Melissa led him up the back staircase, the one that went straight to the master suite, her hand warm and slightly trembling in his. She was still just wearing those red lace panties, heels clicking on the hardwood, not bothering with the robe she'd discarded in the kitchen.
Bold.
Or maybe just that far gone already.
The master bedroom was obscene in that way only Paradise bedrooms could be—bigger than most people's flats, all cream and gold and expensive fabrics, a bed the size of a small country that Harold probably hadn't fucked her properly on in years.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the back garden and pool.
An ensuite bathroom you could fit a family in.
Phei had only been in here once before, years ago, when Melissa had sent him to retrieve something and he'd felt like an intruder the whole time.
Now he walked in like he owned it.
Because in a way, he kind of did, didn't he? At least he owned the woman who slept here.
Melissa went straight to her nightstand—the one on her side of the bed, not Harold's—and pulled open the drawer. Rummaged through whatever expensive creams and medications were in there until she found what she was looking for.
An envelope. Cream-colored, heavy stock, unsealed.
She turned to him, held it out with both hands like she was presenting something sacred.
"First thing," she said, voice still that breathy post-sex rasp. "I want you to have this."
Phei took it, opened the flap. Inside was a credit card—black, sleek, his name already embossed on it.
Phei Maxton
Paradise Wines Premium Account
He blinked at it. Looked up at her.
"It's mine," Melissa said quickly, like she needed to explain before he could ask. "From the wine shop. Paradise Wines. I'm the sole owner, remember?
"—Harold has nothing to do with it, it's completely separate from his businesses. This card pulls directly from the shop's accounts."
Phei knew about Paradise Wines.
Everyone in Paradise did.
It was Melissa's pride and joy, the thing she'd built from nothing after Harold had decided she was better suited as a decorative housewife than running Maxton Tech like she'd supposed to.
The biggest, most exclusive wine shop in Paradise.
Fifty thousand dollars for the cheapest bottle. The rare vintages went for hundreds of thousands. Some crossed into seven figures.
And they sold out constantly.
Because Paradise had this unspoken rule, this weird social pressure that Melissa herself had created: if a household didn't buy at least one bottle every two days, rumors started. Whispers that maybe they were having money troubles. Maybe they couldn't afford Paradise anymore. Maybe they weren't really one of them.
Phei remembered his mother telling him about it, back when he was young and she was still alive. She'd laughed about it over dinner, called it brilliantly dark.
"Melissa's made them all slaves to their own reputations," she'd said, grinning. "And they don't even realize it."
His mother had admired that strategy. Had thought it was clever.
This was before Phei moved in with Melissa, of course. Before he learned what his aunt was really like behind closed doors.
But the strategy worked.
Worked so bloody well that Paradise Wines made at least four hundred thousand dollars a day. Every single day.
The amount sounded mental—absolutely insane—until you thought about how big Paradise actually was, how many mansions were scattered across this gated community, how obscenely wealthy everyone who lived here was.
Every mansion owner made tens of millions in side businesses alone, not even counting their main income. And they all had reputations to maintain. Images to uphold. Social standing that required buying overpriced wine they probably didn't even drink just to prove they could afford it.
Melissa had weaponized their vanity and made herself rich in the process.
She was the sole owner. Every penny that came through Paradise Wines went straight to her accounts.
And now she was giving him access to those accounts.
"Don't worry about Harold tracking it," Melissa added, watching his face carefully. "He can't. It's completely separate from our joint finances. And even if he somehow found out, I'd just say it's for household expenses or gifts for the children. He never questions my spending."
Phei turned the card over in his hands, feeling the weight of it—literal and metaphorical.
It only took one day of conquering her to get her to do this for him. One night of sex and marking and claiming, and she was handing him access to millions of dollars like it was nothing.
How much more would she do if he kept making her happy? If he kept fucking her the way she needed? If he got even more women and she saw him building his harem?
It was weird, wasn't it? Bit selfish, maybe, to monetize their sex like this. To think about what he could get from her in exchange for his cock and dominance.
But if the advantages were there, might as well make good use of them, yeah?
With a sigh—trying to keep his voice steady, not let her see how much this meant—Phei said, "Thank you."
Melissa's face softened. Did this thing where her eyes went all vulnerable and exposed, like she was showing him something she normally kept hidden.
"I hope you change your life with this," she said quietly. "It's... it's too late to make such an offer for everything I've put you through. I know that. But hopefully it's not too late to mend our relationship."
She didn't say sorry. Didn't apologize for the ten years of hell she'd given him. Melissa was too proud for that, too used to being the one in control, the one who didn't admit mistakes.
Phei knew that about her. Had always known it. Apologies weren't in her vocabulary.
But this? This was as close as she'd get. An apology in actions!
"Just..." Melissa started, then stopped. Thought about how to phrase it. "Keep a low profile with this, yeah? The sudden change—"
"—would alert Harold," Phei finished, nodding quickly. "And he'd investigate. Start asking questions. I know. We need to keep a low profile, not draw attention. Not yet."
"I know the rules, auntie," Phei slipped the card into his bathrobe pocket. "I've got no intention of becoming Harold's enemy right away. More than I already am, I mean."
Cuckolds could be dangerous. Unpredictable. Especially rich, powerful cuckolds who didn't know they'd been cucked yet.
Better to keep this quiet until Phei had more power, more leverage.
"That's why," Melissa purred—actually purred, voice dropping to that sultry register—"I prepared something else."
She turned slowly toward the shadowed corner of the master bedroom, her body still gloriously bare except for those sinful red panties—thin, sheer lace that clung to her like a second skin, the fabric so delicate it was practically an invitation to rip it off with teeth.
The crimson material rode high on her wide hips, cutting a wicked V that framed the perfect swell of her ass cheeks, the thong disappearing completely between them like it was hiding from the sheer obscenity of how fucking flawless she looked.
Topless, her heavy tits swayed with the movement, nipples still hard and flushed from earlier abuse, begging for more.
Her skin glowed under the low light, every curve amplified—the dip of her waist flaring into hips made for gripping, thighs thick and toned, leading down to knees that hit the plush carpet with deliberate grace.
She knelt down right there, next to what Phei had always dismissed as just some overpriced decorative chest—ornate wood, gold accents, the kind of thing rich people bought to pretend they had taste. But the way she positioned herself... fuck.
On her knees, back arched just enough to thrust that ass out like an offering, the red lace stretched taut over her pussy lips, outlining every slick fold where his cum was probably still leaking out.
Hot didn't even cover it. This was the kind of scorching, sinful heat that could burn down empires and leave men jerking off to the ashes for the rest of their lives.
There was a safe. Built into the floor, hidden under what looked like a normal piece of furniture.
Melissa pressed her thumb to the biometric scanner, keyed in a code on the number pad, and the safe clicked open with a heavy metallic sound.
She reached inside and pulled out documents. Official-looking papers with seals and signatures. Keys—actual physical keys plus some kind of electronic key card. More papers.
She stood, turned, held them all out to him.
Phei stared. "Is this... what I think it is?"