The presence of Aunt Cassiopeia in the penthouse alongside the entire harem—without the quiet threat simmering in her eyes, the coiled violence humming beneath every word and the choking dread that had once poisoned the dinner air like invisible toxin—was a statement louder than any victory speech could ever be.
The threat had been neutralized. Completely. Beautifully. Hilariously.
They still didn't know how Phei had done it. They didn't know what unholy bargains had been struck in shadowed rooms or what depraved scenes had unfolded behind closed doors.
But somehow, impossibly, magnificently, he had transformed the woman who arrived ready to destroy them all into an apron-wearing ally currently standing in their kitchen, humming softly while learning the terrifying art of domesticity.
Like an assassin playing house and trading her blades for spatulas.
