There was also one thing Phei had to consider, something that had been gnawing at the back of his skull like a rabid hamster ever since he'd collapsed on top of Melissa like a deflated sex doll.
He needed to actually learn how to fuck. Properly. Like, graduate-level, PhD-in-clitoris kind of education. Anatomy, technique, the whole syllabus. Because right now his résumé read: One (1) angry hate-fuck with traumatized stepmom—results: catastrophic success.
Sure, pounding Melissa into the mattress on pure primal rage had worked like a charm. Turns out years of pent-up resentment makes for excellent thrust motivation. Who knew? But relying on brute force and prayer wasn't exactly a sustainable career path when your endgame was a full-blown harem.
Different women, different kinks.
One might want tender missionary and whispered sweet nothings; the next might want to be bent over a balcony while you call her a worthless slut.
Variety is the spice of life, folks.
He couldn't just show up to every bedroom with the same sledgehammer approach and expect five-star Yelp reviews across the board.
He needed research. Serious, dedicated, note-taking-while-pausing to practice kind of research. Not the half-arsed porn he'd usually see Danton watching to get himself off—trauma he still hadn't billed anyone for.
Real education. Diagrams. Tutorials. Maybe even—God forbid—reading.
Unfortunately, this house was the worst possible place for that.
Privacy here was a myth. A marketing slogan. His room wasn't a room so much as a communal storage unit that happened to contain his bed. Danton treated it like neutral territory. People wandered in without knocking.
Judgment arrived early and stayed late.
One wrong tab left open and tomorrow's family breakfast would come with a side of So, Phei, enjoying 'Advanced Anal Techniques Volume 7'?
No.
That was a one-way ticket to hell!
That research would happen in the apartment. His apartment. With the door locked, curtains drawn, and zero chance of Harold walking in to ask why he's watching a two-hour seminar titled "How to Make Her Squirt Like a Broken Fire Hydrant."
Add it to the growing list of things to do once he got there. Right under "buy lube in bulk" and above "become unstoppable sex dragon."
"Phei? Dinner's ready." Melissa's voice floated up the stairs, soft, melodic, practically dripping honey like she was auditioning for a completely different life. No edge. No snap. No irritation sharpened by years of resentment.
Gone was the usual arctic sneer that could freeze coffee. This was new.
This was post-orgasm glow in audio form.
'Marked-woman behavior detected,' his brain supplied helpfully. 'Subject now defaults to "please rail me again" voice. Enjoy responsibly.'
Phei pushed off the bed, stretched like a cat that had just discovered it had claws, and headed downstairs.
The dining room was its usual obscene self—table big enough for a small royal wedding, chandelier that probably required its own mortgage, walls decorated with art so expensive it made you feel poor just looking at it.
The dining room looked like it belonged in a lifestyle magazine that charged people for aspiration. Massive table. Crystal chandelier. Art that probably came with a certificate and a discreet tax write-off. Windows opening onto the garden and pool like Paradise itself was part of the décor.
Normally, dinners here were theatrical misery.
Harold at the head, radiating I pay taxes so you don't have to talk to me energy. Melissa performing Stepford Wife cosplay. The kids chatting across Phei like he was a particularly unattractive centerpiece, tossing the occasional barbed comment his way for sport.
But tonight?
Tonight the table was set for two. Just him and Melissa. Candles flickering. Wine breathing. The whole romantic setup.
Phei stopped in the doorway, blinked once, and muttered under his breath:
"Oh, fantastic. Private dinner with the woman I just railed into another dimension. This won't be awkward at all."
He slid into his seat, sarcasm already loaded and ready to fire. Let the world's most uncomfortable date night begin.
She was already seated when he entered, poised like a queen on her throne, silk robe still draped over her like a trophy from their earlier war. Beneath it, a simple dress—elegant, understated while proving everything. Hair perfect. Makeup flawless. The ice mask locked back into place.
Except for her eyes.
Those eyes weren't looking at a nephew. They were looking at the man who'd wrecked her world that afternoon and left her begging for the aftershocks. Hungry. Possessive. A little unhinged around the edges.
"Sit," she said, gesturing to the chair beside her.
Not across the table like a normal human. Beside. Close enough that when he did, her knee brushed his thigh under the linen cloth—deliberate, lingering, a silent reminder that the robe was still the only thing keeping decorum alive.
She began serving him immediately. Not the usual slop. Actual food. Golden roasted chicken that smelled like it had a personality. Vegetables with color and dignity. Fresh bread still warm enough to fog the butter knife.
Pasta in a sauce so rich it probably had its own tax bracket.
"Where is everyone?" Phei asked since it was already time for them to be here, because the silence felt too curated, like a stage set for something dangerous.
"Harold's working late—some emergency meeting that's doubtlessly saving the world one overpriced cabernet at a time," she said, dismissive wave of her manicured hand.
"Danton's out joyriding those midlife-crisis-mobiles he calls cars. And the girls are… being the girls. Shopping therapy, cocktail brunches, whatever hollow ritual keeps them from noticing their lives are sponsored content."
A faint smirk—half affection, half contempt. "They won't crawl back until after ten."
Perfect.
No witnesses. No interruptions. No risk of Danton bursting in to ask why Mommy's feeding the charity case like he's suddenly royalty.
"So it's just us," Melissa murmured, slicing his chicken with slow, precise strokes—as if he might stab himself if handed a sharp object. "I thought we could use the time to get you properly set up."