"Why don't I just go to one of your siblings instead?"

For the first time, her composure cracked. The color drained from her face for a split second, and her posture stiffened. She hadn't expected that — not from him. Her confidence faltered just enough for it to show in her eyes before she masked it again.

"I—" she started, but no clever line followed. She had walked into that one.

She had assumed Xavier would take the bait — or at least play along long enough for her to gain footing. Maybe she thought her charm would sway him, or that the weight of her name would impress him. But Xavier wasn't one of the men she was used to dealing with.

He leaned back again, relaxed, watching her with faint amusement. "You're good at this," he said quietly. "Really are. But you're used to people who want something from you — not the ones who already have everything they need."

Yelena stayed silent for a moment, her nails tapping lightly against her glass. Her crimson hair fell over one eye, and though she looked calm, her gaze carried a flicker of frustration — not anger, not defeat, just the realization that this wasn't going to be as easy as she'd planned.

Lyra, sitting beside Xavier, couldn't help but smile faintly, sensing Yelena's discomfort. She didn't say anything, but the slight upward curve of her lips said everything she wanted to.

The tension in the room shifted — no longer one-sided, no longer under Yelena's control. For the first time, it felt like she was sitting across from someone who didn't just listen to power, but had enough of his own that he didn't need hers.

Xavier leaned back in his seat again, studying her with that same detached calm that had started to make Yelena uneasy. "So," he said, "I'll ask again—what's the real benefit for me if I choose you over your siblings?"

Yelena hesitated this time. Her lips parted, but she didn't speak right away. There was something in her eyes — a flicker of pride clashing with desperation — and then, almost too quietly, she said, "I'll become your slave."

Xavier's brows lifted slightly, his expression sharpening. "What?"

Realizing what she'd just said, Yelena straightened, clearing her throat as a faint shade of red crept up her neck. "I mean…" she corrected quickly, "I'll follow your every command. When I become matriarch, you'll hold half of the Red Family's power through me. Everything I control, you control."

That phrasing was clear enough. It wasn't just politics — it was submission, alliance, partnership… maybe even something closer to marriage, if it came to that.

Yelena's voice steadied as she continued, regaining her composure. "My brothers might offer you more — titles, money, promises that sound grander. But they'll never keep their word. They'll use you, then discard you the moment you're no longer useful. Especially with the share you hold."

Xavier tilted his head, curious now. "Explain."

She nodded, her tone lowering. "You own five percent of the Red Family's shares. That alone makes you a target. If you die, those shares return to the distribution pool — the thirty percent meant for us, the heirs. Which means your death increases the total pool to thirty-five percent. You're not just a shareholder to them, Xavier. You're an opportunity."

Her words hung there for a moment, and Lyra's tail twitched slightly beside him, catching the tension in the air.

Yelena leaned forward. "I'm not asking you to fight for me. I'm asking you to stand with me. I'll give you power, protection, influence — and I'll keep your life secure. No one in the Red Family will dare touch you if I'm on the throne."

Xavier said nothing for a while. His gaze was steady, thoughtful — not because he needed what she offered, but because he respected what it took for her to offer it. He already had more protection than most — Lyra at his side, Viola, and Reva in the shadows.

But still, seeing someone like Yelena — a woman born in privilege and control — offer submission and loyalty just to secure her place, it said something about how far she was willing to go.

Finally, Xavier gave a slow nod. "Alright," he said simply. "When the time comes, I'll back you."

Yelena's shoulders eased ever so slightly, the faintest exhale of relief slipping past her lips. She smiled, composed again, though her eyes carried something softer — maybe gratitude, maybe something else.

Lyra, however, wasn't smiling. She just narrowed her eyes at Yelena from the corner of her seat, a quiet flick of possessiveness in her body language that Xavier caught but didn't comment on.

"You must be tired after all that winning downstairs," she said with a small, teasing smile. "Would you like something to eat? I can have anything sent up—Red's suite service is… unmatched."

Before Xavier could open his mouth, Lyra spoke up, tail flicking with casual confidence. "Yeah. I'm hungry," she said. "I want steak. Rare. And that red soup thing from downstairs—uh, whatever it's called. Oh, and some chocolate cake too."

The faintest tension slid into the room. Yelena blinked, the corners of her perfect smile stiffening, and then turned her gaze toward Lyra. "Of course," she said, voice sweet but cold under the surface. "I'll have that ordered right away."

She tapped on her glass tablet with a single manicured finger, eyes flicking back to Xavier. "And you, Xavier?" Her tone softened again, trying to recover its calm, seductive rhythm. "What would you like?"

Xavier opened his mouth again—only to have Lyra cut in, resting her chin on her hand and smirking faintly. "He'll have whatever I'm having," she said. "Just double the portion."

Yelena's brows twitched, and her lips parted slightly as if to respond, but no sound came out. She was clearly not used to being interrupted—especially not twice.

Xavier leaned back in his seat, watching the tension build like a slow, steady flame. He didn't say a word—just smiled faintly to himself as Yelena inhaled quietly and exhaled through her nose, forcing her composure back.

"Very well," she said, her voice calm again, though her tone carried an edge now. "Two rare steaks, two bowls of Red Ember Soup, and two slices of our chocolate mousse cake. I'll make sure it's brought here personally."

"Good," Lyra said simply, still relaxed, her golden eyes fixed on Yelena like a cat toying with a rival in its territory.

For a moment, silence hung between them—Yelena maintaining her elegant posture, Lyra leaning comfortably closer to Xavier, her tail brushing lightly against his side as if making her claim clear without saying it outright.

Xavier sighed faintly, rubbing the back of his neck. "You two trying to start a war in here or something?"

Yelena smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Of course not," she said smoothly. "I was merely being a good host."

Lyra tilted her head, voice deceptively soft. "And I was merely being a good guest."

The words carried a subtle bite. Xavier almost chuckled but stopped himself, instead just shaking his head slightly. The food hadn't even arrived yet, but the table already felt like a battlefield — one lined not with weapons, but with smirks, glances, and quiet territorial sparks.

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