CHAPTER 140: LETTER

Lor stepped out of the bathroom, steam trailing off his skin, his hair damp and tousled, clinging to his forehead in dark, messy strands.

He dried his hands on the towel, sighing with a kind of worn satisfaction that only came after truly excessive sin, his lean frame relaxed but still humming with the ritual’s afterglow.

His shirt clung coolly to his damp chest as he buttoned it back up, half-tucking it into the soft fabric of his trousers, the belt hanging loose around his hips.

He paused by the mirror, adjusted his collar, and gave himself a look—eyebrow raised, lips curled into a smirk that said.

Still got it.

He turned to leave the master bedroom, its air heavy with dust and old perfume, the untouched bed and shuttered windows casting a private hush.

But he hesitated, his hazel eyes flicking back to the nightstand, where that damn sliver of parchment still poked out like a whispered dare.

His curiosity prickled, a nagging pull that drowned out his caution.

"Just a peek," he muttered, already reaching, his fingers brushing the wood.

The drawer creaked open, the sound sharp in the quiet.

He tugged the letter free—thick parchment pressed with a noble seal, House Viremont’s crest, a coiled serpent and blooming rose etched in gold.

The ink was a deep burgundy, the writing in a flowing, exaggerated hand that bled aristocratic self-importance.

To the Esteemed Lord and Lady of House Calden,

It brings us great pleasure to extend to you an invitation to the Midnight Bloom, a celebration of taste, tact, and trust, held beneath the blush of the full moon, within the Marble Sanctuary.

Guests are expected to attend adorned in masks befitting their role, with anonymity upheld as the evening’s most sacred virtue. No names will be exchanged. No titles spoken. Only the language of scent, skin, and silence shall prevail.

There will be five rooms, each tuned to a different theme of indulgence: the Garden (play), the Gallery (display), the Menagerie (exploration), the Mirror Hall (reversal), and the Atrium (devotion). Attendance in each is optional, but encouraged.

A single white rose placed at any door indicates invitation. Two roses denotes invitation and consent. Three... well. You already know.

As always, masks must remain on until the closing bell. All scents provided. All sounds permitted.

Yours in velvet,

A Friend of the Circle

—House Viremont

Lor blinked, his hazel eyes widening, his cock twitching faintly in his trousers as a grin spread across his face.

"Yup," he muttered, folding the letter and sliding it neatly back into the drawer, the implications swirling in his mind.

"Definitely an orgy."

He shut the drawer with a soft click, adjusted his belt, and made his way back upstairs, the faint hum of warding spells trailing him through the quiet house.

The hallway was hushed, the faint smell of floral soap drifting from Lia’s room, the door cracked open.

Lor pushed it wide—

"AAAAAH!"

Two simultaneous screams hit him like a blast, making him flinch.

Lia stood halfway into her blouse, her generous chest swinging free, her freckled skin flushed from the shower, her green eyes wide with fury, her red curls damp and clinging to her shoulders.

Sophia shrieked, crouching behind the bed, wearing one of Lia’s oversized tunics that hung halfway down her thighs, swallowing her petite frame, her blonde twin tails damp, her blue eyes wide with panic.

Lor blinked, his hazel eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh I am soo—"

"OUT!" Lia yelled, her voice sharp, her curvy figure tensing as she yanked her blouse closed.

He sighed, stepped back out, and closed the door behind him, his smirk lingering as he leaned against the wall.

"Didn’t I just see them naked?"

A moment passed.

He raised his hand.

Knock knock.

Inside, rustling, low whispers, a click.

The door creaked open again.

Lor stepped inside, his hazel eyes scanning the room.

Lia was fully dressed now—tight black trousers hugging her curvy hips, her green blouse clinging to her generous chest, freckles still warm from the bath, her red curls drying in loose waves.

Sophia stood beside her, swallowed in Lia’s oversized tunic and too-big shorts, sleeves drooping over her hands, her blonde hair damp, cheeks flushed, her blue eyes wary but softening.

Lor raised a brow, his smirk returning. "You two smell good."

They said nothing, their cheeks flushing,

He stepped closer, shutting the door behind him.

The door clicked shut behind him, the sound soft but final in Lia’s cozy bedroom, the air still heavy with the lingering scent of lavender, vanilla, mint blossom, and their shared release.

The lavender lamp’s glow cast flickering shadows across the walls—no more giggles, no more flushes of embarrassed nudity or lingering sex-slick heat.

Sophia pulled at the sleeves of Lia’s oversized tunic, fidgeting with the drooping cuffs as she stepped toward the bed, her blonde twin tails damp and swaying, her blue eyes cautious but expectant, her petite frame swallowed by the too-big fabric.

Lia leaned against the edge of her desk, arms crossed under her generous chest, her green blouse hugging her curves, her red curls drying in loose waves, her green eyes watching Lor carefully.

Then Sophia spoke, her voice soft but firm. "Can you... start the guidance?"

Lia nodded, her curvy figure shifting as she stepped closer. "We did our part. So... teach us."

Lor didn’t smirk this time, didn’t make a joke.

His expression shifted—serious, steady, his hazel eyes carrying the weight of responsibility rather than lust, his lean frame relaxed but purposeful.

"The Guiding Light is satisfied," he said softly, his voice low and measured. "It has agreed to grant you it’s guidance. That was the deal."

He stepped toward them, his bare feet silent against the wooden floor, his shirt clinging to his still-damp chest.

"And now I teach."

His irises flared—gold, bright, and unnatural, the same white-gold glow that had shimmered through his ritual, a light that wasn’t entirely his own.

Sophia flinched slightly, her blue eyes widening.

Lia stiffened, her green eyes narrowing, but neither looked away, their breaths catching in unison.