Chapter 549: Divorce: Ultimate Cuckolding

The

divorce

talk was already underway—and apparently this was the whole point of the emergency meeting. The big, urgent,

can’t-wait-another-minute

thing that had Cassiopeia’s father yanking her away from whatever she was doing with that boy.

Though, her being summoned had a second, far juicier reason nobody at this mahogany-laden table was ready to unpack over lukewarm water.

Then the woman had introduced herself.

Rune Natsuki

.

Heiress of

Natsuki International Firm

. And it was not just a top law firm but,

The

very top

.

The firm other firms hired when they needed to win cases they had zero business winning and governments consulted when they’d rather not admit they were scared.

And legacy families treated it like a live grenade with a velvet pin—handle with extreme care, lest it

erase

you from existence using nothing but a well-placed subpoena and the patience of a stone statue.

Why

unrivaled?

Why could no other firm on Earth touch them, breathe near them, or even sneeze in their direction without first checking the fine print for soul-stealing clauses?

Simple:

The Natsuki Matriarch.

Rune’s mother.

Also, fun fact... she was one of

Chaos’s women

. Specifically, his

grandmother’s harem

.

Full circle.

The family

tree

looked less like a chart and more like a Mafia org chart designed by a bored god.

Now, the burning question was;

How did the Matriarch pop out Rune if she was

Chaos’s woman?

How does a child happen when neither party is keen on letting a man anywhere near the goods?

That was a saga for another Tuesday. But Phei knew one thing for damn sure: it wasn’t because Chaos farmed out her lady like a prize pig to another man to make pregnant.

Absolutely not.

He knew his grandmother. That woman’s possessiveness made dragons look like they were swiping right on Tinder.

If one man looked at her harem member for longer than three seconds or even dare to ogle?

Poof.

The man stopped being a person and became a campfire cautionary tale—complete with interpretive dance about the dangers of eye contact.

Phei knew the

Natsuki Matriarch

—Rune’s mother, the legal titan, a name whispered in his grandmother’s orbit with equal parts awe and the urge to check his life insurance.

But Rune herself?

This was his first time seeing her. First time hearing her name. And

gods

—if she wasn’t so terrifyingly domineering, assertive, and generally vibrating with

"I will end you with a footnote"

energy, he might’ve managed five consecutive seconds of coherent thought.

His

kind of girl

.

Her

domineering

vibe especially hit different.

There was something about a woman who could walk into a room full of Legacy men and make every single one of them shut the hell up simultaneously that activated something in Phei’s brain he’d long since stopped trying to understand or explain.

She is... efficient. Like an emotional Swiss Army knife.

"—

Maxton Tech

has additionally been

liquidated

as alimony, along with two other companies the Maxtons had originally partnered with

Seiryū

in—and according to these documents here—"

She slid a thick stack across the table to the Maxton grandfather. Crisp. Heavy. The kind of paperwork that reeked of ink, regret, and the faint scent of burnt dreams.

"—every share of those companies, the

pharmaceutical company

, and the

real estate company

—all of which were founded by Seiryū Ryujin Tiamat using Ryujin Tiamat capital—belong to his son should he die. The Maxtons have been sitting on what was never yours."

She said it like she was informing someone they’d been sitting in the wrong seat at a drive-in movie. Matter-of-fact. Faintly bored. As though the billions of dollars she was methodically prying from their grasp were a mildly annoying spreadsheet error she’d fix between espresso shots.

Phei

was not listening

to any of this.

He had his hands flat on the table, chin resting in his palms, eyes fixed on Rune Natsuki with the glazed, faraway expression and his brain had not merely left the building but had done so with luggage—had flagged a cab, checked into somewhere nicer, and was currently ordering room service in a fantasy so specific it had started generating its own logistical problems.

The broad strokes were simple enough.

Rune. Him

.

His grandmother watching

.

It was the details that kept requiring

revision.

The location, for

instance.

He’d

initially

placed Chaos in a chair—a regular chair, off to the side, just sort of sitting there—but that felt wrong almost immediately.

Chaos didn’t

sit

.

Not like that. Not in a corner like a coat rack.

She’d need a

throne,

or at minimum something with arms, something that communicated that she was present by choice and could end this by choice and simply hadn’t yet because she was evaluating.

Yes. A

throne

in the corner.

Restraints?

No. Definitely not.

The idea of Chaos being physically restrained by anyone alive was so cosmically incorrect that his own fantasy had briefly buffered and thrown an error.

She’d be there

voluntarily

. That was worse.

That was so much worse and so much better.

She’d be

watching

because she

decided

to watch, arms crossed, the way she observed things she found simultaneously offensive and

impressive

—the expression she wore at blood sports and corporate negotiations and apparently now this.

He could see it clearly now.

Rune’s

legs locked around his

waist,

that severe, immaculate bob comprehensively ruined for the first, last, and only time in its life.

Those cold eyes doing something they’d probably never done—melting, or at least cracking slightly at the edges, which for Rune Natsuki was probably equivalent to anyone else’s complete psychological dissolution.

And behind them, in the throne he’d allocated her,

Chaos.

The expression on his grandmother’s face was the part he kept returning to, kept workshopping, kept getting wrong in interesting ways.

She wouldn’t be furious.

Well

—she would, obviously, on some base chemical level she absolutely would be, because this was her woman and her grandson and she was possessive enough to make mountains feel insecure about their permanence.

But it wouldn’t be

just

fury.

She’d be doing the thing she always did when something impressed her against her will, that particular tightening around the eyes that meant she was deciding whether to be proud or lethal and hadn’t committed yet.

He’d seen that look twice in his life and survived both times, which was frankly a better record than most people achieved.

Phei could already taste it—the sharp bite of her nails on his shoulders, the way her cold voice would crack into broken little gasps.

Chaos’d probably say something.

That was the part of the fantasy that kept

stalling

out completely, because he could not—with any confidence—predict what Chaos would

say

in this scenario.

Something devastating, certainly.

Possibly a compliment structured as a threat.

Possibly a threat so precise it looped back around into being a compliment.

She was the only person he’d ever met who could make

well done

sound like a death sentence and a death sentence sound like she was pleased with you.

He’d simply have to leave that part blank.

Grandmother’s dialogue: TBD. A creative decision. An artistic gap.

It would be the

ultimate

cuckolding.

The student not only surpassing the master but bending her prized new woman and making her scream his name instead.

The cucking to end all cuckings,

he thought, with genuine reverence.

The grandson surpassing the grandmother

.

Not in business, not in combat—but in

this

.

In the single most

disrespectful,

most

taboo,

most unhinged and strangely logical conclusion to a lifelong rivalry neither of them had ever technically declared.

The student eclipsing the master in the one subject nobody put on a syllabus.

He was actively revising the throne’s upholstery when—

Melissa tapped his arm.

Phei jerked awake. Blinked. The fantasy dissolved like cheap aspirin in soda.

"—that’s not possible!"

Harold bellowed, face blooming into a shade of red usually reserved for overripe tomatoes and rage strokes.

Humiliation and fury.

The cold sweat of realizing the walls weren’t just closing in—they’d brought friends. "We never signed anything like that with

Seiryū!

This paperwork ain’t real—it shouldn’t—"

"They’re real now."

Rune cut him off like a laser through butter. Clean. No wasted breath. Her voice stayed level. Didn’t need to rise.

"What did you think? That the

Ryujin Tiamat

clan would pour billions into their son’s ventures just to watch it all vanish into another family’s pockets?" She tilted her head one degree. A movement so tiny, so loaded with quiet menace, it should’ve come with a Surgeon General’s warning.

"I figured you for more

mature

and

realistic

than that."

"You bitch—"

"Say that again."