The estate breathed differently at night.
Adrian had thought he was beginning to understand its rhythm—morning civility, afternoon charm, evening fire. But tonight, the fire burned hotter. Louder. The hallways carried laughter that wasn't there before, perfumes he didn't recognize.
New arrivals.
He hadn't been told to expect them. But then, when had he been told anything at all?
He found them in the great hall. The chandeliers were blazing, light spilling across polished floors, scattering on silk gowns. The new women moved like dancers, like they belonged already, their laughter curling around the room. They were not shy. Their eyes landed on Adrian almost at once, curious, assessing.
One of them—tall, skin bronze and shining like the last breath of sunset—approached first. Her name was Althea, though he didn't know it yet. She smiled, and the smile alone seemed to taste his pulse.
"You must be Adrian," she said, her voice thick, smooth. "I've heard whispers."
He blinked, caught off guard. "Whispers?"
Her lips tilted. "That you don't know how to choose."
A laugh broke from her throat, low, throaty, not cruel but not gentle either. She circled him slowly, as if inspecting him. Her dress brushed his hand. It was deliberate.
Across the room, Selene stood near the wine table, her face unreadable, but her fingers tight around the stem of her glass. Liora, of course, was smiling. Always smiling. Watching everything.
Adrian felt the trap and still stepped forward. "And what choice would you suggest I make?"
Althea leaned close, whisper warm against his ear. "Why choose at all?"
His breath caught.
And then another voice—higher, playful. "Careful, Althea, you'll scare him."
This one was shorter, fair, with hair pale as winter dawn. Her laugh was sharp, reckless, like a knife tossed carelessly in the air. She introduced herself as Cassia. Her fingers brushed Adrian's sleeve as if claiming him already.
He wanted to answer—something, anything—but the heat of both their presences left him mute. He felt like a coin being passed hand to hand, each woman testing the weight of him, deciding whether to keep him.
And then came the third.
Silent at first. Dark eyes, darker hair, moving with the calmness of water. She didn't rush to touch him, didn't speak quickly. When she finally did, her words were soft. "They're loud, aren't they?" she said, glancing at Althea and Cassia. "But sometimes silence is more dangerous."
Her name was Nyra. Adrian felt it settle in his mind like ink on paper.
Althea laughed. Cassia teased. Nyra only looked. And in her gaze, Adrian felt something colder, something that made his skin prickle—not just desire, but warning.
Selene's voice broke through then. She'd crossed the room silently, though he hadn't seen her move. "You shouldn't overwhelm him on his first night with you," she said. Calm. Too calm.
Althea raised a brow. "Oh? And you'd rather we let him sit alone, like a caged bird?"
"Some birds aren't meant to be chased," Selene answered. Her eyes flicked to Adrian, burning, and he almost flinched.
Cassia giggled. "Then maybe they're meant to be caught."
Liora finally stepped in, her smile like oil poured over fire. "Let him breathe, sisters. The more you pull, the more interesting it gets."
The women laughed, but Adrian heard the truth buried under it. They weren't laughing for fun. They were laughing because every moment was a test, every word a thread in the web that was tightening around him.
Later, when the music began, they pulled him into the dance. Althea's hands strong, Cassia's light, Nyra's cool. Selene's eyes never left him. Liora leaned in the shadows, drinking in the chaos like wine.
Every touch was different. Every glance promised more than his body could bear. He felt his blood roar with the temptation of it, the sheer abundance. The estate seemed endless, overflowing, a river of desire with no bank to hold it.
And yet—he knew, even as laughter spilled around him—that something dangerous was waking beneath it. Selene's silence had teeth. Liora's smile was sharper tonight. Even the new ones carried shadows behind their beauty.
When the music slowed, Nyra whispered against his ear, "Be careful, Adrian. This house doesn't give. It takes."
He almost asked what she meant. Almost. But Althea tugged him away, her lips brushing his cheek, and the question drowned.
Hours blurred. He lost track of how many dances, how many hands, how many times his lips almost touched another's. The estate had become a storm, and he was caught in its center.
When it finally ended, he stumbled back to his room, breath ragged, shirt damp with sweat. His reflection in the mirror looked older. Hungrier.
And yet not satisfied.
Never satisfied.