Marisa let out an exasperated sigh, clearly done with the conversation. "Shouldn’t you be practicing or something?" she asked, trying to deflect.

Tethys smirked, leaning in one last time to whisper, "You’re fun to tease, Marisa. Maybe Gerik likes that side of you too." Then, with a playful wink, she spun on her heel and strutted back to the stage, leaving Marisa standing there, red-faced and glaring after her.

As Tethys disappeared, Marisa let out a small groan, running a hand through her short hair. Dealing with unruly customers was easy—dealing with Tethys, not so much. Especially when she hit too close to home.

Still, as much as Marisa hated to admit it, Tethys wasn’t entirely wrong.

The loud roar of motorcycles signaled the arrival of Caellach and his crew. The engines cut out one by one, leaving an eerie silence in their wake before the men spilled into the Fire Emblem Club with swaggering confidence. At their helm was Caellach himself, dressed in his signature leather jacket, his grin wide and his aura reeking of victory.

"Alright, boys!" he bellowed as they entered, drawing the attention of nearly everyone in the club. "Drinks are on me tonight! We earned it!"

His gang whooped and cheered, scattering across the floor like rowdy wolves ready to enjoy their spoils. They took seats at the bar, hollered at the girls, and claimed their space like they owned it. Caellach sauntered up to the bar himself, slapping a wad of cash onto the counter. "Keep it flowing, Selena," he said with a smirk. "Let’s make this a night to remember."

Selena, ever the professional, didn’t bat an eye. She scooped up the money, arching an unimpressed brow. "Don’t wreck the place like last time," she warned, already pouring their first round of drinks.

"No promises," Caellach said with a wink before turning his attention to the stage. "Hey, where’s my favorite dancer? Tethys! You’re up, right? Make it good tonight—I brought my best boys to see you!"

Tethys, who had been chatting with another girl backstage, rolled her eyes but plastered on a smile. She stepped out gracefully, her outfit shimmering under the club’s lights as she sashayed toward the stage. "Anything for my most generous patron," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Caellach let out a bark of laughter, raising his drink in her direction. "That’s my girl!"

As Tethys prepared for her performance, Marisa lingered by the entrance, her posture rigid as always, eyes fixed on the room. She didn’t like it when Caellach showed up—his presence always stirred up trouble, and his so-called “boys” were often too handsy for her liking. But it wasn’t her place to say anything, not when her brother Innes depended on this man for work.

"Relax, Marisa," Joshua, one of the other security guards, said as he leaned against the wall beside her. His voice carried its usual casual drawl, and he idly shuffled a deck of cards in his hands. "They’re just blowing off steam. No need to look like you’re ready to take someone’s head off."

Marisa shot him a glare. "I don’t trust them."

Joshua chuckled, flipping a card into his hand and glancing at it before tucking it back into the deck. "You don’t trust anyone. Can’t say I blame you, though. Still, try not to scare off the paying customers, alright?"

Marisa ignored him, her eyes narrowing as she watched Caellach settle into a booth, flanked by his cronies. His cocky grin and loud voice grated on her nerves, but it wasn’t him she was watching—it was Gerik, who had just walked in behind the group.

Gerik was quieter than the rest, his expression more reserved. He greeted a few of the girls politely before making his way to the bar, where he ordered a drink and took a seat away from the chaos. Tethys caught sight of him as she twirled on stage, her movements suddenly more flirtatious, her eyes seeking his attention.

Marisa’s jaw tightened. She hated how her chest ached whenever she saw him.

"You good, Marisa?" Joshua asked, flicking a card at her playfully. "You’re looking more intense than usual. And that’s saying something."

"I’m fine," she muttered, brushing the card away.

Joshua smirked but said nothing more, turning his attention back to the rowdy group as Tethys commanded the stage. The music started, and the club erupted into cheers as Caellach leaned back in his seat, raising his glass high.

"To us!" he shouted. "The kings of this city!"

The room cheered along, but Marisa remained at her post, her hand resting on the baton at her side. It was going to be a long night.

The club was louder than usual, Caellach's men filling the air with drunken laughter and coarse shouts. Marisa remained at her post, her sharp eyes scanning the room. She was used to their noise, but tonight something else snagged her attention—a heated argument near the back of the club.

It was Tana. She stood nose-to-nose with her brother, Innes, her face flushed with anger. Her voice, though higher-pitched than his, cut through the din of the crowd.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Innes?” she shouted, her fists clenched at her sides. “Spending our money like this? Drinking with these people while we barely have enough to get by?”

Innes scowled, his jaw tightening. “It’s my money,” he snapped. “Don’t lecture me, Tana. I do what I want with it.”

“Your money?” Tana’s voice rose. “The money you earn beating people up for him?” She jabbed a finger in Caellach’s direction. “It’s disgusting! You’re disgusting!”

The air in the club shifted as the argument grew louder. The girls and staff glanced nervously in their direction, some edging away, others pretending not to notice. Even Syrene, who had been carrying drinks across the floor, stopped and hurried toward them.

“Hey, hey,” Syrene said, stepping between them. “Let’s calm down, okay? This isn’t the time or place.”

But neither Tana nor Innes paid her any mind. Innes leaned forward, his voice dropping to a menacing growl. “You don’t know anything, Tana. I do what I have to do. You don’t get to lecture me about survival.”

Tana didn’t back down. “Survival? You waste it all on booze and gambling! You’re killing us!”

Caellach, who had been watching from his booth, chuckled darkly, taking a sip from his drink. “Man, Innes, you gonna let your little sister talk to you like that? Looks like you’re not much of a man after all.”

The mocking laughter of Caellach’s men spread like wildfire. Innes’ face twisted with shame and anger. Syrene reached for Tana’s arm, trying to pull her back, but Tana shook her off, still glaring at her brother.

Innes stepped closer, his hand twitching at his side as if he was fighting the urge to lash out. “You don’t know when to shut up, Tana,” he muttered, his voice dangerously low.

It happened in a flash. He raised his hand, but before it could swing down, Marisa was there, standing firmly between him and Tana. Her violet eyes locked on his, calm yet sharp, her hand resting on the hilt of her weapon.

“That’s enough,” Marisa said quietly, her voice carrying a weight that silenced the nearby chatter.

Innes froze, his anger flickering into hesitation. But Caellach’s smile only widened. “Oh, what’s this?” he said mockingly, standing and sauntering over. “The little guard dog wants to play hero now?”

Marisa didn’t flinch as Caellach loomed over her, his broad frame casting a shadow. “You really want to go there, Caellach?” she asked, her tone as steady as her gaze.

Caellach smirked, but his eyes held a warning. “Careful, girl. You don’t want to get on my bad side.”

“Funny,” came a calm voice from behind. “I was about to say the same thing.”

Joshua had appeared, his hands casually in his pockets, but his expression was anything but relaxed. His easygoing demeanor belied the sharp edge in his voice as he addressed Caellach.

“Really, man,” Joshua said with a crooked grin, “you want to start trouble here? In our club? After all that bragging about being the king of the city?”

The tension in the air was palpable. Caellach’s men watched their boss, waiting for his reaction. Marisa stood her ground, her eyes never leaving Innes, who was now looking at the floor.

Finally, Caellach laughed, clapping Innes on the shoulder. “Relax, kid. No need to cause a scene over family squabbles. Let’s go get another round.” He turned to Marisa and Joshua, his grin as smug as ever. “We’re just here to have a good time. No need for the big show.”

He gestured for his men to follow, and after a moment of hesitation, they did. Innes lingered for a moment, avoiding Tana’s gaze before muttering something under his breath and walking off with the group.

Tana sagged with relief as Marisa stepped back, her hand finally dropping away from her weapon. Syrene placed a comforting arm around Tana’s shoulders, murmuring soft reassurances as they led her to the bar. Joshua gave Marisa an approving nod, and for a brief moment, a flicker of understanding passed between them.

But Marisa didn’t say anything. She simply returned to her post, her face as stoic as ever, though her grip on her knife remained a little tighter than before.

Marisa leaned against the wall outside the club, the cool night air washing over her as she took a long drag from the joint in her hand. She’d told Joshua she needed a small break, her nerves still buzzing from the tension with Caellach and Innes. The cigarette smoke spiraled upward, blending with the fog of her thoughts, and she exhaled deeply, her eyes closing briefly as she savored the rare moment of quiet.

She hadn’t expected company. But just as she was about to take another hit, she heard footsteps approaching. A familiar figure loomed in the dim streetlight—Gerik. The thug turned bodyguard, who always seemed to know how to make an entrance. His eyes briefly scanned the surroundings before landing on her, his usual confident smile playing on his lips.

“Hey, you got a light?” he asked, voice smooth, a cigarette hanging between his lips.

Marisa didn’t immediately answer. Instead, she glanced at him for a beat, her face unreadable. She took another drag from her joint, the burn slow and steady, before exhaling in a perfect cloud of smoke. 

“I left it inside,” she said quietly, then added, “but you can try and light it with mine if you want.”

Gerik didn’t hesitate. His hand reached for the end of her joint with a casualness that was almost too comfortable, the flame from his lighter catching the tip of her joint. He lit his own cigarette first, his fingers brushing against hers in the process. Marisa's breath caught for just a moment, but she didn’t flinch. 

After a pause, Gerik took a drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around him as he looked at her. “You’ve got a big pair to stand up to Caellach like that,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, the usual mocking edge replaced with a subtle respect. 

Marisa gave him a small, unamused smile. "Someone had to do it," she muttered, flicking the ashes off her joint, her voice tinged with quiet defiance. But her mind lingered on his words. Her chest tightened, a strange mixture of pride and something else stirring in her. 

She didn’t know what to say. The last thing she’d expected was for someone like Gerik to be impressed by her. 

“Why are you out here instead of inside, enjoying the show?” she asked, her tone neutral but with a slight curiosity that made her words linger in the air between them.

He took another drag of his cigarette, the tip glowing orange in the darkness. “Needed a little bit of nicotine,” he said, his voice steady. “Besides… I was impressed by you.” 

Marisa’s heart skipped a beat. She didn’t know how to process that, or even how to respond. She’d been so used to people not seeing her, or seeing only the quiet, tough exterior, that this—this moment—felt like something entirely different. 

His eyes met hers then, and the look in them was more than just casual interest. It was genuine. Something in her stomach fluttered, a sensation she couldn’t name, but one that was undeniably there. 

“You were impressed by me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She was barely aware of the slight rasp in her tone, her words holding a weight she didn’t quite understand. 

Gerik took his time to answer, his gaze lingering on her, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, Marisa,” he said quietly, his voice softer than before. “You’ve got a lot of guts. More than I thought.” 

Her breath caught in her throat. The air between them seemed to thicken, as if time had slowed just for them. There was a strange pull in her chest, an undeniable tension that made her heart race and her mind scramble for words.

But there were none. Not the right ones.

Instead, she just took another drag from her joint, trying to steady her shaking hand, her gaze falling to the ground. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she tried to process the raw, unspoken connection that seemed to hang between them now.

Gerik’s voice broke the silence once more, warm and low, with just a hint of something deeper behind it. “You should come inside, you know. The night’s still young.” 

Marisa hesitated, her hand tightening slightly around the joint. She looked up at him, her gaze soft but questioning. “You want me to go back in there with you?”

His smile deepened, and his eyes darkened just a little. “I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Marisa’s breath hitched, her thoughts scattered. The romantic tension between them was palpable, and for a fleeting moment, she considered it—just for a moment—what it would be like to let herself go, to let him in, just this once. But she quickly shook the thought away, trying to focus.

“Maybe later,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “I’m good out here for now.”

But even as the words left her lips, she felt the pull, the weight of the unspoken connection between them. She didn’t know what it meant, or where it would go, but for now, she was content with the quiet space between them—feeling the warmth of the moment before it slipped away.

Marisa took another drag from her joint, her eyes narrowing as she studied Gerik. She wasn’t sure why she was asking—maybe it was the lingering tension, or maybe it was just the feeling of needing to fill the silence. Whatever the reason, the question slipped out before she could stop herself.

“So, who’s your favorite girl from inside?” she asked, her tone casual but with a hint of something deeper beneath it.

Gerik paused for a moment, taken aback by the question. He coughed, flicking the ash off his cigarette. “That’s a strange question, Marisa. Why would you wanna know?”

She shrugged nonchalantly, though her gaze remained steady on him. “Everyone has a favorite. Caellach’s got his eyes on Tethys, of course, and Selena is pretty popular with the crowd.” Her voice was matter-of-fact, but there was an edge to it, something almost playful.

Gerik raised an eyebrow and smirked, his lips curling up at one corner. “So you’re keeping count of that, huh?”

Marisa’s expression didn’t change. She remained serious, her gaze unwavering. “I’m just asking. You haven’t answered my question.”

There was a flicker of something in Gerik’s eyes, a momentary pause as if he were considering how to respond. Finally, he leaned back slightly, his smirk turning into something a little more sly.

“I have two favorites,” he said slowly, his voice dropping into a more hushed, almost teasing tone. “Too bad that women don’t like to share.”

Marisa felt her pulse quicken at his words, but she didn’t flinch. She met his gaze, feeling that strange mix of tension and intrigue building again, a tightening in her chest that she couldn’t quite explain.

"Two, huh?" she replied quietly, her voice almost a challenge. "I guess it’s a shame if they won’t share."

For a moment, neither of them said anything more. The air between them was thick with something unspoken, a mix of curiosity, challenge, and something else entirely. Marisa didn't know what she was expecting, but her heart was racing now, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around them both.

Gerik flicked the rest of his cigarette onto the ground, grinding it out beneath his boot. His gaze softened, and when he looked back at her, there was something different in his eyes, something less guarded.

“I didn’t say I was sharing either,” he muttered lowly, his voice almost a whisper now, just for her.

Marisa swallowed hard, her breath catching in her throat as the tension between them grew, undeniable. She couldn’t quite figure out where this was going, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Something in her told her to stay in the moment, to feel whatever this was between them.

For once, she didn’t know what to say. All she could do was stare back at him, her heart hammering in her chest as she fought the urge to lean in, to cross that line.

Gerik turned away slightly, heading back toward the door, but not before tossing a final glance over his shoulder. “You coming inside or not?” he asked casually, as if nothing had changed, but the look in his eyes said otherwise.

Marisa didn’t answer right away. She stood there for a beat, contemplating, the world feeling suspended in time. Then, with a quiet exhale, she finally spoke.

“Maybe later,” she said, her voice low, laced with something that neither of them could quite name.

As Gerik stepped back into the dimly lit club, Tethys was waiting for him, leaning against a nearby pillar with her arms crossed. Her golden eyes sparkled with the kind of mischief that promised trouble—or, at the very least, some teasing at his expense. She didn’t wait for him to come to her. With her signature sway, she closed the distance, catching his arm lightly as he passed.

“Well, well,” she drawled, her lips curving into a sly smile. “That was a very long smoke break, Gerik. Or should I say… chat break?” She tilted her head, her copper hair catching the light as she studied him. “You know, I could’ve sworn I saw Marisa slip out right before you did.”

Gerik chuckled softly, shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that, Tethys. Just needed a little air.”

“Oh, sure,” she said, clearly unconvinced, her grin only widening. “Just some air… with our quiet little Marisa? Didn’t know she was much for conversation.”

“She’s not,” Gerik replied, smirking. “But you know, I’m pretty good at filling in the silence.”

Tethys let out a light laugh, her fingers tightening ever so slightly on his arm. “Mmhmm. And I’m sure that’s all it was—some good, wholesome fresh air and riveting conversation.” She leaned in closer, her voice dipping into a teasing whisper. “But hey, don’t worry. I won’t tell. You know me—I can keep a secret.”

Gerik raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

“Of course,” she said with a faux-innocent shrug, her eyes glinting with mischief. “But I might need a little incentive to stay quiet.”

Gerik sighed, already sensing where this was going. “Alright, Tethys. What do you want?”

She grinned, stepping even closer. “A private dance,” she said, her tone playful yet firm. “Just for you. And because I’m feeling generous—and you’re my favorite thug—I’ll even give you a discount. But only if you promise not to tell anyone.”

Gerik chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that betrayed both amusement and mild exasperation. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“And that’s why you like me,” she shot back, her grin widening as she gave his arm a playful squeeze. “Come on, Gerik. Just one little dance. You’ve earned it after all your hard work.”

He tried to resist, as he always did when Tethys turned on the charm, but she was nothing if not persistent. A few more teasing remarks, a couple of exaggerated pouts, and finally, Gerik caved. He shook his head with a resigned laugh. “Fine. But just this once.”

Tethys beamed, clapping her hands together like she’d just won a prize. “That’s the spirit, handsome. Follow me.”

She led the way, her hips swaying with the kind of confidence that came naturally to her. Gerik followed, his steps unhurried as he shoved his hands into his pockets. They were almost to the private booths when Marisa reentered the club. She’d been lingering outside longer than she planned, trying to clear her head after her conversation with Gerik.

Her eyes instinctively scanned the room, as they always did when she came back inside, but her usual detached gaze faltered when she spotted Gerik. He wasn’t alone.

There was Tethys, practically pulling him along with that playful, flirty laugh of hers. Marisa’s chest tightened as she watched them approach the private booths. She saw the way Tethys leaned into him, her hand brushing against his arm, her smile bright and teasing. Gerik didn’t seem to mind—if anything, he looked amused.

Marisa froze, her fingers clenching at her sides as she watched them disappear into one of the curtained booths. Her stomach churned with a strange, unfamiliar feeling—something sharp and bitter that she couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t jealousy, she told herself. It couldn’t be. She had no reason to feel jealous. Gerik could do whatever he wanted. He wasn’t hers.

And yet, the sight of him walking into that booth with Tethys left a sting she couldn’t shake.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to look away and focus on something else. Anything else. Her expression hardened as she made her way toward the bar, her usual stoic mask firmly in place. No one would see the turmoil bubbling beneath the surface. Not Tethys. Not Gerik. Not anyone.

By the time she reached the bar, she was composed again. Or at least, she looked like she was. Inside, though, the sting lingered. And no matter how much she tried to push it down, it wouldn’t go away.

Inside the booth, Tethys pulled the curtain closed with a quick flick of her wrist, shutting out the world beyond. The room was small but plush, lit by a warm, amber glow from a single hanging lamp. The music from the main floor was muffled here, reduced to a low, steady thrum.

Gerik sank into the cushioned seat, leaning back with an air of practiced ease. He took a drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke curl lazily from his lips as his eyes followed Tethys. She moved with her signature grace, every step deliberate, her hips swaying just enough to tease.

“You look too comfortable already,” she said with a playful smirk, her voice low and sultry. “Aren’t you going to show a little excitement? You’ve got me all to yourself, after all.”

Gerik chuckled, resting his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray. “You’re good, Tethys. I’ll give you that. Always know how to keep things interesting.”

“Oh, I haven’t even started,” she replied, stepping closer. Her fingers traced along the edge of his shoulder as she leaned down, her face hovering near his. Her scent—a mix of vanilla and something spicy—filled the air. “So, tell me, big guy… am I still your favorite, or should I be worried about the competition?”

Gerik raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Competition? From who?”

Tethys gave a light laugh, straightening up as she began to sway to the distant rhythm of the music. “Oh, come on. Don’t play dumb with me, Gerik. I saw you out there with Marisa.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his expression unreadable. Instead, he watched her as she moved, her hands sliding down her sides and over her hips with practiced ease. Tethys knew how to command attention, and she knew exactly when to press for answers.

“She’s not exactly your type,” she added, her tone teasing. “Too quiet. Too serious. But then again…” She twirled slowly, her back to him now as she glanced over her shoulder. “Maybe you like the challenge.”

Gerik smirked, leaning forward slightly. “You always talk this much during a private dance, or am I just lucky?”

Tethys laughed, turning to face him again as she closed the distance between them. She placed a hand on his knee, leaning in until their faces were mere inches apart. “Only with you,” she whispered, her eyes gleaming with playful mischief. “You’re special.”

Gerik didn’t flinch, his smirk never wavering. “Nice try, Tethys, but you’re not getting into my head.”

“Oh, honey,” she said, her fingers trailing up his thigh, “I don’t need to get into your head. I’m already there.”

For a moment, the tension in the booth shifted. Gerik’s eyes met hers, and the room seemed to shrink, the air thick with unspoken words. Tethys leaned in just a little closer, her lips curling into a coy smile as if daring him to make the next move.

But Gerik, ever the unflappable one, leaned back into his seat, breaking the spell. “You’ve still got it, Tethys,” he said, reaching for his cigarette. “But don’t think you can outplay me. I know your game.”

Tethys straightened up, feigning a pout as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine, fine. No fun tonight, huh?” She stepped back, her smile returning. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Gerik. Otherwise, I’d charge you double for being so difficult.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sure.”

As she resumed her routine, moving with a sultry grace that came effortlessly to her, Gerik let his guard down just a fraction. He admired her skill, her confidence, but his thoughts kept straying—despite himself. His mind drifted back to Marisa, to the quiet, piercing way she had looked at him outside. A part of him wondered if she was watching him even now, and that thought left him unsettled in a way he didn’t fully understand.

Tethys, sharp as ever, noticed his distraction. She didn’t let it show, though, continuing her dance with the same seamless ease, but inwardly, she filed it away. Something was on his mind, and she had a feeling she knew exactly what—or rather, who—it was.

Tethys starts to undress herself at the music, her hands gliding over her body with sensual grace. She sways her hips, the fabric of her dress swishing against her thighs as she moves. Slowly, teasingly, she slides the straps of her dress down her shoulders, letting it pool around her waist. The music swells, the beat pulsing in time with the rapid thrum of Gerik's heart.

Gerik's eyes follow her every move, drinking in the sight of her newly exposed skin. His gaze traces the curve of her collarbone, the delicate line of her throat. He watches, transfixed, as she lets the dress slip lower, revealing the swell of her breasts. Tethys turns, giving him a tantalizing view of her back, the dress now bunched around her hips. She looks over her shoulder at him, her eyes smoldering with invitation.

Tethys reaches behind her, unhooking her bra with a deft flick of her fingers. It falls away, baring the smooth expanse of her back to Gerik's hungry gaze. She looks at him from beneath lowered lashes, a coy smile playing about her lips. Slowly, teasingly, she turns back to face him, letting the dress slither down her legs to puddle at her feet.

Now clad in only a pair of lacy panties, Tethys steps closer to Gerik. She reaches out, running her hands over his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt. Her fingers dance along his shoulders, tracing the lines of his collarbone. She leans in, her breasts brushing against his chest as she presses herself against him. Gerik's breath catches in his throat, his hands coming up to rest on her hips.

Tethys begins to move against him, her hips undulating in time with the music. She grinds against him, the heat of her core pressing against the growing hardness in his jeans. Her hands slide down his chest, over his stomach, coming to rest on the button of his fly. She looks up at him, her eyes dark and full of promise, silently asking for permission to continue.

Gerik's breath is coming faster now, his heart pounding in his chest. He knows he should stop this, should put an end to it before it goes too far. But the feel of Tethys's body against his, the way she moves with such sinful grace, makes him forget all reason. His hands tighten on her hips, pulling her closer, urging her on.Tethys's smile widens, triumphant and seductive. Her fingers make quick work of his button and zipper, tugging his jeans down his hips. She traces the waistband of his boxers, her fingers dipping just below the fabric to tease the sensitive skin beneath. Gerik's hips buck, seeking more of that electric touch. Tethys chuckles, low and throaty, her breath hot against his ear."I'm going to make you feel so good, Gerik," she promises, her hand cupping the hard length of him through the fabric of his boxers."I'm going to make you forget all about your little friend out there."With that, she sinks to her knees before him, her fingers hooking into the waistband of his boxers.

Gerik could only mutter a half-assed excuse before Tethys uncovers his manhood. She quickly puts her mouth to work on it, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head before she takes him deep into her mouth. Gerik's head falls back against the cushioned seat, a low groan escaping his lips as Tethys's skilled mouth works over his throbbing length. Her tongue dances along the underside, tracing the thick vein that runs from base to tip. She takes him deep, until he can feel the back of her throat against the head of his cock, and then pulls back, her lips tight around his shaft as she bobs her head in a steady rhythm.

Tethys's hands grip his thighs, her nails digging into the muscle as she holds him steady. She can feel his hips twitching, can sense his growing need to take control, to thrust up into the tight heat of her mouth. But she keeps him pinned, determined to drive him wild with her lips and tongue until he's a writhing, pleading mess beneath her.

She takes him deep again, swallowing around his length as she feels him throb against her tongue. Her free hand comes up to cup his balls, rolling them gently in her palm as she sucks him with renewed vigor. Gerik's hands fly to her hair, tangling in the silky strands as he fights the urge to buck up into her mouth. Tethys's eyes flick up to meet his, dark and full of wicked promise as she holds his gaze.

Tethys pulls back, her lips popping off the head of his cock as she looks up at him with a coy smile."You like that, don't you?" she purrs, her voice husky and low."You like the way I make you feel." She leans in, her tongue darting out to lap at the bead of precum that has gathered at the tip."I can make you feel even better, Gerik. I can make you forget all about your little friend out there. Just let me take care of you."

With that, she takes him deep again, sucking hard as her hand pumps his shaft. Gerik's head falls back, a guttural moan tearing from his throat as the pleasure crashes over him in waves. Tethys's mouth is relentless, her tongue and lips working in tandem to drive him to the brink of madness. He can feel his release building, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in his core as Tethys's mouth brings him closer and closer to the edge.

Gerik's breath catches in his throat as Tethys positions herself above him, the heat of her core pressing against the head of his cock. He can feel the slick evidence of her arousal coating his skin, making the contact between them deliciously wet and slippery. His hands grip her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he fights the urge to thrust up into her, to bury himself deep inside her tight, welcoming heat.Tethys's eyes lock onto his, dark and full of promise. "Are you ready for this, Gerik?" she asks, her voice a low, seductive purr."Are you ready to forget about everything else and just focus on me?" She rocks her hips, grinding her slick folds against his throbbing length, drawing a strangled groan from his throat.

Gerik's grip on her hips tightens, his fingers leaving imprints in her skin. "Fuck, Tethys," he grits out, his voice rough and strained."You're playing with fire here."Tethys's lips curve into a wicked smile."Oh, I know," she breathes, her breath hot against his ear."But you love it, don't you? You love the way I make you feel." She nips at his earlobe, her teeth grazing the sensitive flesh before she soothes the sting with her tongue.

Gerik's hips buck, seeking more of that delicious friction."You're going to be the death of me," he growls, his hands sliding up her back to tangle in her hair. "But fuck, I can't bring myself to care."Tethys chuckles, low and throaty."Good," she purrs, her fingers tracing the lines of his jaw."Because I'm not done with you yet." With that, she sinks down, taking him deep inside her in one smooth, slick motion. Gerik's head falls back, a guttural moan tearing from his throat as her tight heat envelops him. Tethys begins to move, her hips rolling in a slow, sensual rhythm as she rides him. Her breasts press against his chest, the hard peaks of her nipples dragging deliciously against his skin with every roll of her hips.Gerik's hands roam her body, mapping the curves and planes of her flesh as she moves above him. He cups her breasts, thumbing her nipples until they're stiff peaks beneath his touch. Tethys gasps, arching into his hands as jolts of pleasure shoot through her. Her inner muscles clench around him, drawing him deeper, urging him on. Gerik's hips surge up to meet hers, driving into her with deep, powerful thrusts that make her cry out in ecstasy.

Tethys's head falls back, her hair spilling down her back as she loses herself in the pleasure. Gerik's hands grip her hips, guiding her movements, urging her to take him harder, faster. Tethys complies, slamming down onto him with a force that rocks the booth around them. The music from the main floor fades away, the world narrowing down to the slick slide of their bodies, the harsh pants of their breath, the low moans and cries of pleasure that fill the air.Gerik can feel his release building, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in his core.

Tethys can see the tension building in Gerik's body, feel his cock twitching inside her as he teeters on the edge of orgasm. She knows she needs to act fast if she wants to delay his release and make this moment last longer.

With a sudden motion, Tethys dismounts from Gerik's lap, taking his still-hard cock with her. She strokes him once, twice, then leans forward and wraps her lips around the head, sucking gently while pumping him with her hand.

Gerik groans at the sensation, his hips bucking up involuntarily as he tries to thrust into Tethys's mouth. But she holds firm, maintaining control as she works him over with lips and tongue.

"Fuck," Gerik gasps out between clenched teeth. "What are you doing? You're going to make me cum!"

"Not yet," Tethys purrs, her breath hot against his cock. "I want to taste you when you're really close, right before you explode." She resumes sucking him, taking more of his length into her mouth as she strokes the base with her hand.

Gerik's head thrashes from side to side, a low moan vibrating in his throat as pleasure courses through him. His fingers tangle in Tethys's hair, gripping tight enough to tug at the strands.

"Tethys... fuck... I can't hold back much longer..." he warns, his hips jerking erratically now as he fights for control.

But Tethys just hums around him encouragingly and picks up the pace of her ministrations. Her tongue dances over the sensitive underside of his shaft, flicking teasingly at his balls while she bobs her head faster and takes more of him deeper into her mouth each time.

The combination proves too much for Gerik, his grip on Tethys's hair tightens as the pressure in his loins becomes unbearable. With a guttural groan, he pulls her head back and thrusts up into her hand, painting her face with his hot cum.

Tethys doesn't flinch or pull away as thick ropes of semen splatter across her cheeks, nose, and lips. Instead, she opens her mouth to catch some of it on her tongue, savoring the taste and texture.

"Mmm," she hums around him contentedly as Gerik finishes spilling himself onto her. She keeps stroking his softening cock until he's completely spent before releasing him from her grasp.

Standing up straight again, Tethys wipes a stray drop of cum from the corner of her mouth with a finger before bringing it to sample more intimately. Her eyes lock onto Gerik's as she slowly sucks that digit clean. "Delicious"

Tethys finishes cleaning her face, the wet pad used to wipe away the remnants of Gerik's cum now stained with a darker hue. She discards it carelessly on the table, not even bothering to check if there are trash cans nearby.

Her gaze drifts back to Gerik as he sits there, looking a bit shell-shocked. A small smirk plays on her lips at his expression. "You okay there, handsome?" she asks teasingly, leaning against the edge of the booth.

Gerik swallows hard, trying to gather his thoughts and regain some semblance of composure. He can't deny that what just happened was intense - in more ways than one. Seeing Tethys take him so eagerly into her mouth and pussy had been a potent mix of pleasure and surprise.

"I... yeah," he manages after a moment, clearing his throat."Just didn't expect you to...you know."

Tethys chuckles at Gerik's flustered state, clearly amused by his reactions. "Expecting me to suck and fuck your dick wasn't exactly part of the plan tonight, was it?" She saunters closer, her hips swaying hypnotically as she leans in to whisper in his ear. "But I've found I quite enjoy when things don't go according to script."

Her warm breath sends shivers down Gerik's spine, and he finds himself drawn to her magnetic presence despite his initial shock. "You enjoyed it too, didn't you?" Tethys presses on, her voice low and suggestive. "I could feel how much you loved having my mouth on you..."

Gerik could only nod in silence

As the night stretched on and the club buzzed with its usual energy, Joshua leaned casually against the bar, his sharp eyes scanning the room like always. But something caught his attention—a flicker of emotion crossing Marisa’s otherwise stoic face as she moved about, checking the crowd. She was quieter than usual, her movements less precise, and her usual sharp focus seemed just a little dulled. For someone as observant as Joshua, it was impossible to miss.

When Marisa stepped out of the main floor to check the quieter hallway leading to the staff rooms, Joshua followed. He found her leaning against the wall, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on some indeterminate point in the distance. Her expression was as unreadable as ever, but there was a tension to her stance, a slight downturn to her lips that gave her away.

“Something on your mind?” Joshua asked casually, his voice light but edged with curiosity. 

Marisa turned her head slightly, her lavender eyes narrowing just a fraction. “No,” she replied flatly. “Why?”

Joshua smirked, tilting his head. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that? I’ve seen you take on guys twice your size without flinching, but now? You’re a little... off tonight.”

“I’m fine,” Marisa said, her tone clipped as she straightened up. Her fingers twitched slightly at her side, betraying her discomfort. 

Joshua took a step closer, crossing his arms. “Fine, huh? Is that why you’ve been brooding ever since you came back inside? Something happened out there?”

Marisa’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, she considered telling him to mind his own business. But Joshua wasn’t the type to drop things easily—he had a knack for prying, always managing to see through her guarded demeanor.

“It’s nothing,” she said at last, her voice softer but still guarded. “I just needed a minute.”

Joshua raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning into something more thoughtful. “Does this ‘nothing’ have anything to do with Gerik?”

Her reaction was subtle—a slight shift in her posture, the barest flicker of emotion in her eyes—but it was enough. Joshua’s smirk widened. “Ah, I see. You saw something you didn’t like, didn’t you?”

Marisa’s gaze snapped to him, sharper now. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” He leaned against the wall next to her, his tone light but probing. “Look, I’m not here to bust your chops. I get it. Gerik’s... well, he’s Gerik. Hard not to notice a guy like that. But you’ve gotta be careful. You know what kind of world we’re in.”

Marisa’s lips pressed into a thin line. She wanted to deny it again, to brush him off, but Joshua’s words struck a nerve. She didn’t want to admit it—not to him, not to herself—but seeing Gerik disappear into that booth with Tethys had stirred something unfamiliar and unwelcome in her chest. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she said finally, her voice low. “He can do whatever he wants.”

Joshua studied her for a moment, his expression softening. “Maybe he can, but that doesn’t mean you have to pretend it doesn’t bother you. You’re allowed to care, you know.”

Marisa looked away, her fingers tightening into fists. “It’s nothing,” she repeated, though the words sounded hollow even to her own ears. “Just drop it.”

Joshua sighed, pushing off the wall. “Alright, alright. I’ll let it go—for now. But you should know, Marisa, you’re tougher than most people I know, but even tough people have their limits. Don’t let this eat at you.”

With that, he turned and walked back toward the main floor, leaving Marisa alone in the hallway. She exhaled slowly, her hands relaxing at her sides. Joshua was right—she was tough, but that didn’t make her immune. 

Still, she told herself, it didn’t matter. Whatever was going on with Gerik and Tethys, it wasn’t her concern. It couldn’t be. She had a job to do, and that was the only thing that mattered.

As Marisa stood alone in the hallway, her mind churned with conflicting thoughts. She had never been one for games or manipulation—she was a straightforward person who preferred solving problems with action. But tonight, the simmering frustration inside her demanded something more. She couldn’t just let this feeling fester. If Gerik wanted to spend time with Tethys, fine. But maybe she could show him that she wasn’t just some quiet wallflower he could overlook.

Her plan was... well, it wasn’t much of a plan. It barely made sense even to her. But she knew one thing—if anyone could help her with it, it was Joshua.

She found him leaning against the bar again, casually sipping a drink while his sharp eyes surveyed the room. He noticed her approach immediately, raising an eyebrow as she stopped a few feet away.

“What’s up?” he asked, noting the uncharacteristic determination in her gaze.

Marisa hesitated, her usual bluntness faltering as she tried to find the right words. “I need your help.”

Joshua blinked, clearly intrigued. “My help? Alright, what’s the job?”

“I need you to...” Marisa paused, her face heating slightly as she forced the words out. “Make Gerik jealous.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Then Joshua burst out laughing, almost spilling his drink. “You’re joking, right? That’s a good one, Marisa. I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.”

Marisa’s face remained stoic, though the faintest hint of a blush crept up her neck. “I’m serious.”

Joshua’s laughter faded as he realized she wasn’t kidding. He straightened up, his expression shifting to one of mild disbelief. “Wait, you’re seriously asking me to—what, flirt with you? To mess with Gerik?”

Marisa nodded, her gaze unwavering. “Yes.”

Joshua ran a hand through his hair, trying to process this unexpected turn of events. “Okay, hold on. First off, why? And second... how exactly do you see this working? You’re not exactly the ‘look-at-me’ type, Marisa.”

“I don’t need to explain,” she said firmly. “Just do it.”

Joshua stared at her, his lips twitching as though he were trying not to laugh again. “You really don’t mess around, huh? Alright, fine. I’ll consider it—on one condition.”

“What condition?” Marisa asked, her tone as serious as ever.

Joshua reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin, holding it up between his fingers. “We’ll flip for it. Heads, I’ll help you. Tails, you owe me a drink and we forget this ever happened.”

Marisa frowned slightly but nodded. “Fine. Heads.”

With a flick of his thumb, Joshua sent the coin spinning into the air. It glinted under the club’s dim lights as it reached its peak and began to fall. Joshua caught it deftly, slapping it onto the back of his hand. He lifted his hand with a grin.

“Well, well,” he said, showing her the coin. “Heads it is. Looks like I’m your wingman tonight.”

Marisa nodded, her face still serious. “Good. Let’s get this over with.”

Joshua chuckled, shaking his head as he pocketed the coin. “You’re something else, you know that? Alright, Marisa, lead the way. Let’s see what kind of show we can put on for your buddy Gerik.”

The booth door creaked open, and Gerik stepped out, his broad shoulders relaxed, and his cigarette already tucked between his lips. He had the faintest look of satisfaction on his face, though it faded the moment his eyes landed on the scene unfolding across the room.

There was Marisa—stoic, quiet, and famously uninterested in social games—standing far too close to Joshua at the bar. Or rather, Joshua was standing close to her, leaning in with the practiced ease of someone who could charm just about anyone. His grin was as sharp as ever, and his voice carried just loud enough over the hum of the club, throwing out lines that sounded almost convincing. Almost.

The problem wasn’t Joshua. It was Marisa.

Gerik stared, his cigarette frozen between his fingers, as Marisa made a clumsy attempt to respond to whatever Joshua had just said. Her arms were stiff at her sides, and her face was an unreadable mask, save for the faintest twitch of her lips as she tried to smile—an effort so awkward it looked more like she was grimacing. Every now and then, she would glance at Joshua, clearly trying to follow his lead, but the effect was less flirtatious and more like someone trying to pass a test they hadn’t studied for.

Tethys, watching from a nearby table, nearly burst out laughing. She hid it behind her hand, her shoulders shaking with amusement. It took her less than a second to see through Marisa’s act. The awkward stances, the stiff movements, the way her gaze kept darting over to Gerik when she thought no one was looking—it was painfully obvious what she was trying to do.

But not to Gerik.

He stood rooted to the spot, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and utter surprise. His sharp eyes flicked between Joshua’s easy confidence and Marisa’s uncharacteristic behavior, trying to piece together what he was seeing. Was she... flirting? For real? Or was she just so bad at faking it that it looped back around to looking real?

It didn’t help that Joshua, ever the showman, played along effortlessly. He leaned a little closer to Marisa, murmuring something low enough that only she could hear. Marisa, in turn, nodded stiffly, her lips moving as though she was trying to respond but couldn’t quite get the words out.

Gerik’s brows furrowed, his cigarette dangling forgotten between his fingers. He had seen Marisa handle more dangerous situations than he could count, fearlessly taking on threats that would send most people running. But this? This was something else entirely.

Tethys, still suppressing her laughter, leaned over the table toward Selena, whispering, “She’s trying to make him jealous. It’s almost cute.”

Selena smirked, glancing at Gerik. “Looks like it’s working. He’s definitely paying attention.”

Marisa, oblivious to the audience she was gathering, stood her ground, trying desperately to play along with Joshua’s increasingly exaggerated flirting. She could feel the heat rising in her face, but she refused to back down. If this was what it took to get Gerik to notice her, then so be it.

Gerik, finally snapping out of his daze, took a slow drag from his cigarette. His gaze lingered on Marisa for a moment longer before he exhaled a cloud of smoke and turned toward the bar. Whatever this was, he wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

Joshua had been watching the situation unfold with the practiced eye of someone who knew exactly how to play these kinds of games. But even he could tell that Marisa’s awkward attempt at flirting wasn’t going to work. The tension between her stilted behavior and Gerik’s growing confusion was unbearable, and he realized that if he didn’t intervene, this whole thing might backfire in a spectacularly embarrassing way.

Without missing a beat, Joshua leaned in, his movement smooth and deliberate, and planted a quick, playful kiss on Marisa’s lips. It was short, almost teasing, but enough to disrupt the fragile facade she had been trying to hold up.

For a moment, everything went still. Marisa’s wide eyes, Joshua’s mischievous grin, and the collective gasp that rippled through the club made time feel like it had stopped.

Marisa froze, utterly caught off guard. The kiss had been so unexpected, so out of left field, that her brain struggled to catch up. Her cheeks flamed red, but before she could process it, the room seemed to explode with noise.

Tethys, who had been snickering softly, let out an actual laugh, clearly entertained by the sudden chaos. Selena, not one for outwardly showing her amusement, smirked behind her drink, watching the situation unfold with cold amusement.

But it was Caellach, lounging near the bar with his ever-present smug expression, who broke the silence. He cocked an eyebrow, clearly entertained by the spectacle. “Well, well, well. Look at that. Our quiet little Marisa’s found herself a boyfriend,” he taunted, his voice dripping with mockery. “Joshua, is that your new strategy? Defend her and kiss her? Maybe she’s more than just a tough girl to you now.”

The words struck like a slap, and the atmosphere shifted. Caellach’s jeering tone carried throughout the club, drawing everyone’s attention to the scene at the bar. He leaned forward, his arms crossed over his chest, a playful glint in his eye. “I didn’t think you were the type, Joshua. Maybe I’m wrong. Are you and Marisa an item now, or is this just a temporary fling?”

Joshua, still looking somewhat bemused by the unexpected turn of events, shot Caellach a look that could have frozen water. He wasn’t one to get riled up easily, but the question hit a nerve. He didn’t owe anyone an explanation, but that didn’t stop the low simmer of annoyance bubbling under the surface.

“I don’t have time for that,” Joshua said coolly, though his eyes darted briefly to Marisa, whose shock was still evident on her face. He gave her a small, apologetic nod. “But don’t take me for a fool, Caellach. You can mock all you want, but you’ll never make me regret this. Not my style.”

Caellach only chuckled, leaning back in his seat, clearly enjoying the discomfort he was causing. “I’m just curious, Joshua. I didn’t think you were into playing games like this. Guess I was wrong about you, huh?”

The others in the club exchanged glances, murmurs rippling through the crowd. Marisa’s face was still burning red, and she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to hide under the nearest table or confront Joshua about his unanticipated move.

But as the awkward tension lingered in the air, one thing became clear: Joshua had made a bold move, and now, Marisa had to decide what to do with it.

Marisa's heart was pounding in her chest as she shoved Joshua through the club’s back corridors, her frustration boiling over. She didn’t know whether she wanted to slap him, scream at him, or just leave the club altogether. But one thing was clear—he’d completely disrupted her plan, and now she was stuck in this mess.

As she pushed him into the bathroom, she turned to glare at him, her eyes filled with fury. “What the fuck was that, Joshua? You kissed me. You—” she broke off, her breath heavy, trying to process what had just happened.

Joshua, leaning against the bathroom sink with a shrug, didn’t seem phased. "If I didn’t do that, nobody would have bought your act, Marisa. You were awful, and you know it. I gave you a reason to be awkward, otherwise, Gerik would have seen right through it."

Marisa’s fists clenched, her temper flaring. Her thoughts flickered to Gerik, his confused expression when she’d been flirting with Joshua. Did it work? Was he jealous now? Or was she just being ridiculous? She quickly shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away. He’d been busy in that booth for far too long, right?

But then, there was Joshua’s face—his calm, unbothered expression. Maybe... maybe this wasn’t entirely a disaster. Was there something she could make of this? Could she make Gerik jealous in return? She could play this a little longer, right?

Joshua’s voice interrupted her thoughts. "This is getting too far, Marisa. I’m going back outside." He started to turn, his hand on the door, ready to leave.

But Marisa was quick to block his path, her heart pounding in her chest as she stood in front of him, the frustration and confusion still swirling inside her. "No, you’re not." She crossed her arms, standing firm. "If you leave now, they’re going to mock you. You’re not going to get away with it so easily." Her voice was calm but intense, a hint of something else in her tone. "Besides," she added, her eyes narrowing with a smirk. "Maybe I should repay you for your little... favor."

Her attempt at a playful wink felt more awkward than seductive, but she pushed through it. What the hell was she doing? Was this actually happening? Was she flirting with Joshua now?

Joshua raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing her unease but not backing down. “Repay me?” he asked, his smirk growing. "For the kiss? For getting you out of that mess?"

Marisa didn't answer immediately, her heart racing. She couldn’t figure out what she was doing, but at the same time, something about the tension felt almost right. Maybe it was the heat of the moment. Maybe it was just her trying to prove something—to herself or to Gerik, she couldn’t tell. But one thing was certain: she wasn’t going to let Joshua walk out of here like that.

Joshua’s gaze softened, just slightly, as if understanding the awkwardness in the air. “Look,” he said, “we’re not going to play these games, Marisa. I’m just here to help you, but don’t make it more than it is, alright?”

Marisa sighed deeply, her chest tightening. She had no idea what she was doing anymore, and honestly, neither did Joshua. Everything felt like it was spiraling out of her control, but all she could focus on was the burning need to do something, anything, to make Gerik notice her.

Marisa’s heart hammered in her chest as she subtly adjusted her position, lifting the hem of her short skirt just enough to expose a hint of her thighs. She turned her back to Joshua, leaning against the cool surface of the washbasins, her arms braced on either side. The movement was calculated, but the tension in the air only made her more aware of how awkward everything felt. Still, she couldn’t stop herself now.

With a deep breath, she glanced over her shoulder, her voice quiet but firm. “So, what are you waiting for?” she asked, her tone laced with a challenge. 

Joshua stood there for a moment, taking in the unexpected shift in her behavior. His gaze was more observant now, his eyes flicking over her before he took a step closer, still cautious but intrigued. He was aware of the growing tension, but he didn’t immediately respond. His lips were pressed into a thin line, clearly trying to figure out what Marisa was really after.

Marisa, meanwhile, felt her stomach tighten with a mixture of nerves and excitement. Was this what she wanted? She had no idea. She just couldn’t stand the feeling of being invisible anymore, of not being noticed, of not making Gerik take her seriously. This was her attempt to do something—anything—to get his attention.

But even as the words hung between them, a quiet realization began to dawn on her: this wasn’t entirely about Gerik. It wasn’t even entirely about Joshua. It was about Marisa proving to herself that she could be bold, that she could take control. That, perhaps, she wasn’t as awkward as she always believed.

Joshua took another step closer, his gaze still on her, his expression unreadable. “You sure about this?” he finally asked, his voice low, almost uncertain, though the challenge in his tone was unmistakable.

Marisa didn’t answer right away. She just stayed still, leaning back against the washbasins, her breathing shallow. In that moment, she realized she had no plan, no clear direction. But maybe, just maybe, she didn’t need one. Maybe, for once, she could just act on impulse.

“Make up your mind,” she said softly, her voice betraying a hint of vulnerability despite the confident act she was trying to maintain. "Are you going to do something, or are you just going to stand there?"

Joshua paused, then exhaled, his eyes narrowing slightly, but there was no immediate rush. The moment hung there between them, thick with uncertainty and unspoken tension.

Finally the redhead hands cupped Marisa's asscheeks, squeezing them firmly through the tight fabric of her skirt. She gasped softly, her body tensing up at the sudden contact, but not pulling away. His grip was possessive, bordering on rough, and it sent a jolt of arousal coursing through her veins.

"Damn, Marisa," Joshua murmured, his breath hot against her ear. "You're truly something exciting, even in plain clothes." His free hand reached around to boldly grope one of her breasts, thumb brushing over her hardened nipple through the thin material of her top. "If you worked that body out there on stage, I bet you'd rake in the tips. You'd make so much more money than just being a bouncer."

Joshua's rigid cock ground against Marisa's lower back, leaving a trail of heat where it rubbed her skin. He rocked against her insistently, clearly eager to take things further.

Joshua's fingers deftly slid beneath the edge of Marisa's panties, hooking them to the side and exposing her slick, bare folds to his hungry gaze. "Look at this," he growled appreciatively, "if Gerik doesn't want this little piece of cunt, that's his loss." Without further ado, Joshua spat directly onto Marisa's exposed sex.

The cool saliva mingling with her warmth made her shiver in anticipation. His fingers immediately began rubbing firm circles over her sensitive clit, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp. The rough texture of his skin against hers sent sparks of pleasure zinging up her spine.

"You're so wet already," Joshua noted approvingly, sliding a finger lower to tease at the entrance to her pussy. "Gerik should be grateful for what he has...but I'm happy to take advantage instead."

Marisa's body stiffened initially at the bold, intimate act, caught between indignation and a twinge of arousal. She couldn't rebuff Joshua now, though the idea of letting him touch her intimately still made her skin prickle.

Yet as his fingers continued their skillful ministrations, stroking and circling her clit with growing fervor, Marisa found herself getting lost in the sensation. Her hips started to subtly rock against his hand, the friction sending warmth unfurling low in her belly. Emboldened, she ground herself against his digits with a soft moan.

Joshua's touch intensified in response, his thumb applying relentless pressure to her swollen nub while a finger pressed firmly into her wet channel. "That's it, get into it," he urged, voice rough with lust. Marisa bit back a gasp, her thighs quivering as the coil of pleasure wound tighter within her.

Marisa's eyes flew open in shock as she felt a sudden, deep intrusion. Her mind reeled, realizing with dawning horror that it wasn't Joshua's fingers probing her wet entrance anymore... but something far thicker and harder.

Panic seized her, a strangled gasp escaping her lips as she tried to process what was happening. But before she could even protest or pull away, the thick girth of his cock pushed deeper inside her, stretching and filling her with one merciless thrust.

"Ah! No...what are you..." Marisa managed to whimper, hands scrabbling at the edge of the sink for purchase as he bottomed out within her. The brutal penetration left her breathless and trembling, overwhelmed by the sheer size of him impaling her so suddenly.

Joshua remained still for a moment, savoring the tight heat enveloping his shaft. Marisa's body trembled as Joshua's cock throbbed deep inside her, the thick girth stretching her walls to their limit. She could feel every pulsing inch of him, radiating heat and hardness.

Her mind raced, still reeling from the shock of this sudden, forceful violation. But as Joshua began to move, pulling back only to slam forward again, any coherent thoughts fled.

"Aaah! N-no...wait..." Marisa gasped out between clenched teeth, hands gripping the sink's edge for dear life. Her protests dissolved into incoherent moans as Joshua set a relentless pace, pounding into her with vicious abandon.

Each savage thrust jolted Marisa's petite body, her breasts bouncing with the force of his brutal fucking. The obscene squelch of her pussy echoed through the bathroom as Joshua's swollen cock plunged in and out of her slick channel.

Marisa's cries of distress turned to whimpers as Joshua's relentless pounding awakened a dark, forbidden pleasure within her. Each brutal thrust sent sparks of sensation racing through her nerves, the crude sound of flesh slapping against flesh making her inner walls clench reflexively around his invading cock.

She couldn't deny the way her body responded, hips bucking back to meet his forceful drives. The rough fabric of Joshua's pants chafed against Marisa's ass as he gripped it tight, pulling her onto his shaft with every savage penetration. She was trapped in this primal dance, helpless and overwhelmed by the raw intensity of their coupling.

The bathroom filled with the staccato rhythm of their lustful encounter - Marisa's ragged breathing, Joshua's heavy grunts, and the obscene sounds of sex echoing off tile and glass. It was a carnal symphony that left no doubt about what they were doing or who held sway in this moment.

Marisa's mind was lost to the overwhelming sensations coursing through her body. Each brutal thrust of Joshua's cock sent shockwaves of pleasure crashing over her, eroding any remaining resistance.

Her nipples tightened into aching peaks against the rough fabric of her top, while juices dripped steadily down her thighs as he pistoned in and out of her. Marisa couldn't help but push back against him now, meeting his savage invasion with wanton abandon.

The crudeness of it all - the harsh sounds, the overpowering scent of sex filling the air - only heightened Marisa's arousal. She was consumed by this primitive urge, surrendering completely to the animalistic drive taking control.

Joshua could feel Marisa yielding beneath him, her pussy clenching tighter around his throbbing member with every plunge. He redoubled his efforts, pounding into her with reckless abandon as she rode out wave after wave of intense ecstasy on his cock.

"Ah, fuck yeah...I'm close," Joshua rasped, voice hoarse with pent-up lust. "It's okay if I cum inside you, right?" he asked again, though Marisa's continued silence told him everything.

He didn't wait for an answer though. Lost in the throes of his own release, Joshua plunged deep into her slick channel one last time and began to unload his scorching load directly into her waiting cunt.

The sensation was intense - a hot tsunami of pleasure flooding through Marisa as thick spurt after spurt of his semen jetted deep within her. She felt herself contracting around him, trying to milk every drop from his exhausted cock.

Her mind reeled as she took the forceful invasion - Joshua's dick twitching and pulsing as it emptied its load inside her very being. The sheer intensity left her gasping for breath, mouth agape in shock.

Marisa's eyes went wide as Joshua's hot cum flooded her insides, the sensation both shocking and intensely pleasurable. She could feel every pulse of his cock as it throbbed within her, each spurt sending aftershocks of bliss rippling through her trembling form.

Her nails dug into the sink edge as she struggled to maintain balance, overwhelmed by the sheer force of their climax. A low, keening moan escaped her lips - a sound torn from deep in her chest as she surrendered to the primal power of their joining.

The bathroom was filled with the obscene evidence of their coupling: Josh's spent cock still buried inside Marisa's well-fucked cunt, his seed leaking out around its girth; Marisa herself panting and flushed, body limp against him like a puppet with its strings cut...

For a long moment they remained locked together like that - two individuals bound by lust and release, neither quite ready to let go just yet. But slowly, inevitably...

Marisa took a deep breath, her pulse still racing as she finished adjusting her clothes, wiping away any remnants of the encounter. Her hands trembled slightly, and she couldn’t help but feel the weight of what had just happened. The feeling of having crossed a line left her with a hollow sensation, as though she had momentarily lost herself in a way she couldn’t take back. What had she done? Was it all for nothing? Had Gerik heard? Or had he just imagined what had happened behind the bathroom door? 

As she walked toward the door, she hesitated, caught in her own thoughts, trying to steady her breath. Was it too much? Too soon? She didn’t even know what she was trying to achieve anymore. Was she trying to make him jealous, or was she simply trying to prove something to herself?

When she stepped out of the bathroom, she was immediately hit by the familiar sound of laughter and music from the club. But her eyes quickly found Gerik. He was leaning against the bar, looking at her, his expression unreadable. It felt as though he had been waiting for her to come out.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the entire room seemed to blur around them. His gaze was intense, almost piercing, as though he was weighing her every move. Marisa felt the heat rise in her cheeks, but she held her ground, trying to appear calm despite the storm swirling inside her. 

"Marisa," Gerik said, his voice low and smooth, carrying an edge of amusement. "I was starting to wonder if you’d be in there for much longer."

The words stung a little, but Marisa quickly masked her emotions with a forced smile, trying to act as if nothing had happened. "Yeah, just... needed a minute," she said, her voice faltering just a bit.

She could feel the tension between them, thick and palpable. Gerik was watching her intently, his expression unreadable, though there was something in his eyes that hinted at curiosity—or maybe concern. 

Marisa could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on her. Did he know? Had he heard anything? She forced herself to keep her voice steady. “What about you? Are you enjoying the show in there?” she asked, trying to divert the conversation away from what had transpired in the bathroom.

Gerik chuckled softly, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “You know, you’re not as good at pretending as you think you are.” 

Her stomach churned with a mix of anxiety and embarrassment. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," she tried to sound casual, but her voice betrayed her.

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering her carefully. "Maybe you don’t. But I know you’re not one to do something without a reason," he said, his voice quieter now, almost as if he were speaking to himself.

Marisa swallowed hard. Was he really reading her this easily? 

The silence between them grew heavier, and she could feel herself unraveling under his gaze. Finally, she broke the silence, forcing a smile, though it felt more like a mask than anything real. "Well," she said, straightening up, "I’m just doing what I can to survive around here, same as everyone else."

Gerik looked at her for a moment longer, and then, with a shrug, he said, "Alright, Marisa. If that’s what you’re telling yourself." 

There was no judgment in his tone, no condemnation, but there was something else—something harder to read. 

Marisa couldn’t help but wonder if he knew everything, or if he was just pretending to. Either way, she knew she couldn’t escape the way she was feeling now.

Chapter Text

The study was dimly lit, the amber glow of the desk lamp casting long shadows over the rows of leather-bound books and polished wood. Lyon sat across from his father, Vigarde, who exuded an aura of command and control. Every detail of Vigarde’s demeanor, from his immaculate suit to his calculated tone, carried the weight of someone accustomed to being obeyed.  

"Lyon," Vigarde began, his voice calm but firm, "you’re at an age where you must begin to shoulder the responsibilities that come with our name. Soon, you will take the lead in managing parts of our enterprise. This isn’t just about inheriting wealth; it’s about proving your worth and showing that you have the strength to build on what I’ve created."  

Lyon nodded slowly, his hands folded neatly in his lap. He admired his father deeply—his strength, his vision, his ability to command respect without raising his voice. And yet, in the shadow of that admiration lingered doubt.  

"I’ll do my best, Father," Lyon said softly. His voice, though sincere, carried a faint tremor. "But… sometimes I wonder. Do the methods we use—the decisions we make—do they always have to be so… uncompromising?"  

Vigarde’s piercing gaze locked onto his son, and for a moment, there was silence. Then he leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable.  

"Uncompromising," Vigarde repeated, his voice calm but sharp. "Yes, that’s a fair word. Because the world, Lyon, is not a place for compromise. Compassion is a virtue in life, but in business, it is a weakness. Every decision I’ve made, every deal I’ve struck, has been for this family. For you. So that you would have the opportunities I never had."  

Lyon lowered his gaze, his fingers fidgeting slightly. He knew his father was right, but the weight of those words still pressed heavily on him.  

"I understand," Lyon said quietly. "It’s just… I sometimes wonder if there’s a way to succeed without stepping on others. Without leaving… damage behind."  

Vigarde chuckled, a low, knowing sound. "You’re young, Lyon. Idealism is a luxury of youth. But the real world is far less forgiving. There is no room for hesitation, no room for sentimentality. Only results matter."  

He stood, walking around the desk to place a firm hand on Lyon’s shoulder. The gesture was meant to be reassuring, but it carried with it the weight of expectation.  

"That’s why I’ve decided to give you your first test," Vigarde said. "You’ll be taking charge of the Fire Emblem Club."  

Lyon stiffened, his breath catching. "The… the club?"  

"Yes," Vigarde replied, his voice leaving no room for argument. "It’s one of our more lucrative ventures, and it requires careful management to maintain profitability. It’s not an easy operation, but it’s time for you to step up. I want you to handle it personally." 

Lyon’s stomach churned. He had avoided the club as much as possible, and for good reason. There were… complications. One in particular.  

"But Father," Lyon began hesitantly, "I… I don’t think I’m ready for something like this. Perhaps there’s another venture I could—"  

"No," Vigarde interrupted, his tone final. "This is your test, Lyon. You’ll manage the Fire Emblem Club, and you’ll do it well. If you can handle this, you’ll prove that you’re ready for more responsibility."  

Lyon hesitated, his mind racing. He thought of Eirika, the dancer whose presence at the club had captivated him more than he wanted to admit. He had gone to the club only a handful of times, and each time, he had tried to remain unnoticed, content to watch her from afar. But to actually manage the club… to be in her presence regularly…  

"I… I’ll do my best," Lyon said finally, though his voice lacked conviction.  

Vigarde studied him for a moment, his sharp eyes seeming to pierce through Lyon’s hesitation. Then he nodded, satisfied.  

"I know you will," Vigarde said. "But remember, Lyon—this isn’t just about the club. It’s about proving that you have what it takes to lead. To make the hard decisions, no matter how much they weigh on you. That’s what it means to carry the Vigarde name."  

Lyon nodded, the weight of his father’s words settling on his shoulders. He knew he couldn’t refuse, not without disappointing the man he admired most. But as Vigarde returned to his seat, Lyon’s thoughts were elsewhere. Could he really face Eirika? Could he manage the club without letting his feelings interfere?  

As he stood to leave the study, he tried to push those doubts aside. For better or worse, his test had begun.

Lyon’s polished shoes clicked against the club’s tiled floor as he entered, the bass from the main stage vibrating through his ribs. The scent of stale liquor and vanilla body spray clung to the air. Behind the velvet ropes, dancers prepped for the evening—strapping garters, adjusting sequins, laughing in voices too sharp to be genuine.  

Selena intercepted him at the bar, her smirk slicing through the noise. “Boss. You’re late for your own coronation.”  

“Where’s Tana?” Lyon kept his tone clipped, scanning the room. “She’s supposed to open the stage.”  

Selena’s grin faltered. “Backstage. Syrene’s... *patching her up.*”  

The backstage hallway was a tomb compared to the club’s glitter. Peeling wallpaper, flickering fluorescents, the tang of peroxide cutting through sweat. Selena shouldered open the dressing room door, nodding at the scene inside.  

Tana sat slumped on a torn vinyl couch, her left eye swollen shut, lip split like overripe fruit. Syrene crouched in front of her, dabbing a bloodied cotton ball to her cheek. Both women froze as Lyon entered.  

“Get out,” Syrene hissed, not turning. “We don't need you here”  

Lyon stepped closer. “What happened?”  

Syrene whirled, eyes blazing. “What the fuck does it look like? Innes had a tantrum after Caellach’s thugs turned on him. he has not only gambling with Ephraim, they paid him a visit. Tana’s the closest punching bag.”  

Tana winced as Syrene pressed too hard. “Syrene, stop. It’s fine.”  

“It’s not fine.” Syrene’s voice cracked. “Fuckers broke two ribs last time. Now they’ll—”  

“Two weeks’ suspension.” Lyon’s words cut through her rage. “No shifts. No pay.”  

Syrene shot to her feet, blocking Tana like a shield. “Are you kidding? You think denying her wages will magically fix this? She’ll be dead in a ditch by sundown!”  

Lyon withdrew a checkbook from his blazer, scribbling with steady hands. “Take her to St. Latona’s. Use this for the ER.” He tore the check free, thrusting it at Syrene. “Cash it. Stay off Caellach’s radar. But tomorrow night, you show up on time. Understood?”  

Syrene stared at the check, then laughed—a jagged, broken sound. “Medical bills won’t stop debt sharks. Vigarde’s your daddy, not ours. We don’t get silken safety nets.”  

Lyon’s jaw tightened. “Take it or let her starve. Your choice.”  

Selena leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Kid’s got heart. Too bad Daddy’ll carve it out when he sees you writing charity checks.”  

Lyon ignored her, gaze fixed on Tana. “No dancing. Not till you heal.”  

Syrene snatched the check, crumpling it in her fist. “You’re a bastard. But at least you’re not him yet.”  

Back in the hallway, Selena lit a cigarette, blowing smoke at the water-stained ceiling. “Adorable. You think bandages and cash make you their savior? Vigarde’ll torch that check the second he audits the books.”  

Lyon straightened his tie, fingers trembling. “Happy workers are productive workers.”  

Selena barked a laugh. “Happy? You see any fucking smiles in there? Eirika grinds her soul to glitter. Tana’s one bad night from getting dumped in the river. Happy died here years ago.”  

Lyon’s reflection stared back from a cracked mirror—pale, hollow, a ghost in a tailored suit. “Then we make new reasons to smile.”  

Selena snorted. “You’re either noble or delusional.”  

“I’m efficient,” Lyon lied, turning toward the office.  

Behind him, Selena whispered to the smoke: “Keep telling yourself that, prince.”  

The club’s front doors burst open with a crack of splintering wood. Caellach’s thugs flooded in—six men with brass knuckles and hungry eyes. Tables toppled. Glass shattered. A dancer screamed as a goon overturned the bar, liquor bottles exploding in amber rivers across the floor.

Joshua stepped into their path, dagger glinting. “Wrong neighborhood, fucks.”

Marisa flanked him, her twin blades already drawn. “The exit’s behind you. Use it.”

Caellach swaggered in last, grinning like a feral dog. “Cute. But I’m here for business, not your rusty pigstickers.”

“Business?” Lyon emerged from the office, voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. “My father pays your security fee to avoid this exact shit.”

Caellach laughed, stepping over a shattered bottle. “ That doesn't cover you hiding rats here. Tana’s debt’s mine now.”

Lyon didn’t blink. “Tana’s suspended. Innes’ debts are his own.”

Caellach’s fist seized Lyon’s collar, wrenching him close. “Debts don’t work like that, princeling.” He slammed Lyon against the wall, the impact rattling his teeth. “You wanna play banker? Pay up. Or I carve the cash from her ribs.”

Marisa moved first—a flash of steel. Her blade bit Caellach’s forearm. He roared, dropping Lyon to the floor.

“Enough!” Gerik shoved between them, palms raised. “Vigarde won’t forgive you for bruising his heir, Caellach. You know how he handles disrespect.”

Caellach spat blood, clutching his bleeding arm. “Heir? Kid’s a dented penny.”

Joshua hefted a crowbar from the debris, smile razor-thin. “Twenty-nine seconds left to leave.”

Gerik scowled. “Walk away. Now. Unless you’re itching to explain to Vigarde why his son’s ribs match Tana’s.”

Caellach’s jaw twitched. Violence warred with pragmatism in his eyes.

Lyon staggered upright, straightening his ruined suit. “Tomorrow night. Come back, and you’ll get Tana’s debt. But Innes’ future mistakes?” His voice hardened. “They die with him. Touch her again, and my father’s fee becomes your funeral fund.”

Caellach snorted, but nodded at his men. “Tomorrow. Every cent.” He kicked a chair aside, sneering at Joshua. “Enjoy playing hero, traitor. Your luck’ll run out.”

As the thugs filed out, Lyon turned to Marisa and Joshua. “Get them off the premises. Now.”

Joshua saluted mockingly. “Yes, boss.”

Marisa leaned against the club’s back alley wall, cigarette cherry glowing in the dark. The city’s hum was distant here, drowned by dumpster stink and the rasp of her lighter flicking shut.

Boots scuffed concrete. Gerik emerged from the shadows, hands shoved in his pockets. “Got a death wish, or just enjoy pissing Caellach off twice a week?”

She exhaled smoke toward the flickering alley lamp. “Maybe I like watching him lose. You should try it.”

Gerik stepped closer, eyes glinting like dull steel. “Or maybe Joshua’s pumping you full of his fool’s courage these days.” He smirked, sharp. “Heard bathrooms make great confessionals.”

Marisa didn’t flinch. “Careful. Stalking’s a bad look on you.”

“Stalking?” Gerik snorted. “You’re the one blowing smoke signals at my shifts.”

“Thethys handles your shifts just fine.” Marisa crushed the cigarette under her boot. “Ask her to blow you a kiss. Might cure the obsession.”

Gerik caught her arm as she turned. “Even now” he said, voice low, “I’d hate to see him hurt you”

Marisa froze. For a heartbeat, the alley held its breath. Then she shrugged free, moonlight sharpening her smirk. “Care harder. Maybe someone’ll notice.”

She vanished into the club’s neon glare. Gerik lit his own cigarette, the burn in his throat matching the one in his chest.

Fools, he thought. We’re all goddamn fools.

Eirika stormed into Lyon’s office, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the liquor bottles on the shelf. Neon light pooled through the blinds, slicing her face into fractured red and blue. Lyon didn’t look up from the ledger, pen tapping a staccato rhythm against Tana’s debt totals.

“Hero of the hour,” Eirika sneered. “Saving damsels, bleeding cash. What’s next—adopting orphans off the street?”

Lyon’s jaw tightened. “If you’re here to bitch about schedules, talk to Selena.”

“Schedules?” She laughed, brittle. “You suspended Tana but handed her a check. Patching her up like some... some charity project. Why? Guilt? Or do you get off on playing martyr?”

He finally met her gaze. “You’d know all about projects, wouldn’t you? How many men have you ‘fixed’ between your legs?”

Eírika flinched, then leaned over his desk, knuckles whitening. “At least I don’t pretend I’m saving them. You cut her shifts, then pay her bills? You’re not protecting her—you’re jerking yourself raw over looking noble.”

Lyon stood abruptly, chair screeching. “And what’s your solution? Let Caellach gut her? Maybe you’d prefer that—one less rival onstage.”

“Rival?” Eirika’s voice cracked. “You think I’m jealous of Tana? She’s a wreck. Just like the rest of us. Just like—” She stopped herself, biting her tongue.

Lyon froze. The revelation hung between them, sharp as the sapphire’s absence.

“Where is it?” he whispered.

“What?”

“The stone. The one I gave you.” His look was hollow. “Pawned it already, didn’t you? Paid off your own tabs? Or just trashed it like everything else that’s real?”

Eirika stared at him, trembling. Then she reached into her pocket and slammed the sapphire onto the ledger, its blue glow staining the red ink. “Here. Take your pathetic trinket. I don’t want your charity.”

Lyon stared at the gem, then at her. “You kept it.”

“I kept it because it’s worthless,” she spat. “Just like your white-knight act. You think you can fix us? Fix me? We’re broken, Lyon. I’m broken. And you’re not brave enough to admit you’re just as shattered.”

He gripped the edge of the desk, breath ragged. “You don’t know what I am.”

“I know you’re terrified!” Her voice rose, raw. “Terrified to want me. Terrified to be like him. So you throw money and checks and rocks at the problem, hoping it’ll make you feel clean. But you’re not. None of us are.”

Lyon moved before he could stop himself. He cupped her face, smearing her glitter-streaked tears. “You think I don’t know what you are? You’re wildfire. Poison. You’ll burn me alive.”

Eirika leaned into his touch, defiant. “Then burn.”

He kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle—it was teeth and desperation, a collision of anger and ache. Eirika bit his lip, drawing blood, and Lyon hauled her onto the desk, ledger crashing to the floor. She tangled her hands in his hair, pulling hard, as if pain could anchor them to this moment.

When they broke apart, her mascara bled down her cheeks, his mouth stained crimson. The sapphire lay between them, glowing like a condemnation.

“This changes nothing,” Eirika whispered.

Lyon rested his forehead against hers. “It changes everything.”

Eirika kicked the office door shut, her tits heaving under that sequin bra she wore like armor. Lyon’s dick throbbed the second her back hit the wall, her fingers already ripping open his belt.

“You’re fucking weak,” she hissed, shoving his pants to his knees. His cock sprang free, hard as hell, leaking pre-cum down the shaft. She spat into her palm, gripped him rough enough to make him groan. “Scared to get dirty, huh? Scared Vigarde’s little prince can’t handle a whore’s cunt?”

Lyon grabbed her hips hard enough to bruise, yanking her leggings down. Her pussy glistened—bare, pink, his. “Shut up,” he growled, squeezing her throat just to watch her pupils blow wide, those fuck-me lips parting.

She laughed, shaky, wet. “Make me.”

He slammed her onto the desk, whiskey bottle crashing to the floor. Her legs hooked around his waist, heels digging into his ass, pulling him into her heat. No condom. No hesitation. His tip pressed against her slit—fuck she was tight, her breath hitching.

“Now,” Eirika demanded, raking nails down his back. “Or i'll look for someone who isn't afraid.”

Fury—raw, primal—snapped his control. Lyon shoved his cock in hard, one brutal thrust tearing a scream from her throat. She clenched around him, nails drawing blood. “Move,” she gasped. “Or did Daddy never teach you how to—”

He fucked her like he wanted to ruin her. Desk slamming into the wall, sweat dripping down his spine. Her tits bounced with every slam, those nipples begging to be bitten. He sucked one between his teeth, relishing her broken moan. “Still think I’m weak?” he snarled, thumb grinding her clit.

“Y-Yes,” she panted, eyes wild. “Because you still won’t cum in me.”

Snap. Lyon buried himself to the hilt, spilling hot and deep, cum pulsing into her unprotected cunt. Eirika arched, her scream muffled by his palm as her pussy milked him dry.

Eirika’s thighs trembled around Lyon’s waist, her cunt still gripping his softening cock like a vise. “That all?” she sneered, voice raw, but her nails dug into his shoulders—begging him to stay buried inside her. “Vigarde’s heir can’t even... even fill a whore right—”

Lyon choked back a sob, hips jerking weakly. Her walls fluttered around him, greedy, hungry, slick with his cum and her need. “Fuck,” he hissed, dragging his teeth down her neck. “You’re dripping. Still empty?”

“Shut up,” she gasped, hips rolling to milk him, desperate. “Just—move, you coward—”

He didn’t recognize his own hands—gentle fingers threading through her hair, thumb brushing her cheek—even as his cock hardened again inside her. “Eirika...”

“Don’t,” she whimpered, eyes glazed. “Don’t fucking pity me. Use me. Prove you’re not... not weak—”

It gutted him. Lyon crushed her against the desk, slamming back into her with a muffled scream. Her legs wrapped tighter, ankles locking over his ass, forcing him deeper. No control. Her pussy sucked him in, wetter now, swollen from his last load.

“More,” she pleaded, clawing at his back. “I need—fuck, Lyon, I need it—”

He fucked her slower this time, grinding deep, hitting that spot that made her sob. Her defiance crumbled—no more insults, just broken begs. “Please... Please, I can’t—need your cum again—”

Lyon’s vision blurred. He’d dreamt of this—her wanting him, not the violence, not the games. But her cunt was wildfire, her moans a fucking siren song. He pinned her wrists, thrusts turning jagged. “Look at me,” he demanded.

Eirika’s eyes met his—terrified, ruined—as his cock swelled, pulsing. “I’m... I’m close,” he warned, voice breaking.

“Do it,” she whispered, lips brushing his. “Ruin me.”

He came with a groan, heat spilling into her, her pussy clenching like she’d die without every drop. She arched, silent this time, tears streaking her glitter as her orgasm ripped through her.

Lyon collapsed over her, spent, his cum leaking down her thighs. “Eirika... why?”

She traced his jaw, hand shaking. “Because I hate you,” she lied.

In the silence, her heartbeat thudded against his—a frantic, shared rhythm. Twin fucking tragedies

Eirika slumped on the cracked toilet lid, fingers trembling as she smeared mascara rags across her cheeks. The bathroom reeked of bleach and puke, the flickering bulb casting her ruined face in corpse-light. Her cunt ached—Lyon’s cum still leaking down her thigh, sticky and warm. She pressed a wad of scratchy toilet paper between her legs, stifling a sob. Stupid. So fucking stupid.

The mirror showed the truth: swollen lips, bite marks purpling her collarbone, her sequined top ripped at the shoulder. Proof she’d let Vigarde’s broken prince claim her—not as a client, not as a transaction, but raw. She’d wanted it. Begged for it. Twice.

Her phone buzzed. Ephraim.

She answered on the fourth ring, voice hollow. “Hospital. With Tana. Innes... he...”

“Cut the bullshit,” Ephraim’s growl crackled through the speaker. “You’re not a fucking nurse.”

Eirika dug nails into her bruised thigh. “You used to care when friends bled.”

“Friends?” He snorted. “Tana’s a liability. Innes is an idiot. You’re a whore. Home. Now.”

The line died. Eirika hurled her phone at the tile, plastic shattering. He knows. He always knew. She’d stink of Lyon’s desperation, his cum, his pathetic gentleness. Ephraim would smell it. Feel it.

She stumbled to the sink, scrubbing her raw cunt with harsh soap until her thighs burned. Useless. Lyon’s seed swam deep inside her now, mixing with Ephraim’s from last night. If her belly swelled...

A laugh choked her—hysterical, broken. Two men. Two vipers. One would kill her for betrayal, the other for loving him.

The sapphire necklace glinted in her torn purse. Lyon’s “gift.” She pressed the cold stone to her thudding pulse. Weakness. Hers.

Footsteps echoed outside—Selena’s sharp heels. “Eirika? You better not be dead in there. we are going to close soon”

“Five minutes,” Eirika croaked, swiping blood from her split lip.

She reapplied lipstick over the wound, smothering Lyon’s bite with cherry-red lies. Ephraim’s punishment would come. Knuckles. Belt. The backroom “lessons” he’d taught her since Dad’s coffin closed.

But Lyon... Lyon she’d keep in the shadows. Her secret. Her sin.

Even if it gutted her.

Selena kicked open Lyon’s office door, her stiletto heel still flecked with Caellach’s dried blood. The room reeked of sex and shame—rumpled clothes, Eirika’s torn bra dangling from the desk lamp. Lyon sat slumped in his chair, shirt untucked, collar stained with lipstick and tears.

“Finally got your dick wet, huh?” Selena leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Took you years of simpering from the sidelines, but hey—all you needed was Daddy’s title and a fucking clipboard.”

Lyon didn’t look up. “Get out.”

“Vigarde’ll skin you alive if he finds out you rawdogged his premium merchandise.” She flicked a condom onto his desk. “Or are you dumb enough to think Eirika’s spreading those pretty legs exclusively for you?”

His fists clenched. “I said. Get. Out.”

Selena slammed her palms on the desk, looming over him. “Wake up, Lyon. She fucks Ephraim bareback twice a week. Innes pays her extra to swallow. Caellach takes what he wants. You’re not special—you’re customer number four this month.”

Lyon’s chair screeched as he stood, eyes wild. “I never wanted this! Any of it! I tried to stay away—you know I did—but he forced me here! Into this... this hell!”

Selena’s mask slipped—just for a breath. A decade ago, she’d watched Lyon beg Vigarde to let him study abroad, to escape the family’s rot. Watched Vigarde backhand him bloody for the request.

“Then be smarter,” she hissed, softer now. “Wrap your dick. Shoot your load in a tissue. Don’t gamble your life on a girl who’s been fucking for survival since her dad’s heart gave out.”

A tear slid down Lyon’s cheek. “Do you think I like knowing? That every time I close my eyes, I see them? Hear them?” His voice shattered. “I hate it. I hate them. I hate that she has to—”

Selena slapped him. Sharp. Sudden. Lyon staggered, hand pressed to his reddening cheek.

“Cry quieter,” she muttered. “Walls have ears.” She leaned closer, whiskey breath mingling with his despair. “I fucked Vigarde in this same office. Let him bend me over that desk while his wife rotted in hospice. Know what I got? A nicotine habit and a pregnancy scare.” Her smirk died. “You’ll get worse.”

She tossed a packet of Plan B pills on the desk. “Make her take both. And next time?” Her laugh was hollow. “Try the bathroom stall like the rest of us. Vigarde’s got cameras in here.”

The door clicked shut behind her. Lyon crumpled, choking on silent sobs, Eirika’s perfume still clinging to his skin like a curse.