The bedroom wasn't a room.
It was a sanctuary.
Carved from obsidian and starlight, draped in silks that had known galaxies before this one was born. The air smelled faintly of lotus, fire, and longing.
It welcomed them like it had been waiting all year.
The world sealed behind them with a sound like thunder swallowed by velvet. Inside, no walls existed—only silk-draped illusions. Sunlight spilled from a domed windows where constellations shifted with her breath. The bed stood in the center, massive, circular, draped in phoenix-feather quilts and obsidian-thread sheets.
Every corner of the chamber bore her mark: incense bowls shaped like talons, weapons forged in silence, mirrors that didn't reflect the body—only the soul.
Zhang Ruoyun stood at the foot of the bed, heart racing beneath silk robes that whispered against her skin. Parker stepped toward her slowly, his eyes never leaving hers—dark, unreadable, but burning with something primal and reverent.
