My Taboo Harem!

Phei had lived with Melissa and her family for ten years after his parents’ death.

Ten years as a Maxton, the Charity Case.

And ten years under a roof where kindness came in secret, cruelty came dressed as discipline, and affection, when it came at all, had to move quietly through the cracks like something illegal.

Until everything came apart:

Until his dragon breath burned that house, that name, that family, and every polished lie wrapped around them into ashless nothingness.

Sometimes, standing in the middle of his life now, Phei still found it strange that so much of his past had been built inside rooms that never truly belonged to him; the Maxton mansion had given him shelter, yes, but shelter was not the same as home:

A cage could have walls, warmth, maids, meals, expensive floors and old paintings too. Humans liked decorating prisons and calling them inheritance.

Very artistic. Very diseased.

In all those years, he had never celebrated a meaningful birthday of his own.

Not as someone cherished.

The Charity Case did not get grand birthdays.

The Charity Case got quiet corners, half-smiles from those who still had hearts, and small secret parties Maria managed to hide like acts of rebellion. Back then, Phei had thought those little cakes, hurried gifts and soft birthday wishes had been Maria’s kindness alone.

Now, older, sharper, and less willing to romanticize old wounds just because memory put warm light on them, he understood better.

Melissa had been behind some of it.

Of course she had.

And Sienna too, in that strange Sienna way, giving him not-gifts that appeared where he would find them, then vanishing before gratitude could embarrass either of them. A new book. A rare trinket. A training note. A sharp little object he had once needed and never remembered asking for. If confronted, she would have stared at him with deadpan contempt and said something like, It was in the way. I removed it.

The girl had been performing affection like a crime scene cleanup for years.

’Charming family habit.’

Of course Chaos would always call him to wish him birthdays and she has his gifts kept somewhere which she’d give him one day.

Anyway, that quiet treatment had never extended to the daughters of the house.

Victoria.

Delilah.

Sienna.

From the eldest to the youngest, their birthdays had always been grand. Elegant halls. Legacy guests. Fine dresses. Music. Flowers. Smiling adults. Carefully curated attention. Behind those birthdays had always been Chaos herself who gifted her grandchildren, even when she never appeared. Melissa too. And then, of course, the Maxtons, playing their role with all the warmth of carved marble pretending it understood parenthood.

Or so Phei had thought.

Because now, looking back properly, the truth was uglier.

The Maxtons only truly went all out when it was the twins’ birthday.

Danton and Delilah!

Victoria and Sienna were celebrated, yes, but not with equal weight. Not with the same hunger for display, same proud glitter in Harold Maxton’s eyes and Harold’s pride had ever been a pleasant thing to witness.

The man looked at people the way some men looked at investments or livestock, weighing usefulness, blood, obedience and damage tolerance.

Fatherhood had entered his house and died of neglect in the hallway.

Even now, Phei did not know why Harold Maxton did not truly love his daughters.

They were his daughters.

’Right?’

Despite everything between the families, despite whatever schemes, bloodlines, debts and ancient madness had been woven under that roof, Victoria, Delilah and Sienna had still carried the Maxton name. They had still been his children.

And what had Harold given them?

Cruelty.

That had been his fatherly inheritance.

His lesson.

His gift.

And Phei had usually been the training dummy.

At least Sienna had never taken part in that particular sickness. Small mercies, apparently, though calling anything in that household merciful felt like giving a wolf a medal for only biting one leg.

Even during her own birthdays, Sienna rarely lasted more than two minutes.

She would appear, cold and beautiful and already uninterested, endure the first formalities with the expression of someone being asked to attend her own execution for poor social reasons, then disappear into the confines of her room. The first few years, people had stared, whispered, gawked and wondered whether someone should fetch her back.

Eventually, like all strange things repeated by powerful families, it became tradition.

Sienna arrived.

Sienna vanished.

And everyone pretended that was normal because society, when sufficiently wealthy, could normalize anything except honesty.

And today was exactly that day.

Sienna’s birthday.

Phei had asked Melissa before they came to the island, if he could organize it.

Melissa had gone quiet for a moment:

But not because she disliked the idea but because she understood what it meant.

Then she had said yes:

The invitation rights, of course, had remained with the girls. Victoria, Delilah and the others knew who should be here, who would be tolerated, who would make the birthday warmer, and who would turn it into a diplomatic ulcer. Phei had no interest in inviting half the island just to prove he could fill a room.

He had seen enough public power displays; most of them smelled like insecurity wearing perfume.

This party was big.

Grand but not exaggerated.

Enough people to make the room feel alive.

Enough beauty and noise and danger to make the hall worthy of the night.

Enough space for family, lovers, friends, awkward new arrivals, and whatever social mess David would inevitably produce if left unattended near anything with a battery.

It was not the entire world.

But as Phei stood within the black-silver birthday hall, looking around at everyone gathered beneath the crystal rain and dark violet glow, he realized something with quiet amusement.

All parties and gatherings that included everyone he cared about would soon be this big.

If not bigger!

’It has not been that long.’

And look at how many people were already here.

Months ago, his world had been narrower. Sharper. Lonelier in ways even he had not fully admitted. Now it had become this sprawling, gorgeous, absurd constellation of women, friends, mother-in-laws, teachers, dangerous princesses, suspicious daughters, mature beauties, new arrivals and old wounds trying to heal under expensive lighting.

A disaster.

A miracle.

’A family.’

Phei stood near one of the round tables with Sierra, Victoria and Amber, listening with half an ear while his attention drifted through the room.

Sierra stood close enough that the scent of her perfume brushed him whenever she moved.

Her gown hugged her lush figure with quiet cruelty, the fabric drawing in at her waist before flowing over the full curve of her hips in a way that kept dragging his gaze down no matter how noble his intentions tried to look. The neckline was elegant, not vulgar, yet it framed her chest with such soft and round precision that Phei’s fingers briefly considered betraying public decency and had to be mentally dismissed like unruly servants.

He let his eyes return to her face a beat slower than discipline allowed, and Sierra — who had spent enough nights ruined by that exact gaze to recognize its weather — caught the descent and the climb both, and the corner of her mouth curled, pleased, wicked, entirely aware that the host of this elegant gathering had just lost a small private war against her waistline.

Victoria, beside her, was colder in style but no less dangerous.

Her dress was dark and severe, fitted to her proud hot body like restraint had taken tailoring lessons. It followed the clean narrow line of her waist the flared into her round hips and held her chest in a way that made the discipline of the gown feel hotter than exposure, then fell over her hips with aristocratic sharpness.

She looked like a woman daring desire to approach and survive the consequences.

Phei, who had never in his life met a dare he respected, let his attention rest on her exactly one second longer than was strictly polite — and Victoria, catching it, lifted her chin and held his gaze with frost so deliberate it might as well have been an invitation written in another language.

Neither of them looked away first.

It was Sierra’s soft, knowing laugh that finally broke the standoff, and Victoria’s faint flush that admitted who had nearly lost it.

Amber, meanwhile, was trying to murder him with scrutiny.

Cute.

Very cute.

Her dress suited her far too well, warm-toned against her skin, cinched neatly at the waist, the skirt shaped to flatter the curve of her hips without making the intention too obvious. But even that could not distract from the way her eyes kept moving between Phei and Adriana across the hall. Amber’s suspicion had become almost adorable.

’A little dangerous, yes, but mostly adorable.’