My Taboo Harem!

Chapter 859: Phei Ran Away...

Coming back from yet another round of fittings, Brian stepped into the vast upper lounge of the boutique and found almost everybody gathered there, which meant either the war had ended or the survivors had been herded into one luxurious containment zone.

David was sprawled lazily across one of the couches, scrolling through his phone, the man’s default state by now being a permanent horizontal relationship with whatever screen happened to be closest.

Landon sat nearby with the hollow-eyed patience; the boy had seen too much silk, too many pins, and at least three arguments about fabric weight that had shaved something important off his soul.

It made perfect sense. He had just survived two straight hours of women, designers, and fashion consultants debating details so microscopic that normal men could not perceive them without divine assistance, and Brian strongly suspected they were never meant to.

Cherry sat close beside Landon, tucked quietly into his side while several luxurious shopping bags surrounded them like the spoils of an elegant financial massacre. The bags looked beautiful, expensive, and faintly threatening, the purchases that did not merely reduce a bank balance but erased it with aristocratic contempt.

But who cared, they were all insanely rich.

The three girls occupied the opposite side of the lounge. Emily sat composed as ever, elegant enough to make exhaustion look intentional. Lydia was draped across a cushion with the theatrical misery of a fallen duchess abandoned by society, gravity, and possibly God.

Catrina, meanwhile, was still wearing Phei’s jacket and showing absolutely no intention of returning it in this lifetime or the next.

At this point, the jacket had been politically annexed; Phei could file an appeal with history.

And Rhea...

Brian’s eyes softened the moment he saw her.

His girl was already looking at him when he entered, wearing a smile so wide, warm, and openly delighted that it could probably improve a stranger’s entire week by accident.

Rhea’s smile brightness did not perform or announce itself like most women Brian had dated before; it was effortless and generous, aimed directly at him with the full unguarded glow of someone like she’d been waiting for him to walk through that door and was now, upon seeing him do exactly that, genuinely happy.

Brian could not help smiling back.

’Gods.’

His new girl was dangerous.

Not because she was manipulative. Rhea did not have a manipulative bone in her body, and if she ever discovered one, she would probably apologize to it for the inconvenience either was she seductive, although she was, in that quiet, incidental way warm people always became seductive without seeming to notice.

Rhea was dangerous because she was alive so naturally, so generously, that being around her slowly became addictive before a person even realized dependency had formed.

She was romantic without calculation, full of life without being loud about it, positive in a way that never felt fake, polished, or pasted over something rotten:

Rhea’s warmth had no agenda, it simply sat beside him, smiled at him, and somehow convinced the ruined little corners of his spirit to stop acting like condemned property.

In the last few hours he had spent with her, Brian had realized something deeply inconvenient:

Rhea made him feel sooo... peaceful.

Not the shallow peace of being temporarily safe from physical danger; Brian had long ago stopped believing anyone in his position could live a life untouched by danger.

People rich and talented like them did not avoid storms. They merely upgraded the windows and hired better security but what she gave him was something different, quieter.

It was the strange, soft feeling like his soul found a place where it did not have to stand guard every second. The feeling that his heart had finally found somewhere gentle enough to sit down, unclench its fists, and stop checking the exits like trauma had a seating chart.

It was honestly terrifying how quickly he had grown attached to it.

Brian smiled softly. "My girls are going to love you, Rhea..." he murmured.

Rhea’s smile widened at once, sweet and bright enough to make the boutique’s lighting feel under-qualified. She patted the space beside her, inviting him over like the decision had already been made and the universe was merely catching up.

Brian walked to her slowly, though before sitting down, he glanced around the lounge again. "Where’s Phei?"

Landon gave him a helpless smile and shook his head. "Phei ran away."

A soft laughter moved through the room immediately, nobody blamed him, not even slightly.

The entire fitting session had dragged on for two full hours of changing from this into that, then back into something suspiciously similar to the first thing, only now described with more expensive vocabulary.

Somehow, it had become worse because the designers were women, and then the girls had gotten involved too, each one armed with opinions.

Very passionate, loud opinions delivered with the intensity of international diplomacy, as if the fate of several fragile nations depended on whether a collar sat half an inch higher or lower.

At one point, Brian was fairly certain two stylists had nearly gone to war over shades of black.

Black.

Not different colors or moods pretending to be colors: Just different emotional experiences of black, apparently, which was a sentence Brian had never expected to form in his mind and now could never unform.

One shade was "cold midnight elegance." Another was "structured obsidian restraint." A third was, according to one designer who sounded far too serious for public safety, "mourning silk with masculine arrogance."

Brian had stared at the fabric and had only seen black.

’This,’ he realized, ’was why men historically went missing during shopping trips.’

Not because they were weak but because at some point, the human male mind defended itself.

Brian himself had already lied about going to the bathroom earlier and disappeared for thirty solid minutes before cautiously returning once he believed civilization had stabilized again.

Unfortunately, civilization had not stabilize but merely relocated the battlefield from collar height to sleeve texture, and somehow the casualty numbers had increased.

Honestly, he admired Landon’s patience immensely at this point. The boy was still here, conscious and sill technically participating. A warrior in the truest sense, not because he fought, but because he had chosen not to flee when every instinct he had had screamed for evacuation.

Brian finally sat down fully and naturally pulled Rhea closer into his chest. She melted happily against him, warm and comfortable, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the sleeve of his jacket.

She settled there as if she already belonged and always belonged and the world had simply taken an unnecessarily dramatic amount of time to arrange the furniture.

"So what excuse did he use?" Brian asked.

Landon laughed tiredly, the sound coming from a man who had been forced to learn too much about fabric language against his will.

"Nah. Dude didn’t even bother making one up."

Brian blinked. "What?"

"He straight-up told the designers he was done with this fuss and walked off."

Brian immediately burst out laughing. "Yeah... sounds exactly like Phei."

David suddenly leaned forward with dangerous enthusiasm. "I recorded it."

Brian slowly looked at him. "...What is actually wrong with you?"

David looked genuinely confused. "What?"

"Do you record everything?

"Of course not," David replied shamelessly, completely untouched by judgment as he unlocked his phone with the calm confidence of a man who had never once considered becoming a better person.

"Only funny things."

Then, without asking for permission, because apparently civilization was optional when evidence of somebody else’s suffering existed, he shoved the phone toward Brian.

****

The building’s rooftop overlooked the western side of Hell’s Paradise Island like a crown looking down on a kingdom too sinful, too rich, and too violently awake to ever deserve sleep.

Below, the island burned beautifully.

Artificial lights poured through the darkness in endless veins of gold, silver, violet, and neon blue, spilling across towers, streets, glass bridges, private clubs, luxury casinos, midnight restaurants, and roads filled with cars expensive enough to make ordinary bank accounts weep into their cheap little pillows.

The city did not glow politely either but rather obscenely, with the shameless confidence of a place that had looked at heaven, looked at electricity, and decided it could compete if the wiring budget was high enough.

At some point, humanity had become arrogant enough to challenge the stars with streetlights.