My Taboo Harem! - Chapter 229 - 229: Mesmerized Calistra

He felt powerful.

Every dropped jaw, every widened eye, every sharp inhale—they fed something in him. Something that had been starving for seventeen years, locked in a closet and told it didn’t deserve to exist.

Look at me now, that something whispered. Look at what I’ve become.

A group of women in tennis whites had actually stopped their game to watch him run past the courts. One of them had wolf-whistled—bold, desperate, the sound of a woman who’d just realized her standards were negotiable.

Another had dropped her racket. A third had said something in what sounded like Italian that he was pretty sure wasn’t PG-rated—probably along the lines of “mamma mia, I’d let him ruin my credit score.”

Phei had winked without slowing down.

The sound of someone fainting had reached him thirty seconds later.

Worth it.

He was maybe half a mile from Sovereign Tower now, the distinctive spire rising against the morning sky like a middle finger to architectural modesty—or to anyone who thought height was just a suggestion.

Home stretch.

His body still thrummed with energy. Three hours of sprinting and he felt like he could do three more. Like he could run until the sun set and rose again and he’d still be going, still be pushing, still be discovering exactly what these new limits were.

If there even were limits anymore.

The molting had changed him. He didn’t fully understand how or why—the system notifications had been a blur of text and numbers and terms he’d need to parse later—but the evidence was inescapable. He was more now. More muscle, more speed, more stamina, more… everything.

Including, if last night’s tentative exploration was any indication, more of certain other things too.

Sierra and Maddie are going to lose their minds.

Good.

He grinned—feral, sharp, the expression of a predator who’d just realized the cage door had been open the whole time—and pushed into a final sprint.

The lobby of Sovereign Tower was climate-controlled perfection.

(Finally the Sovereign Tower art is done, I have attached it)

Cool air washed over his heated skin the moment the glass doors whispered open, the contrast making his sweat-slicked body actually steam slightly in the morning light that poured through the three-story windows—like he’d just stepped out of hell and decided to make an entrance. The marble floors gleamed.

The chandeliers sparkled. The whole space was designed to make visitors feel small and impressed.

Phei walked through it like he owned it.

His footsteps echoed in the cathedral-quiet lobby—most residents weren’t awake yet, and the handful of staff moving about had learned to be invisible. His breathing was even. Controlled. Not even slightly labored despite the three-hour death-sprint he’d just finished.

Inhuman, a small part of him whispered.

Perfect, the rest of him answered.

And then he saw her.

Calistra.

She was behind the concierge desk—her desk now, apparently, since the staffing shuffle last week had promoted her from floor assistant to lobby management. Her platinum blonde hair was pulled back in that severe professional bun she favored, every strand locked in place like soldiers under martial law, not a single follicle daring to rebel against her iron will.

Her uniform was immaculate: crisp white blouse starched to the point of audible protest, tailored black blazer hugging a frame that was all sharp angles and quiet lethality, the Sovereign Tower insignia pinned to her lapel like a warning label that read “Handle with indifference—or regret it.”

She wasn’t voluptuous. No lush curves, no generous spill of flesh begging to be grabbed. She was lean. Razor-edged.

Built like a blade wrapped in silk—narrow hips, long legs that seemed engineered for stalking rather than swaying, small high firm breasts that pressed against the blouse with the restrained arrogance of someone who knew exactly how little was needed to command attention.

Her waist nipped in so sharply it looked almost painful, the kind of body that didn’t invite softness; it demanded precision, control, the kind of touch that left bruises instead of caresses.

Her face was worse.

Pale skin stretched tight over cheekbones that could cut glass, lips thin and painted the exact shade of fresh arterial blood, eyes the pale, glacial blue of a winter sky that had forgotten how to thaw.

When she looked up—when those eyes finally lifted from the registration screen and found him—the temperature in the lobby seemed to drop five degrees.

She was also, at this exact moment, staring at him like he’d just manifested from thin air and stolen her ability to form coherent thoughts—or perhaps her panties, depending on how honest she was feeling later.

Phei stopped.

This should be interesting.

He’d met Calistra directly exactly twice before. Both times, she’d been the picture of professional frost—polite words delivered with all the warmth of a glacier, blue eyes that assessed and dismissed in a single glance, the kind of beautiful that knew it was beautiful and had decided that beauty was a weapon to be wielded against lesser mortals rather than a gift to be shared.

She’d treated him like furniture. Expensive furniture, given his penthouse status, but furniture nonetheless—the kind you dust once a year and forget exists the rest of the time. It wasn’t personal, she always maintained her professionalism, to everyone and Phei of then was everyone.

The woman staring at him now looked like she’d forgotten furniture existed.

Her lips—painted a professional nude that probably cost more than most people’s grocery budgets—had parted slightly. Her eyes—that cold, cutting ice-blue—had gone wide, pupils dilated even in the bright lobby light.

Her throat moved in a swallow that looked almost painful—like she’d just realized her standards were negotiable and her body was already filing the paperwork.

Phei watched it happen in slow motion.

The way her gaze traveled down his body—bare chest gleaming with sweat, every muscle on full display, abs still flexing slightly with each breath like they were showing off for an audience of one.

The way her professional composure cracked, then crumbled, then shattered like ice hitting hot pavement—or like her resolve hitting the reality of what three hours of sprinting had done to his physique.

The way her fingers tightened on the edge of her desk like she needed something to hold onto or she might simply… float away. Or slide under it. Or beg.

He knew what she was seeing.

The same thing every woman on his run had seen.

A body built to dominate, to conquer, to tame, to hold, to take. Shoulders broad enough to block out the sun.

Arms that promised to pin and possess and never let go until you’d forgotten your own name, your own history, everything except the weight of him pressing you into whatever surface he’d chosen for your undoing.

That sharp, aristocratic face—cheekbones and jawline and those impossible violet eyes that burned through whatever defenses you thought you had.

Not the boy her professionalism had dismissed.

Not the quiet resident she’d barely acknowledged.

Something else entirely.

Something that made the ice queen’s perfectly controlled expression melt into naked, helpless want—the kind of want that made smart women do stupid things and stupid women do legendary things.

Phei smiled.

Slow. Deliberate. The smile of a dragon who’d spotted a particularly interesting piece of treasure and was deciding whether to add it to his hoard—or just play with it until it begged to be kept.

“Morning, Calistra.”

His voice came out godly than usual—Charm Speech had weaved deeper—and he watched her actually shiver. Watched her grip on the desk tighten until her knuckles went white. Watched her mouth open, close, open again.

Nothing came out.

The ice sculpture had cracked.

And the flood was coming.

He raised one hand in a casual wave—bicep flexing with the movement, forearm veins prominent, sweat catching the light like liquid diamonds—and turned toward his private elevator.

The glass doors slid open at his approach. Biometric recognition. Because of course it did.

He stepped inside, turned, and pressed the button for the penthouse.

Calistra was still staring.

Her mouth was still open.

That perfect “O” of shock and desire and complete systemic failure, like her brain had blue-screened and was frantically trying to reboot but kept getting distracted by the image burned into her retinas—a shirtless, sweat-slicked god with violet eyes and a body built to make God’s children like her sin willingly, walking away like he knew exactly what he’d done to her.

Phei held her gaze as the glass doors began to close.

He was still smiling.

Still looking at her with those violet eyes that promised nothing good and everything sinful.

The elevator began to rise—smooth, silent, the glass walls offering a panoramic view of the lobby below. He could see Calistra from here, getting smaller as he ascended, still frozen at her desk, still staring up at the glass capsule carrying him toward the heavens.

She didn’t move until he was out of sight.

****