Mya stopped just inside the doorway.
For a brief moment, her eyes failed to settle on any single thing. The bed. The girl beneath him. The way the room felt heavier than it had any right to be.
She had seen Lyria naked before.
She had seen her trembling.
She had seen her pinned beneath Stiletto's hands night after night.
Yet that wasn't what stole the breath from her lungs…
It was the unmistakable presence of his cock, buried inside her.
Mya's knees almost gave as her hand flew to her mouth before she could stop it.
Not from disgust.
Not from fear.
But from sheer, unfiltered surprise.
She hadn't expected this—not yet. Not without a word. Not tonight, when her own thoughts had been consumed by the anxious knot in her stomach: the agreed-upon plan to bring him to her home, to face James, to ask—beg, if necessary—for permission to rent a place near Valora so she could still be there when Stiletto returned each day.
Her gaze lifted slowly from the place where they were joined to Stiletto's face.
"You didn't tell me," Mya said, the words coming out quieter than she intended, but steady.
Stiletto's expression shifted immediately. The faint smile he'd worn at the unexpected sight of her faded, replaced by something more attentive. More curious. He hadn't known she would be coming, and it showed—not in guilt, but in the way his posture adjusted as he studied her face.
Before he could answer, Lyria sucked in a sharp breath.
"H—hey—Mya—please—please just—listen—!"
Mya didn't look at her.
Instead she took another step into the room, her eyes flicking back—briefly—to where Stiletto's cock connected them before she forced herself to look away again.
"I wasn't expecting to see that," Mya continued, still addressing only him. "That's the part that caught me off guard."
Lyria's restraint finally snapped.
"LISTEN TO ME!" she screamed, her voice cracking as she twisted uselessly beneath him. "STOP IGNORING ME! PAY ATTENTION TO ME—PLEASE!"
Her words tumbled over one another, volume rising as desperation bled through.
"I DIDN'T AGREE TO THIS! YOU CAN'T JUST—JUST DECIDE—!"
Stiletto remained silent.
Not stiff. Not caught. Just quiet—watching her, waiting.
Mya noticed immediately.
If he'd been surprised in the wrong way, he would've spoken by now—either explaining himself or redirecting the conversation entirely. Instead he stayed exactly where he was, eyes steady on her, as if measuring her reaction rather than fearing it.
That told her more than words could.
Her fingers curled slightly at her sides as she breathed out, the knot in her chest tightening into something clearer.
"You didn't expect me," Mya said at last, her voice calm but no longer distant. Not an accusation—an observation. "I can see that..."
Lyria let out a sharp, hysterical laugh.
"OF COURSE HE DIDN'T!" she shouted. "HE NEVER TELLS YOU ANYTHING—HE JUST DOES WHATEVER HE WANTS WITH ME—!"
She thrashed again, her voice climbing higher, thinner, unraveling.
"I'M A GODDESS!" Lyria screamed, the words tearing free as if clinging to them might preserve something. "I'VE NEVER HAD TO BE—TO BE TREATED LIKE THIS—!"
Mya raised an eyebrow.
'A goddess? Did this girl really just call herself a goddess?'
She looked at Lyria again—really looked this time. The tears. The shaking. The way pride still clung stubbornly to her expression, as if beauty alone should have been enough to excuse everything else.
The arrogance of it made Mya's stomach turn.
So young.
So pretty.
And still screaming as though the world owed her something...
Repulsive.
Mya turned back to Stiletto.
"That's… new," she murmured.
Lyria choked on a sob. "Mya, please—you have to help me—he crossed a line—!"
Mya shook her head slightly.
"That's not for you to decide," she said evenly.
Hope still flickered across Lyria's face—then faltered.
Mya stepped closer to the bed, stopping beside Stiletto. Close enough that her presence was unmistakable.
Her eyes dropped.
She saw it then—the faint trace of blood between Lyria's thighs, staining the sheets beneath her.
Mya's breath caught for just a second.
Not in disgust.
In something sharper.
A flicker of jealousy twisted in her chest—unwelcome, unspoken. The thought surfaced before she could stop it, and she hated herself for it.
'That should have been me.'
Before she could reconsider, Mya reached out and squeezed Lyria's hip—firm, deliberate, possessive. Not cruel. Just enough to remind her.
"This room isn't right for this," Mya said calmly.
Lyria stared at her in disbelief.
"What…?"
Mya's gaze drifted for just a second—to the bed. The sheets. The place she had lain so many times before, safe and familiar.
Her jaw tightened.
She looked back to Stiletto.
"If you're going to keep going," she said carefully, "it shouldn't be here. Not on our bed."
A faint grin tugged at Stiletto's lips at that—slow, knowing.
His cock reacted subtly, a quiet shift that made Lyria shiver despite herself as silence stretched between them.
Lyria shook her head violently, panic spilling over into something ugly and childlike.
"NO—NO, YOU CAN'T—THIS ISN'T FAIR—!"
Mya tilted her head slightly, thinking.
"There's somewhere else," she added, her hand still resting at Lyria's hip, fingers pressing just a bit harder than necessary.
"…The shed."
She didn't explain. She didn't have to.
Stiletto's grin only widened, unmistakably pleased.
"Nowthat," he said, voice amused and teasing, "is exactly what I expected from this naughty maid of mine~"
Heat rushed to Mya's face before she could stop it. She turned her head slightly, cheeks burning—but she didn't pull her hand away.
"All right," Stiletto added.
Lyria screamed.
"NO—YOU CAN'T DO THIS—I'M NOT—!"
Her words collapsed into furious sobbing, dignity finally shattering.
Mya didn't respond.
She was already past her.
Ignoring her cries, Stiletto eased back just enough to slide free, the sudden emptiness drawing a raw, involuntary moan from Lyria's throat before she could clamp her lips shut. A thin trail of blood and slick followed his withdrawal, tracing a slow line down the inside of her thigh.
Her chest heaved. Fresh tears clung to her lashes.
"You—" The word cracked, venom and humiliation twisting together. "I hate you. I hate every second of this."
He only tilted his head, gaze dropping pointedly to the glistening mess between her legs.
"Funny," he murmured. "That doesn't look like hate to me~"
Lyria's face burned darker. She opened her mouth to spit something else—anything—but the words never came.
Instead Stiletto spoke again, calm and final.
"Get dressed. Quickly."
The command settled over her like iron. Body moving before mind could protest, she pushed herself upright—wincing at the sharp sting between her thighs—and reached for the discarded clothes with shaking hands. Fabric scraped against her soft skin as she pulled it on, every motion stiff and furious.
Mya hadn't moved.
She stood rooted beside the bed, fingers still curled at her sides, eyes locked on the place where blood and wetness had smeared the sheets. Her breathing was shallow and uneven when Stiletto turned toward her.
The shift in his attention felt almost physical.
"Come with us," he said simply.
Mya blinked.
For a heartbeat the room held nothing but the sound of Lyria's ragged inhales and the faint rustle of fabric.
"You want me to—" Mya's voice cracked on the first try. She swallowed, tried again. "You want me to come with you?"
He nodded once.
"To watch."
The words landed soft, but they carried weight.
Mya's lips parted. Surprise flickered across her face, then something brighter—wilder—rose behind it. Her gaze darted to Lyria, then back to him.
She hadn't planned to stay.
She'd come here filled with anxiety, ready to lose herself in him before the terrifying visit to her own home—before facing James with the impossible request that would let her follow Stiletto to Valora. Instead she'd walked into this, and now he was offering her a front-row seat to something she'd never done before.
A first she could share with him. A first she could give him. Just like the one Lyria had experienced moments ago.
Tempting…
Her tongue touched her lower lip.
A small, unsteady exhale escaped her.
"Okay," she whispered.
The word felt like surrender and victory at once as Stiletto's mouth curved—just barely.
"Then let's go."
Stiletto stepped toward the door.
Lyria finished dressing in silence, the last threads of her composure fraying with every hurried tug of fabric. She stood rigid for a moment, eyes flashing defiance, feet planted as though the floor itself might still obey her will.
"Follow," he said, voice low and final.
The command landed like a hook. Her body jerked forward before her mind could catch up, legs moving against every instinct screaming inside her. One reluctant step, then another—trailing him like a shadow she couldn't shake.
Mya fell into step beside her without a word.
Then, the three of them moved together down the hall, the air between them thick with everything still unsaid.
Stiletto glanced back once, eyes catching Mya's flushed face and Lyria's trembling shoulders, then let a slow, knowing smile curve his lips.
"This… is going to be very interesting~"