Cecilia made her way back through the facility’s winding corridors.

Lilyca had been escorted to her own quarters by the two white-robed priestesses, still chattering happily about the time the gods had given her a vision that tasted like burnt toast but still delicious because they still look pretty even when angry and carbonized.

Meanwhile, Cecilia had been left to navigate the labyrinthine hallways with only Cha SoHee’s guidance and her own churning thoughts for company.

The government facility in general was a strange hybrid of luxury and sterility. All soft carpets and harsh fluorescent lighting, but not like those kinds of hotels everyone hated where you know there were lots of caked in filth for years on every surface.

There was tasteful abstract art on the walls and security cameras tucked discreetly into the corners. You never quite forget you were being watched.

The windows were bulletproof, and the doors required keycard access. It was, she supposed, perfectly adequate for housing divine deities and visiting dignitaries. But it was not a home.

SoHee swiped her keycard at the final door, the one that led to the residential wing where her temporary apartment waited, and pushed it open.

The smell hit her first. Seared meat and garlic butter. Something herbal and warm. The harsh fluorescent lights had been dimmed, replaced by the soft golden glow of the lamps her husbands had brought from home.

Cecilia widened her eyes. The sterile government apartment had been transformed into something that looked like a place where people actually lived.

Damon Iondora, Director of the International Hunter’s Association, was standing at the kitchen counter with a dish towel in his hands, wiping plates seriously.

Arkai was wiping down the dinner table with long, efficient strokes. His movements, no matter how domestic it was, looked very manly and sexy.

Eastiel was elbow-deep in soapy water, scrubbing a pot aggressively, yet also enthusiastically. With his ears and tail, he looked more like a cat playing and clawing water with his claws.

And Oathran was plating a steak.

He looked up as the door clicked shut behind her. His mist-grey eyes warmed by several degrees. "You’re back. It is time for an early dinner."

The sun had begun its slow descent beyond the bulletproof windows, painting the grey sky in shades of amber and rose. And Cecilia realized she was, in fact, very hungry.

"Miss Cha, do you care to join us for dinner?" Cecilia asked, turning to the young assistant who had been her shadow for the better part of two days.

Cha SoHee was standing frozen just inside the doorway, her tablet clutched to her chest like a shield, her jaw hanging open unhinged.

Her eyes flicked from the transformed apartment, the warm lamps, the relocated sofa, the karaoke machine, the potted plants, the herb garden on the windowsill—

—to the kitchen, where Damon Iondora, her boss’s boss’s boss, the Director of the entire International Hunter’s Association, was standing at the counter wiping dinner plates with a dish towel like a part-time busboy.

"Y-yes..."

She was scared speaking too loudly might shatter whatever fever dream she had accidentally wandered into...

***

In the medic tent, Ruby sat on the edge of a narrow cot, her leg propped up on a stack of thin pillows, encased in a fresh white cast from ankle to knee.

The break was clean, the healer had said, a hairline fracture from a training exercise gone wrong, nothing that wouldn’t mend in a few weeks with proper rest and a few sessions of divine healing.

Ruby had smiled and nodded and thanked the healer for her excellent care.

Inside, she was molten.

Ruby had seized the chance when the instructor wasn’t looking, deliberately took a fall and broke her own leg when an incompetent candidate had panicked during a purification drill and sent a corrupted stone flying across the field.

The camp administrators had apologized profusely, and they had assured her that the candidate responsible would be disciplined.

They had offered her the best cot in the medic tent and extra rations and a personal healer to speed her recovery, but they had not offered her the one thing she actually wanted. A phone call to Arzhen.

The camp was famously strict and unforgiving. It truly didn’t make exceptions, even for the sponsored mistress of a billionaire.

The tent flap rustled, and Isabeau, her tent neighbor, a plain-faced girl from some minor European noble family whose name Ruby had never bothered to remember until now, ducked inside, carrying two mugs of steaming tea.

Her brown hair was pulled back in a practical braid, and her smile was warm, kind and genuine.

"Don’t be sad, Ruby. You remember a month ago, when Miss Sully got hard corruption poisoning because she overused her power? Her family also couldn’t visit her."

Isabeau pressed one of the mugs into Ruby’s hands, her fingers lingering for just a moment in what was probably meant to be a comforting gesture. "This place is just that strict. You shouldn’t blame your family for being unable to come too, okay?"

Ruby smiled graciously, generous enough to accept comfort from someone so ordinary. "Thank you, Isabeau. You are very kind."

Inside, she sneered. Sully. That poor-ass bitch from some backwater town whose family would have needed to sell their livestock just to afford the plane tickets—

Of course she had told them not to visit. Of course she had pretended it was about not wanting to be a burden, when really it was about not wanting anyone to see how miserably dirt poor her people were.

Sully’s family couldn’t have bought their way past the camp’s security even if they had wanted to. They didn’t have the money or the influence.

They didn’t have Arzhen.

But Ruby did. Arzhen could fly here in his private jet. Arzhen could force his way past any security checkpoint with a single phone call.

In the past, Arzhen would’ve done it. A paper cut, a bad dream, a moment of loneliness, and he had dropped everything to be at her side. He had always come. He had always wanted to come.

Now? A broken leg from a training accident. And silence. No message, no visit. No word from the camp administrators that anyone had even tried to contact her. She had been in this medic tent for six hours, and Arzhen hadn’t called!

It must be because of that bitch. Cecilia.

The footage, the dragons. The divine deity declaration...

Ruby had done the math in her head. If the divorce had been processed the day that woman signed it at the hospital then the decree must’ve not yet finalized. Arzhen could still contest it and reverse it. He could drag that woman back to the mansion.

But that woman must’ve bonded with something to have that power. A dragon, certainly, because only a dragon could grant that kind of power. And Arzhen would know that.

Arzhen would see that his ex-wife had not merely left him, she had ascended beyond him, beyond the Vasiliev name, beyond anything he could offer.

Would he still want her back? Would he want to rekindle his relationship with a woman who had fucked three other men and bonded with a beast and become a goddess while he watched from the sidelines?

That was the worst humiliation possible.

But... what if he didn’t mind?

The thought crept into Ruby’s mind like poison.

What if Arzhen looked at Cecilia’s power and decided that sharing her with a dragon was a small price to pay?

What if he was willing to overlook her infidelity, her pregnancy, her complete disregard for everything he had given her... just because she was strong now?

Ruby herself had thought the same thing, after all. She had planned to marry Nikolas Delanivis while keeping Arzhen’s heart. Marrying and bonding could be done with two different people too. It was practical and strategic.

It was exactly the kind of arrangement that Arzhen might now be considering with that woman.

So what if—?

The tent flap opened again, and the nurse entered with a cordless phone in her hand. Her smile was bright when she approached. "Miss Ruby, would you like to receive a phone call?"

Ruby’s heart stopped. Her fingers tightened around the mug of tea. "A phone call? Uh... who...?"

The nurse’s smile widened. "It is Mr. Vasiliev."