My Taboo Harem! - Chapter 230 - 230: The Princess's Dream

The elevator doors whispered open.

Music hit him first—something with a heavy bassline and sultry vocals pouring from the penthouse’s hidden speakers, the kind of playlist Sierra put on when she was in a certain mood. The kind that said, “I’m pretending to be productive while actually fantasizing about being bent over the nearest surface.”

The scent of coffee and something sweet—pancakes, maybe, or those ridiculous protein waffles Maddie insisted on because “gains don’t grow on trees, Phei”—wafted through the open-plan space.

Home.

His home now. Still felt strange to think it, even after weeks of waking up in that obscenely large bed with two warm, very demanding bodies tangled around him like possessive vines.

Phei stepped inside, the cool marble floors a relief against his bare feet—he’d lost his shoes somewhere around hour one, apparently, which meant he’d run the last thirty minutes barefoot without even noticing. Because when you’re busy becoming a minor deity, minor details like footwear tend to fall by the wayside.

Sierra saw him fisrt.

She was in the living room—perched on the arm of the leather sectional like a bored empress surveying her domain, uniform already on (because of course the Hell Queen was ready at dawn), coffee cup in hand, scrolling through her phone with that expression of vague annoyance she wore when the world wasn’t meeting her exacting standards.

Then her head came up.

The coffee cup stopped halfway to her lips.

And Sierra Montgomery—

Made a sound.

It wasn’t a word. Wasn’t even close to a word. It was something between a gasp and a whimper and a prayer, strangled in her throat like her vocal cords had simply given up trying to process what her eyes were transmitting.

“Holy—”

The coffee cup slipped from her fingers.

She didn’t notice.

Her eyes were too busy traveling down his body—slow, helpless, like she couldn’t stop herself if she tried.

Over the broad planes of his chest, still heaving slightly from residual exertion, sweat catching in the ridges between his pectorals like liquid diamonds on marble. Down the carved ladder of his abs, each muscle throwing its own shadow, glistening like he’d been oiled for a photoshoot by a very enthusiastic intern.

Following the V-cut that arrowed toward his waistband, the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath fabric that suddenly seemed criminal for existing at all.

His arms. His shoulders.

And his face—that sharp, aristocratic face with cheekbones that could cut glass and a jawline that could cut hearts, framed by dark hair that was somehow artfully disheveled despite a three-hour sprint, those violet eyes burning brighter than she’d ever seen them.

“Phei.” His name came out broken. Reverent. Like she was seeing a god and hadn’t been warned to look away.

The crash of the coffee cup finally registered—ceramic shattering against marble, brown liquid spreading in a pool she absolutely did not care about.

“What the fuck—”

Maddie’s voice from the kitchen, irritated, followed by the sound of a spatula being set down with unnecessary force. “Sierra, if you broke another cup, I swear to—”

She rounded the corner.

She stopped dead.

Her mouth fell open.

And stayed there.

Phei drank in the sight of them.

His women. His loves.

Both in their Ashford uniforms—crisp white blouses straining against curves that defied school dress codes in the most delicious ways, plaid skirts that hit mid-thigh in a way that was technically regulation and practically pornographic, knee-high socks that made his fingers itch to peel them off with his teeth.

Sierra’s hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, exposing the elegant line of her neck he’d marked so many times she probably needed a turtleneck for school photos.

Maddie’s blonde waves tumbled loose around her shoulders, catching the morning light like spun gold—the kind dragons hoarded, preferably while the owner (her parents) was still warm and breathing.

Both of them wore light makeup—enough to enhance, not enough to hide—and both of them were staring at him like they’d never seen a man before.

Like they’d never seen this man before.

Which, to be fair, they hadn’t.

This body was new. The molting had rebuilt him from the inside out, and he was still learning its edges, its capabilities, its hungers. But seeing the way they looked at him now—pupils blown, lips parted, the air between them suddenly thick with want—

He understood something the old Phei never had.

This is power.

Not the system’s power. Not stats or skills or supernatural abilities.

Just… this. The ability to walk into a room and make two of the most beautiful, untouchable princesses in Paradise forget how to breathe.

He smirked.

Slow. Deliberate. The smile of a dragon who’d spotted his favorite treasures and knew they weren’t going anywhere.

“Morning, loves.”

Maddie made a noise—high and desperate and completely involuntary—and her hand shot out to grip the kitchen counter like she needed something solid to keep her upright.

“Fuck me.”

It wasn’t a request. It was barely even words. Just a breath shaped vaguely like language, expelled from lungs that had clearly stopped receiving adequate oxygen.

“What?” Sierra’s voice was faint. Distant. Like her brain was operating on emergency power and non-essential functions—like dignity and coherent speech—had been temporarily suspended.

“Fuck. Me.” Maddie’s eyes hadn’t left Phei’s body. Her grip tightened until her knuckles went white—like she was afraid if she let go, she’d simply collapse into a puddle of want right there on the marble.

“Right here. Right now. Phei, I swear to God, if you don’t put your hands on me in the next thirty seconds I’m going to—”

“We have school,” Sierra managed, though even she didn’t sound convinced. “The car is waiting. We can’t just—”

“Look at him.”

Sierra looked at him.

Her protest died in her throat—choked off like a bad idea that finally realized it was outmatched.

Phei hadn’t moved from the entryway.

He was still watching them. Still smirking. Still letting them feel the weight of his attention like a physical thing, like the room had developed its own gravity and it was all centered on him—pulling them in, making escape impossible and surrender inevitable.

Maddie.

His eyes found hers across the penthouse.

Those eyes—usually sharp, usually calculating, usually holding the world at arm’s length with wit and walls—were glazed now. Desperate.

Her chest heaved beneath her uniform blouse, the buttons straining with each breath, and he could see the hard points of her nipples pressing against the fabric like they were trying to escape custody.

He remembered what she’d told him.

Weeks ago, in a moment of raw honesty that had cracked through her careful armor. When she’d leaned in close, eyes blazing, voice dropping to a husky growl:

“I know exactly what gets me off. Strong hands. Teeth on my throat. Someone who’ll shove me against a wall and rail me until I forget my own name. I want to be broken.”

Phei had filed that away. Saved it. Waited for the right moment.

They’d fucked since then, of course. Many times. Hard and fast and desperate, soft and slow and sweet, and everything in between. He’d made her scream his name until her voice gave out. He’d made her come so many times she’d begged him to stop.

But I’ve never truly broken her.

He looked at his new body—this weapon the molting had forged from pain and transformation and something ancient that he still didn’t fully understand. Looked at the way both women were staring at him like he was water and they’d been wandering the desert for years.

Maybe it’s time.

Time to make the princess’s dream come true.

“Sierra,” he said, and his voice had dropped into that register—the one that made them both go still, made their spines straighten and their thighs press together in helpless response. “Sit down.”

Sierra’s breath caught.

For a moment—just a moment something flickered in her eyes. The part of her that didn’t take orders, that gave them, that ruled her world with an iron fist and a sharper tongue.

“Why?”

Phei’s smirk sharpened. His eyes never left Maddie’s face.

“Because I’m about to break your sister.” The words came out low, dark, a promise wrapped in velvet and edged with something feral. “And you’re going to want a front-row seat.”

Sierra’s pupils blew wide.

She looked at Maddie—saw the raw, aching need written across her face, the way her chest heaved, the way her thighs were already pressing together beneath that sinful little skirt like she was trying to ease an ache that only he could fix.

Then she looked back at Phei.

At the predator wearing her boyfriend’s skin.

“Fuck,” she breathed, and it was half curse, half prayer.

She moved to another couch—the leather sectional that faced the open kitchen—and sank onto it without another word. Her legs crossed. Her hands gripped her knees. Her eyes burned with an intensity that said she wasn’t going to blink until this was over.

Good girl.

And then it was just Phei and Maddie.

Sierra watched from the couch, barely breathing.

The music still played—that heavy bassline, those sultry vocals—but it felt distant now, like the world itself had narrowed to just this moment, just these three people, just the electricity crackling in the air between them—thick enough to taste, hot enough to burn.

Maddie was still gripping the counter.

Still staring at him with those desperate, hungry eyes.

Still waiting.

Phei moved.