Maximus clapped once, and the lounge transformed.
Silk curtains dissolved like mist, unveiling a sunken chamber drenched in gold. The floor glowed with divine sigils—pulsing, living things that throbbed with the rhythm of breath, desire, and barely-contained power. Candles hovered midair, their flames moving with the music that rose from beneath the earth. It wasn't bass.
It was heartbeat.
Maximus descended like a king returning to his altar. "Divine offerings," he purred, "require divine settings."
Annie followed, silent as moonlight, her every step a declaration. Her skin shimmered. Her eyes were embers.
She didn't look at Malvor.
Not yet.
Vitaria entered last—barefoot, untouched by anything but purpose. Her white dress kissed the floor behind her, trailing mist and weightless power.
She joined them at the center, then turned her head with unshakable calm. "This is not theater," she said to Maximus, voice low, carved from truth. "It is not for thrill or fantasy. It is power. And power demands sincerity. All three must give. All three must take. Or none of it will hold."
Maximus grinned. "Darling, I never offer less."
Then Annie turned to Malvor—and the world narrowed.
She looked at him like she already owned this night. Already owned him.
And gods, she did.
She walked to him, graceful, deliberate. No hesitation. No doubt. She placed her hands on his chest, fingers warm, gaze unwavering.
Then signed:
I want you with me.
It broke something loose in his ribs.
He didn't speak. Couldn't. Just nodded once—and followed her into the light like a man walking willingly into fire.
Inside the chamber, gold painted his skin, and the heat rose. Vitaria stood with her eyes closed. Maximus murmured something about silk and surrender. But Malvor wasn't listening.
He stepped close, caught Annie's wrist, gentle.
"Wait," he whispered. "Are you sure?"
She blinked, startled—but softened.
There was no accusation in his voice. No possessiveness. Only concern.
She cupped his face, thumbs brushing the edges of his mouth, and signed:
I want this. I'm ready. I'm not pretending.
Then, lower on his chest, with a tremble of softness:
I want you with me. Always.
He exhaled like it hurt.
Like it healed.
This wasn't the kind of love he could armor. She didn't want rescue. She wanted to be chosen.
And he chose her.
But somewhere, deep and sharp beneath the surface, something twisted.A tiny recoil she refused to name.A breath she didn't take.
She swallowed it whole.Buried it in the rush of purpose.In the need to mean it.
Because if she hesitated now—if she admitted even the smallest crack—the whole illusion might shatter.
And she needed this to be real.Needed it enough to carve certainty into herself like a second skin.
She smiled, slow and steady.
And she chose.
He leaned forward, touched his forehead to hers.
"You terrify me," he breathed.
She smiled—just slightly—and turned away.
He followed.
She stood at the altar of gods, wrapped in shadows and flickering light. A goddess forged not from fire—but survival.
Malvor approached, hands steady but blood loud in his ears. She was still. Waiting.
He didn't ask again.
He just reached for the ties of her dress.
One knot.
Then another.
Each motion unspooled the past—layer by layer. Until the fabric fell, and she stood bare beneath candlelight, untouched by shame.
Maximus stared like he'd been handed a relic.
"Divine doesn't even begin to cover it."
He knelt—not like a god, but a worshiper. Then pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh.
Not lustful. Not greedy.
Worship.
Vitaria came behind, her fingers cool as she touched Annie's shoulders, trailing down her back, hips, thighs. Each motion was precise, holy, like she was carving prayer into flesh.
Annie's eyes fluttered closed. Her head tilted back.
No moans. No gasps.
Just breath. Sacred, steady breath.
Her body moved—not to seduce, but to offer.
To claim.
Malvor circled behind her, unable to stay away. His hands found her waist. His mouth found the slope of her neck, the curve of her shoulder. Each kiss whispered:
I'm here. I see you. I choose you.
He didn't stop them.
Didn't pull her back.
He kissed her while the others touched her, because he needed her to know—this was her choice.
And then—
Her hand reached behind her, found his, and squeezed.
Tight. Certain.
Still his.
Even now.
Even here.
The air pulsed.
Not with sound—but with power.
Maximus rose, steps slow, fingers dragging up her thigh like a tide. He stopped just before want became demand. His gaze met hers.
"Ready?" he asked.
She didn't speak.
Didn't move.
But her eyes burned.
Behind her, Vitaria placed her hands on Annie's hips. One grounding. The other sliding lower. Her fingers settled below the navel—possessive and precise.
Maximus leaned in, lips brushing the edge of her jaw.
"Say it," he murmured.
Annie raised her hands, the light catching every motion like a divine sigil.
She signed:
I claim this.
And then—
Vitaria leaned in, her breath ghosting over Annie's shoulder, her voice so quiet it almost didn't exist.
"The first time they marked you… they claimed your body.This time… you claim it back."
Her fingers slid lower.
Not with lust.
With purpose.
A single press to Annie's lower abdomen—and the rune ignited.
A wave of gold and blush-pink rippled out from her skin, blooming like wildflowers in fast-forward. Glowing lines unfurled from her hip bones like vines—curling up her waist, down her thighs, across her belly. The marks didn't sit still.
They moved.
They lived.
Annie gasped—not in pain, but in arrival. Her head tipped back, lips parted, breath drawn in like it held every version of herself that had ever been silenced.
She stood taller.
Not like a statue.
Like a flame.
Alive. Lit from within. Her chest rose, her body stretched toward the ceiling, and for a moment—she glowed. Not like a woman.
Like divinity given form.
Maximus staggered a step back, lips parted, eyes full of reverence.
Vitaria stayed close. Watching. Steady. Unshaken.
And Malvor—gods, Malvor just stared.
His hand was still in hers.
His heart, he was realizing, was not.
It was hers now.