Chapter 569: Testing Roxanne

He didn’t target Jonathan. He wanted to see Sierra’s father clearly—without the influence, without the pressure. Wanted to see what the man was truly made of.

Sierra was watching him, pale and rigid in a dress her mother had probably chosen, looking like she wanted to disappear into the floor.

Phei didn’t hesitate.

He crossed the room—ignoring Jonathan’s narrowing gaze, ignoring Roxanne’s flustered attempt to compose herself, ignoring everything except her.

"Hey."

He pulled her into his arms.

Sierra melted. All the ice in her veins cracked and thawed in an instant. All the tension, the fear, the weight of being caught between him and her parents—it dissolved the moment he held her.

She pressed her face into his chest, breathing him in, her whole body softening.

"You came," she whispered.

"Always my love, always."

He held her there and let the moment stretch. Let everyone in this room see exactly where his priorities were.

Then he pulled back, cupped her face, and kissed her forehead—soft, tender, a gesture that said you’re safe without words.

When he turned to the table, his voice was perfectly polite.

"Mr. Montgomery. Mrs. Montgomery.

Thank you for having us."

He crossed to Jonathan first. Extended his hand.

Jonathan took it—grip firm, testing, the handshake of a man who’d spent decades reading people through palm pressure and eye contact. His jaw clenched as he felt the unnatural steadiness in the boy’s grip. Phei met it evenly. Gave nothing. Took nothing.

Just two predators acknowledging each other across a dinner table.

Then he turned to Roxanne.

"Mrs. Montgomery."

His voice wrapped around her name like silk.

Charm Speech. Sixty percent effectiveness on aroused targets—and she was very aroused now, had been since he walked through the door, her body betraying her before her mind could catch up.

The names landed soft and warm, sliding past her defenses like they belonged there, making her lean forward slightly without realizing she was doing it.

He extended his hand to her.

She hesitated—just a fraction of a second, her eyes flicking down to his palm like it might bite her—before taking it. Her fingers were cool. Slim. Trembling slightly despite her best efforts to hide it.

This boy... this disgustingly godly boy is making me

wet

in my own dining room,

she thought, shame and heat warring inside her.

I hope I did have to put up an act for Jonathan.

"Thank you for welcoming us into your home."

Simple words. Polite words. The kind of words a thousand boys had said to a thousand mothers across a thousand dinner tables.

But from his mouth they sounded like a promise.

Roxanne’s lips parted. She found herself nodding along, agreeing to something she hadn’t consciously processed, her head moving before her brain gave permission.

His voice was doing something to her—something warm and heavy that settled in her chest and spread lower, making her want to keep listening, keep nodding, keep agreeing to whatever he was saying because agreeing felt good.

"The pleasure is—"

she started, then lost the thread of her own sentence, distracted by the way his lips moved when he spoke.

The moment their skin touched, everything fired at once.

And Phei did it on purpose.

Not subtle. Not careful or measured deployment of a man playing the long game. This was reckless. Deliberate. The controlled fury of a boy who’d watched this woman sneer at Melissa—his Melissa, his aunt, his lover, the woman who’d protected him in the shadows when no one else would—and decided that Roxanne Montgomery needed a lesson in humility.

You think you’re above it, don’t you? Above the

taboo.

Above the

incest.

Above the scandal. Let me show you exactly how quickly you’ll fall.

Hunger Touch

read her first—and gods, what a read. Not just aroused. Not just turned on by his presence and embarrassed about it. Roxanne Montgomery was

starving.

Years of deprivation written in the tension of her grip. Sexually neglected and chronically unsatisfied.

She is a

banquet

of

unmet needs

dressed up in a midnight blue gown and pearls.

Jonathan had been too busy controlling the Supreme Court to control his wife properly, and her body had been screaming into the void for longer than she’d ever admit.

Abandoned jewel. My

favourite

kind.

And you had the audacity to judge Melissa?

Then Goddess Fall Touch activated.

Subtle. Just a whisper of it—not the full blast, not the thing that unmade women on contact, just enough to let her feel what his touch could be. A preview and simple taste.

It was the absolute peak of physical sensation delivered through nothing but his palm against hers.

Roxanne’s eyes went wide.

Her lips parted and her spine straightened like someone had run an electric current through it. Every buried desire she’d been suppressing for years—every fantasy she’d told herself proper Legacy wives didn’t have, every ache she’d blamed on stress or age or her husband’s schedule—all of it woke up at once and screamed.

She made a sound.

Low. Involuntary. The beginning of a moan that she caught just in time—strangling it into a cleared throat, a polite little ahem that fooled exactly no one in this room with functional ears.

Phei held her hand a beat too long. Let his thumb brush across her knuckles—once, slow, deliberate.

This is what awaits you, Mrs. Montgomery. This is your future. On your knees next to the woman you just insulted, both of you serving the same cock.

He met her eyes.

Compelling

Gaze. Just a flicker. Just enough to let her see the amethyst depths, to feel the pull of something vast and hungry looking back at her, to watch her last coherent thought dissolve like sugar in hot water.

Her pupils blew so wide the green of her irises nearly disappeared. Her thighs pressed together under the table—Loss of thought. Forgetting where she was. Forgetting who she was married to. Forgetting everything except the hand holding hers and the desperate, shameful need pooling between her legs.

Cucklord’s Dominance

was singing. Forty percent more attraction because she belonged to another man—forbidden fruit always tasted sweeter.

Cuckold’s Awareness

had Jonathan’s subconscious screaming warnings he couldn’t consciously hear. The

Cuckolding Stole

amplified everything by fifty percent, turning the heat up on a woman already burning.

And

Natural Born Cuckolder?

That one was simple.

Roxanne Montgomery had been hungry for years. Starving. Her husband too busy, too important, too focused on controlling the American legal system to notice his wife was withering.

And now she was standing in front of someone who could feed her.

All Phei had to do was reach out and take... he was doing it deliberately and pausing with her just as deliberate.

Underneath it all—Cool Aura pulling, Charm Speech still landing with every polite syllable he spoke, making her want to agree, want to please, want to hear him say her name again just so she could feel that warmth spread through her chest one more time.

All of this in the span of a handshake.

He released her with a polite smile.

"A pleasure."

Her voice came out wrecked. Thin. Barely functional. "Yes. I—" She cleared her throat again. Twice. "—likewise."

She was soaked. He could smell it from here—the sharp, unmistakable scent of a woman’s arousal cutting through her expensive perfume like a confession. The woman who had sneered at Melissa for fucking her nephew was now dripping through her panties because her

daughter’s boyfriend

had shaken her hand and said thank you for welcoming us.

Hypocrite.

But you won’t be for long.

Jonathan’s eyes narrowed. He’d seen the handshake. Seen the duration. Seen his wife’s reaction—the flush spreading down her neck, the way she wouldn’t meet his eyes, the suspicious throat-clearing that had sounded nothing like a normal cough.

What the hell was that?

he thought, a flicker of unease he couldn’t name tightening in his gut.

"Bold,"

Jonathan said, voice flat, something dangerous flickering behind the ice. "Touching my daughter before we’ve even been properly introduced."

"With respect, sir—"

Phei met his gaze without flinching. "—I don’t believe introductions change what already exists between us."

Dominant. Polite. Not crude.

Jonathan studied him for a long moment.

"Sit.

The first course will be served shortly."

Phei sat beside Sierra. His hand found hers beneath the table. Her fingers interlaced with his, squeezing tight.

Across the table, Roxanne was still trying to compose herself—face flushed, breathing uneven, thighs pressed together beneath the tablecloth.

The woman who had sneered at Melissa for fucking her nephew was sitting there soaking through her panties for her daughter’s boyfriend.

And the night was just beginning.