Two weeks had passed since Thorin promised to send his team of dwarves, and true to his word, they arrived promptly, a week ago—and brought chaos with them. Aric found himself overwhelmed by the logistical nightmare of coordinating renovations across all 100 rooms of Arkwright Manor.
Teaching the dwarves how to install heated flooring proved far more challenging than he anticipated—not because they lacked skill, but because their personalities were as stubborn as the stone they manipulated.
These dwarves are short! They're arrogant and THEY LOOK AT ME FUNNY! Aric said to himself, watching one of them struggle to balance a ladder while holding a fluorescent light fixture.
Why do they follow the stereotype so perfectly? AND WHY NOW!?
[Oh, come on, Administrator.] Ivy teased
[Thorin is royalty; these are just regular dwarves. Besides, your stereotypes aren't exactly wrong—they're based on thousands of mangas and manhwas, right?]
That doesn't make this any easier Ivy. Aric shot back irritably.
I've explained how to wire the damn lights fifty times this week alone! And don't get me started on their arrogance…
One of the dwarves, a gruff fellow named Grumlin Ironvein, interrupted his thoughts by calling out loudly—in a thick accent that made every sentence sound like an interrogation.
"Hey, ye! How we puttin' up dis 'light thingy' again?" Grumlin demanded, gesturing vaguely at the ceiling.
"Ye said somethin' about connectin' wires, but I ain't got no clue what yer jabberin' about!"
Aric fighting every sense in his body to not facepalm instead he chose to exhale.
Breathe. Remember shawarma, the taste of it. Mmmm. Shawarma.
"For the last time, Grumlin—you need to secure the wiring into the socket first, then attach the fixture to the bracket. It's simple."
Grumlin exchanged skeptical glances with another dwarf, Borin Stonefist (a distant cousin of Thorin), before muttering something about 'humans being too complicated'.
Aric resisted the urge to throw his hands up in frustration.
I already miss Thorin man. I hope he's doing okay. All the blueprints I gave him had step by step details, materials to use and what can be substitute. I even send him a batch of raw materials when they came with the driver last week.
By the time evening rolled around, Aric retreated to his room for a rare moment of peace. Seated cross-legged on his bed, he idly twisted a Rubik's Cube in one hand while simultaneously manifesting nails and screws for the dwarves' work the next day.
His multitasking came to an abrupt halt when Seraphina burst into the room without warning, her shadow tendrils flaring behind her.
She closed the door firmly behind her, leaning against it as she studied him intently.
"What is your power, Vayne?" she asked abruptly, cutting straight to the point.
"Creation Magic right? Why haven't you shown it in two years of marriage until now?"
Aric froze mid-manifestation, his heart skipping a beat. Carefully setting the Rubik's Cube aside, he met her gaze cautiously, treading lightly between truth and deception.
How the fuck do I even get out of this or even explain 'Hey your Vayne is dead and I'm the new guy' and oh did you know Ivy gave me creation magic?
"I… didn't think it mattered." he replied slowly, choosing his words carefully.
"You never cared about my abilities—or lack thereof—before. Why ask now?"
Her expression hardened, though a flicker of curiosity lingered beneath her icy exterior.
"Because everything you've done recently contradicts what I know about you. So explain yourself."
Before he could respond, she added bitterly
"Also, I want a different soap. I'm the head of this house, and I refuse to smell like everyone else. Surely you can manage something as simple as that."
Aric blinked, momentarily thrown off by the sudden shift in topic. "What scent do you want?"
"Roses. Something elegant—unlike that lavender."
Without hesitation, Aric focused his Creation Magic, conjuring a beautifully crafted bar of rose-scented soap.
Handing it to her, he forced a smirk reminiscent of Vayne's arrogance.
Right, gotta pretend like Vayne.
"Anything else, 'Your Grace?'" he asked mockingly, slipping into the persona she despised yet expected.
Seraphina accepted the soap silently, rolling it between her fingers thoughtfully. Then, with deliberate slowness, she pulled out an official letter from her pocket and handed it to him.
"This will be sent tomorrow. Read it."
Aric unfolded the paper, scanning its contents quickly. What he read left him uneasy—not because of the logistics, but because of the tone.
The letter was written in florid prose, dripping with flirtation:
To My Dearest Lady Callista,
It has been far too long since our paths crossed. I find myself reminiscing about those fleeting moments we shared—the laughter, the intense romance, the secrets whispered in confidence. Oh, how I miss your presence, especially within the confines of my office chair—a place where memories linger most vividly.
I write to invite you to a meeting on the 19th of April, where matters of mutual benefit shall be discussed. Rest assured, arrangements have been made to ensure discretion. Only Evelyn, my ever-loyal attendant, will accompany us.
Yours faithfully,
Vayne Arkwright
Aric grimaced internally, reading the blatant double entendre laced throughout the message. To anyone unfamiliar with their history, this would appear to be a love letter rather than a formal invitation.
The intense romance? Secrets whispered in confidence? The office chair!? She sure holds no bounds to pettiness, this barely passes legal checks...I guess Vayne does deserve it but I don't! But then again I'm stuck. Ugh!
"This…" he began hesitantly, glancing up at Seraphina.
"This sounds incredibly inappropriate."
Seraphina laughed bitterly, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.
"Inappropriate? That's funny. But tell me, isn't it true? You fucked her before, multiple times and did it to her in that same office chair you never visit anymore for the past weeks. So why shouldn't I twist the knife a little? After all, you said so yourself—'I can torture you however I please'."
Ivy protests in Aric's mind, though Seraphina cannot hear her.
[Aric, this is insane! She's deliberately trying to provoke you! Don't let her win!]
Aric sighed in defeat, realizing arguing would only escalate things further.
Right, I did say that. This is a small part of punishment. Remember your time being married Aric. Don't anger the woman further. Happy wife happy life I guess.
Instead, he adopted a neutral tone, asking the practical questions.
"So, what's the location? And how many people will attend?"
Seraphina smirked triumphantly, clearly enjoying his discomfort.
"Just me, you, your 'lover,' and Evelyn. Oh, and don't worry—everyone else will be nearby, outside the room. You know, just in case you look at her 'wrong.' or breathe even. God I hope you do something stupid."
Her voice dripped with venom, emphasizing the final word. It was clear she intended to send a dual message—one to Aric, reminding him of his past sins, and another to Callista, designed to humiliate them both publicly.
As Seraphina turned to leave, Aric collapsed onto the bed, rubbing his eyes. Between managing the dwarves, navigating Seraphina's schemes, and preparing for the upcoming meeting, he felt stretched thin—both mentally and emotionally.
Location: The Duval Estate.
The room was dimly lit by the flickering candlelight that danced across her black hair with highlights of red, casting sultry shadows over her porcelain skin. Lady Callista Duval lounged on the edge of her lavish bed, her long legs draped elegantly as she toyed absently with the leash in her hand.
At her feet knelt a young count—naked, trembling slightly under her piercing gaze. His name was irrelevant; all that mattered was his family's insignia: House Donclair, an ancient lineage teetering precariously on the brink of ruin thanks to Callista's masterful manipulation, they would soon belong entirely to her.
"Good boys know their place." she purred, running a perfectly manicured nail along the curve of his jaw before tugging lightly at the leash around his neck.
Her red eyes glinted like molten rubies, exuding dominance so intoxicating it bordered on hypnotic.
"Now, read it. Again."
The man obeyed without hesitation, his voice shaky but obedient as he recited the terms of the agreement transferring ownership of House Donclair's remaining assets to Lady Callista.
She listened intently, savouring every word like fine wine while her other hand rested possessively on his head, guiding him closer. When she finished, she leaned back against the silk cushions, letting out a low hum of satisfaction.
"Well done, baby." she cooed, her tone dripping with mockery and praise in equal measure.
"But good boys don't just earn rewards—they work for them." With a flick of her wrist, she pushed his face downward, smirking as his lips brushed against her sensitive pussy.
"Show me how grateful you are."
Her maid, Penelope, entered moments later, carrying a silver tray laden with correspondence. The sight of her mistress reclining atop the writhing form of a nobleman did little to faze her anymore.
Years of service had desensitized Penelope to such displays—or so she pretended. Still, there was a faint flush creeping up her cheeks as she approached, averting her eyes from the scene unfolding before her.
"My lady." Penelope murmured, holding out a sealed letter.
"A message from Duke Vayne Arkwright."
Callista arched a brow, intrigued. Taking the paper between two delicate fingers, she dismissed Penelope with a lazy wave. As her maid retreated to the door on standby, Callista turned her attention back to the boy nestled between her thighs.
"Finish what you started first, darling." she instructed, her voice husky and commanding.
He obeyed eagerly, his tongue working with gratitude as she opened the letter with deliberate slowness.
Her breath hitched involuntarily as she scanned its contents. The florid prose, dripping with flirtation and innuendo, sent shivers coursing through her body.
Memories flooded her mind—memories of heated encounters in Vayne's office chair, her bed, the roughness of his hands with how rough he fucked her.
No one else had ever dominated her quite like that—not even in bed. She had allowed herself to surrender control, reveling in the chaos he created both within and outside the bedroom.
"Oh, Vayne." she whispered, tracing the signature at the bottom of the page with a fingertip.
"How could I forget your insufferable charm? Or your infuriating wife?"
She laughed softly, the sound both seductive and cruel. Folding the letter neatly, she tucked it into her cleavage, where it rested alongside the secrets she guarded so jealously. Turning her attention back to the boy beneath her, she patted his hair approvingly.
"You've earned your reward, pet." she said, pulling him upward by the leash until their faces were mere inches apart.
"Show me those pretty gold coins you promised me earlier."
He scrambled to comply, producing a small pouch filled with glittering sovereigns. Callista inspected them briefly before nodding her approval.
"Very good, baby. Now leave—and prepare yourself for midnight. Mommy expects perfection."
As he scurried out of the room, Callista reclined once more, her thoughts drifting back to the letter clutched against her chest. She missed Vayne's roughness, yes—but more than anything, she missed the thrill of playing puppeteer with him and Seraphina.
Their tangled web of betrayal and hatred was too delicious to abandon now.
That debt of 500,000 gold sovereigns? A mere trifle compared to the entertainment value they provided.
"Penelope!" she called suddenly, her voice sharp enough to make the maid freeze mid-step.
"Yes, my lady?" Penelope replied cautiously, turning back toward her mistress.
"Anyone else wanting to worship me today?" Callista asked, feigning nonchalance as she examined her nails.
Penelope sighed, reaching into her pocket. Clearing her throat, she began reading aloud:
"Duke Harrington requests an audience tomorrow evening… Countess Lorraine wishes to discuss investment opportunities… and Duke Ch—"
"Enough." Callista interrupted, waving dismissively.
"Tell Duke Harrington to come tonight instead. And start preparing my trip to the Arkwright estate—we'll move on the 17th."
Penelope hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly.
"My lady… forgive me, but why now? You've already ruined Vayne and his wife. Leveraging the debt keeps them both in play, doesn't it? What more do you want?"
For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air. Then, with a flick of her wrist, Callista unleashed her gravity manipulation—a subtle yet terrifying display of power that forced Penelope to her knees.
Tears welled in the maid's eyes as the invisible pressure bore down upon her, crushing her resolve along with her pride.
"Why am I doing this?" Callista repeated coldly, leaning forward until their faces were nearly touching.
"Because I can. Because I fucking own them. Because no one questions me. Do you understand?"
Penelope nodded frantically, choking back sobs. "Please, my lady… I beg your forgiveness…"
Callista released the pressure just as abruptly, allowing the maid to collapse onto the floor. Smiling wickedly, she settled herself onto Penelope's prone form, straddling her torso with predatory grace.
"You know what to do." she murmured, putting her body on Penelope face.
"Don't disappoint me."
As Penelope complied, Callista tilted her head back, shivering with delight as waves of pleasure coursed through her. Power, lust, and control intertwined seamlessly in her world—a deadly cocktail that left destruction in its wake.
By the time she climaxed, her laughter echoed through the chamber, sharp and triumphant.
Fuck! I can't wait to screw you again, Seraphina. she thought, rising gracefully to her feet.