Lya Antaris stood by the window of her private suite, staring out at the towering structure of The Dome, its sleek, silver surface glowing under the cold artificial lights of Eden. Anxiety twisted in her gut—a feeling she hadn't allowed herself to entertain in years. She had built her empire on charm, favors, and careful alliances, running some of the most luxurious brothels in Eden. But now, that empire was on the verge of collapse.
Her girls whispered in fear, tiptoeing through the halls like ghosts, avoiding her gaze. They knew what she knew: the Inquisitors were coming. And when they did, there would be no mercy. The Dome Baby incident—the scandal that started as an odd curiosity—had spiraled into a full-blown crisis, with Eden's government placing the blame squarely on her shoulders.
She tried to protect herself the only way she knew how—calling in old favors. But the people who once owed her were either gone without a trace, vanished in the purges, or too terrified to even answer her calls. No one dared defy the Inquisitors. The Eden of today was a different beast. It had grown colder, harsher, and far more dangerous since the Supreme Leader tightened his grip on power, furious with the Senate and its role in causing Eden's first-ever market crash.
The elites—those privileged enough to enjoy unchecked power—had been purged or silenced. Their privileges stripped, their assets seized. Those who remained clung to the shadows, whispering about the Supreme Leader's rage and the shattered economy that forced Eden to sell off overseas holdings and advanced weapons just to pay off creditors.
Lya had survived the purge, but survival wasn't enough. If the Inquisitors came for her, it would be the end—not just of her business, but of her life. And so, she turned to the only option left.
Taren Lantrun.
---
The High General of Eden, Taren was one of the few men left standing with any real power—a giant among wolves. He was one of the only figures who could stand up to High Inquisitor Orin Lantrun, the Supreme Leader's cold, calculating younger brother. If anyone could speak on her behalf, it was Taren. But Lya knew better than to expect kindness from a man like him. Taren was a soldier, not a politician. If she wanted his help, she would have to buy it with the only currency she had left—herself.
Her reflection in the glass confirmed what she already knew. She was still beautiful, even after all these years. The subtle enhancements, the carefully maintained youth, all made possible by Edenite medicine, ensured that her body remained as alluring as ever. Thick waves of dark hair framed her face, her skin smooth and glowing under the low light. She wore a gown of black silk that clung to her curves like a second skin, the neckline dipping just enough to leave a hint of temptation.
This wasn't just seduction—it was a calculated game. One she had played many times before, but never with so much at stake.
She adjusted the strap of her gown, the silk sliding over her shoulder like water. Taren was a difficult man to seduce—he wasn't swayed by charm or beauty alone. But Lya had spent years studying the desires of powerful men, and she knew what Taren wanted.
He was lonely, exhausted from the burdens of leadership, and surrounded by people who feared him. What he craved wasn't just pleasure—it was the illusion of intimacy, the feeling of being seen, understood, and desired. And Lya Antaris was a master at giving men exactly what they needed.
---
The click of heels echoed softly in the grand hall as she descended the spiral staircase, her gown whispering against the marble steps. The brothel was eerily quiet, save for the hum of the heaters and the occasional murmur from her girls, hidden away in their rooms.
Taren had agreed to meet her in one of the private suites—a calculated risk on his part. He knew the rumors about her involvement in the scandal, but he had come anyway. That alone gave Lya a sliver of hope. Perhaps he wasn't entirely beyond her reach.
The door to the suite was slightly ajar. Lya slipped inside, the warmth of the room embracing her like a lover's arms. Taren Lantrun stood by the window, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the glow of The Dome. He didn't turn when she entered, but she could feel the weight of his presence—a man forged in war, cold and deliberate.
"Taren," she said softly, her voice like velvet. "Thank you for coming."
He finally turned to face her, his expression unreadable. He was handsome in a rugged, scarred way, with sharp blue eyes that held none of the warmth she hoped for.
"I don't have much time," he said, his voice low and rough. "Say what you need to say."
Lya smiled, slow and deliberate, as she crossed the room to stand before him. "I didn't ask you here to talk, General."
---
Taren's gaze flicked over her, his eyes lingering on the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips. He was a disciplined man, but Lya saw the flicker of desire in his gaze—the way his jaw tightened, the way his hands flexed at his sides.
She stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat of him through the silk of her gown. Her fingers brushed lightly against his chest, tracing the lines of his uniform. "You're a hard man to find," she whispered, her breath warm against his neck.
Taren didn't move, but his breathing changed—a slight hitch, barely noticeable.
"I know what you need," Lya murmured, her hand sliding lower, teasing. "And I know how to give it to you."
For a moment, Taren was silent, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he caught her wrist in a firm grip, his hand like iron around her delicate bones.
"Careful, Lya," he said softly, his voice dangerously low. "You don't want to play games with me."
Lya smiled—a slow, knowing smile. She wasn't afraid of danger. She had lived her life balancing on the edge of a knife, and she knew that the sharpest blades could also be the most rewarding.
"I'm not playing," she whispered, stepping even closer until their bodies almost touched.
---
For a moment, Taren hesitated, as if weighing the consequences of what was about to happen. Then, with a low growl, he pulled her against him, his mouth crashing down on hers in a fierce, possessive kiss.
Lya melted into him, her body molding to his like water around stone. This was the game she knew how to win. And tonight, winning meant survival.
Taren's hands roamed over her body, pulling her closer, deeper into the embrace. The world outside the suite faded away, leaving only the heat between them, the hunger, the need.
And as Lya Antaris gave herself to the High General, she knew that her life now hung on the edge of this moment—on whether or not she could make him forget, just for a little while, that he held the power to destroy her.