The Wilder ballroom buzzed with afterglow; its rhythms softened now by hushed laughter and the scent of night-blooming jasmine drifting through open balconies. The engagement had been declared, the dance concluded… and yet the air still vibrated with possibility.
Parker—still riding the adrenaline of Tessa's romantic power move—stood near the bar, chatting quietly with Zhang Ruoyun about Nyxvare's whereabouts. His eyes were sharp, magnetic, glinting like polished obsidian as he spoke.
That's when Isabella Harrington and Diana made their entrance.
Nobody missed Isabella Harrington and Diana Beaumont gliding out of the side corridor—not the string quartet easing into a smoky tango, not the half-tipsy diplomats trading stock gossip, and definitely not Parker.
They were walking, living temptations—succubi repackaged in couture:
Isabella Harrington's all searing curves poured into blood-red silk. The gown fell like molten satin from a daring halter neckline, then clung mercilessly to hips that made gravity feel redundant. A single thigh-high slit revealed mile-long legs toned by both martial drills and more than a few scandalous negotiations; every step offered a flash of smooth caramel skin and the faintest hint of lace-trimmed garter.
Diamond dust shimmered along her collarbones, lighting the dip between her breasts like a breadcrumb trail for sinners.
On her side was Diana Beaumont, taller, a touch leaner—yet every inch carved for worship—wrapped in matte black satin that fit as tight as a second skin. Gold chains latticed the backless plunge, looping over sculpted shoulders and down to the curve of her spine. The skirt swept the floor until she moved, where a double slit revealed thighs like cathedral columns—hard, powerful, statuesque.
Her bodice hugged a chest that was by no means modest but held by architectural tailoring, cleavage framed in a V that dared eyes to fall in and drown.
Together they radiated enough heat to warp air.
Parker, loose-shouldered in rolled sleeves, watched them approach with a lazy smile—an apex hunter recognizing two more willing preys. He was alone with Zhang; Tessa had been hijacked by Whisper and Bella for refills.
The timing was perfect—undeniably deliberate.
Isabella didn't break stride before she claimed him, palm pressed flat to his chest. Heat met crisp cotton; her manicured nails tapped a slow staccato over his heartbeat.
"Prince," she purred, voice like velvet spiked with aged bourbon, "dance with us. Consider it… a premium acquisition."
Her thumb brushed over a button—an innocent graze that still threatened to melt stitching.
Diana slid in on his opposite flank, fingers tracing the length of his forearm with proprietary interest.
"We believe in joint ventures," she murmured, every syllable a measured caress. Her perfume—smoke, sandalwood, suggestion—wrapped around him like a kept secret. "And we don't mind sharing assets."
Parker's grin widened, amused at their audacity. "Double the risk, double the return?"
"Double the pleasure," Isabella corrected, pressing infinitesimally closer. Her corseted bodice brushed his ribs; Parker felt the faint tremor of her breath across his throat. "We promise an aggressive—but very hands-on—investment."
Across the room, a ripple of hush spread—guests pretending not to stare while staring blatantly. Even Maya paused mid-sip, arching an eyebrow that said this should be good. Annabelle and Bella elbowed each other, thrilled spectators.
Parker each of his hijacked arms to each seductress. "All right. Impress me."
They stepped onto the gleaming marble, forming a darkly luminous triangle—two incarnations of desire flanking a cosmic storm.
The quartet slipped into a tango slow enough to savor but hot enough to sting.
Isabella pressed her palm to Parker's shoulder; her other hand slid to his nape, fingernails teasing the short hairs there. She inhaled softly—just enough for her full bust to rise against him, a silent promise wrapped in silk.
Diana threaded her fingers through his free hand, nails grazing sensitive skin. Leaning in, she ghosted her lips at the curve of his ear—close enough that her chain-bound cleavage brushed his bicep as they settled into the first step.
Parker angled his hips; Isabella's slit opened wider, offering a flash of garter and the sculpted muscle above her knee. Meanwhile Diana's dual slits swished apart with every pivot, revealing long, sinewed thighs that tensed perfectly under satin.
They moved in three-part harmony:
Parker: solid, fluid, guiding without manhandling. His right hand curved low at Isabella's waist—thumb tracing idle circles where silk met skin—while his left gripped Diana's fingers, occasionally sliding down to her bare lower back, palm dipping along the chain lattice until gold links jingled softly.
Isabella: heat incarnate, hips swaying, pressing close enough that their chests brushed each beat. Her fingers wandered—shoulder, back, just skimming under his shirt hem as they turned—leaving goosebumps in her wake.
Diana: dangerous grace. She'd glide out on Parker's lead, arching into seductive lunges that showcased every taut line of her legs, then snap back, letting her curves bump his side—small shocks of contact that said pay attention.
Their whispers slipped between breaths:
Isabella (mouth near his throat): "We'll feed your empire. Media, arms, offshore gold. Say the word."
Diana (brushing lips across his jaw, almost a kiss): "And Beaumont's armed towers—crown jewels for your skyline. Let us build your throne."
Parker's response came via motion—dipping Isabella deep, letting her hair cascade, then switching to spin Diana so fast her chains chimed like tiny bells. When she returned, her thigh grazed intimately against his as she slid back into hold.
From the rail, Maya smirked over her flute. "I see the real conquests tonight, Oh, Tessa, you poor thing."
Tessa laughed, unthreatened and utterly entertained. "They can borrow him for three minutes. I'm charging interest."
Annabelle hooted. "Let 'em try. They'll never keep up with an eternal warranty."
The music crescendoed. Isabella, chest heaving, traced Parker's lower lip with her thumb—one final, deliberate stroke. Diana's hand skimmed down to rest just above his belt, thumb hooking the fabric with blatant intent.
"Partners?" Isabella breathed.
Parker held them both, gaze flicking from one smoldering stare to the other. For a heartbeat the ballroom felt too small to contain the voltage.
Then, smoothly, he straightened them in a final pose, breaths mingling.
"No negotiations promises here," he whispered, brushing a feather-light kiss to Isabella's knuckles. He turned, giving Diana the same treatment—a fleeting press to the inside of her wrist. "Why don't you two and come back separately, maybe them you will word very well your true intentions." then he walked off.
They slipped away—hips swaying, silk whispering, leaving a trail of stirred desire and half-formed rumors in their wake.
Parker exhaled, returning to Zhang, Maya and Tessa joined him—the latter met him with gleaming eyes and two fresh glasses.
"How'd the conquest treat you?" she teased.
"Volatile," he answered, kissing her forehead. "But I prefer stable and honest assets."
"Flatterer." She handed him a glass. "Just remember—those two don't try anything they can't eventually own."
He grinned. "Then I'll make sure I stay priceless."
Across the room, Isabella and Diana crossed arms, already plotting next moves—succubi in power suits, ready to conquer more than square footage. And the night rolled on: music, laughter, the thick hum of cosmic politics wrapped in lace and danger.
"I will show you what I exactly what I want then." Isabella whispered and took her a step towards him... again, for the second time tonight.