Chapter 475: Assembling Support **
"BROTHER! THEY’RE DELETING MY VALKO!"
"What?" Damon’s hips stopped moving. He was still buried deep inside his wife, still breathing hard from exertion, still holding himself over her on the office sofa with one arm braced beside her head. "Your... Valko?"
Ivy, lying beneath him with her blonde hair fanned across the leather cushions and her coat long since discarded on the floor, suddenly stopped moaning. Her blue eyes, which had been half-lidded with pleasure just moments before, snapped wide open with alarm. "Valko? What happened to Valko?"
"Who’s Valko?" Damon blinked down at her, his cock twitching inside her as he processed the fact that his wife, who was currently impaled on him, was talking about another man.
Ivy snatched his phone from his hand with the speed of a woman who had her priorities in order. "Angela, what did you say?"
"IVY! THEY ANNOUNCED THAT THEY’RE TAKING VALKO AWAY AFTER THE BACKLASH!"
"WHAT?!" Ivy snapped, her voice rising to a pitch Damon rarely heard outside of boardroom confrontations. "THEY DARE?!"
"H-honey." Damon stilled completely, his brow furrowing. "Who’s Valko? Is this one of your game’s characters...?"
"Yeah." Ivy barely glanced at him, already refocusing on the phone. "This stupid game company is... yeah, Angela, calm down. Don’t cry. You need to think about your body. Is Stevan with you right now? Good."
She moved her hips. A slow, absent roll that made Damon’s breath hitch. This woman—still trying to fuck him while orchestrating a crisis intervention for her sister-in-law over a fictional character?!
He moved his hips back.
SLAM—!
"Mmm—"
He drove his cock deep inside her, bottoming out with a force that made the sofa creak. "Honey, what the fuck?"
Ivy pulled the phone away from her mouth just long enough to point a sharp finger at his face. "I married you because you look like Zayne. And Zayne is fifty percent more handsome than you, so shut up."
Damon scoffed, his competitive streak igniting. "Can Zayne do this?"
He drilled into her. Hard. Rhythmic. Punishing in the way she liked. Ivy’s head fell back against the armrest, a moan spilling from her lips before she could stop it.
"Angela—mm—I’ll take care of it. We can bring him back. I’ll contact my lawyer—"
"Alright, alright, I’ll contact my lawyer too," Damon said, taking his phone back from her loosened grip. "You harem princesses—I’ll tolerate your 3D boyfriends too!"
"Mmm..." Ivy surged upward and kissed him hard, her teeth catching his lower lip. "You’re suddenly hotter than five minutes ago..."
Damon sneered against her mouth, rolling his hips in a slow, filthy grind. "I wonder if in a different world, you’re not even mine... You must’ve had so many men in your harem, Princess..."
"Mean!" Ivy yelled, slapping his shoulder. "The only one I think of that can rival you is Magnus Karas! And he’s my ex!"
"Your ex, of course!" Damon kissed her back, harder, deeper, his tongue sliding against hers. "But in this life, you’re mine, alright? All mine!"
"HEY! HANG UP BEFORE GOING BACK TO FUCKING YOUR WIFE!" Angela’s voice screeched from the phone still clutched in Damon’s hand.
Damon tapped the red button with his thumb and sighed, tossing the phone onto the coffee table. "It’s time we invest in making our own gaming company so you can make your own 3D husbands... With one modelled after me..."
"No way." Ivy glared up at him, her fingers threading into his hair and yanking him down. "You want girls around the world to simp after you? You’re mine, Damon Iondora. Only mi—"
Damon burst out laughing and sank his teeth into her neck. "The double standard..."
RING—RING—RING—
"Come on..." Damon groaned, his forehead dropping to her shoulder. He had accepted Angela’s call earlier because he thought it was an emergency. Why was she calling again?
He swiped the screen blindly and brought the phone to his ear. "Angela... you know I’m serving your sister-in-law right now, don’t disturb us—"
"Mr. Iondora."
A man’s... voice?
Damon stopped his hips a second time. His whole body went still as he pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the contact name glowing on the screen.
He frowned.
Then he brought the phone back to his ear, his voice shifting from annoyance to something cooler and sharper. "Didn’t I tell you not to contact me first?"
"But the situation is..." The voice on the other end hesitated.
"The situation is under control." Damon’s smile returned, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "As long as you are safe, we can make everything happen."
"What about Cecilia...?"
"She’s safe. No one can touch Lesser Goddess right now." His hips gave a shallow, absent roll, more habit than intention, and Ivy bit her lip beneath him. "Not even me."
"..."
The man paused for quite a long time.
"I want to meet her," then, the male voice said.
Damon hummed, considering. His free hand traced down Ivy’s side, over her hip, grounding himself in the warmth of her skin. "Alright. As long as you’re strong enough to go out and move around."
"I am." A beat. Then, quieter, "Thank you, Mr. Iondora."
"You’re welcome, Mr. Vasiliev."
***
The government facility of the Hunter Association was, against all expectations, surprisingly cozy.
Cecilia sat alone on a plush sofa in the guest reception area, her hands folded over the gentle swell of her belly, her eyes drifting across the room.
The architecture was still government-issue, with high ceilings, reinforced walls,the usual utilitarian bones, but someone had clearly fought a war against the institutional coldness and won. Perhaps the interior designer, but who knows?
Warm throw pillows in earthy tones were arranged on the deep burgundy sofas. Abstract paintings of forests and mountains hung on the walls, their colors soft and inviting.
Potted plants with broad green leaves clustered in the corners, thriving under the glow of full-spectrum lamps. A bookshelf against the far wall held not policy manuals but novels. Well-thumbed paperbacks with cracked spines, the kind that had been read and loved and passed along.
Yeah. Hunter Association might be that kind of government job where you’re treated somewhat well for your hard work.
The coffee table before her held a carafe of water infused with cucumber and mint, two glasses waiting beside it. The receptionist at the front desk had offered her tea, coffee, and a selection of pastries that seemed far too elegant for a government building.
She had declined politely.
It felt less like a waiting room and more like someone’s carefully curated living room, a place designed to make anxious people feel a little less anxious.
Given what the Hunter Association dealt with on a daily basis, rifts, corruption, outbreaks, the constant teetering edge of catastrophe, Cecilia supposed they had plenty of practice making people feel safe too.
Outside, she could see the distant shapes of hunters moving between buildings, the occasional flicker of wings or flash of a shifted form.
She should’ve worked here instead of the Vasiliev Lab. What was she thinking...?
No. Perhaps she did it for Anton.
She still couldn’t believe that he had died in this life. But...
Just like how Oathran and Arkai were supposed to die in her own world’s alternate timeline where Ruby had lived until she died and regressed, she understood that anyone could die before she could save them in many other iterations of worlds.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
Footsteps? Small, quick, eager...?
"Lesser Goddess! Long time no see!"
Cecilia turned toward the voice and felt her heart lift.
Lilyca, the Saintess, all eight years of her, came bustling through the doorway.
"Saintess, please slow down!" the two priestess behind her rushed after her.
The Saintess might have been told to walk calmly but was physically incapable of obeying. Especially after seeing Cecilia.
Her black hair was pulled back in a neat braid that bounced against her shoulders, and her silver-white eyes, pale as moonlight, were bright with excitement.
She wore the formal robes of her station, the white and gold fabric swishing around her ankles as she half-walked, half-skipped toward the sofa.
"Wow, your holy aura is through the roof! What happened?!" Lilyca asked, her silver-white eyes going wide as saucers.
She leaned in closer, practically climbing onto the sofa beside Cecilia, her small nose twitching as she sniffed the air curiously. "Did you bathe in Holy Water inside of a Holy Temple or something?"
Cecilia blinked.
W-well... she had met the gods on two occasions already now. And they lived above her apartment. And they had cooked her dinner.
"You see..." Cecilia hesitated, unsure how to compress the cosmic absurdity of her current living situation into a sentence a child could understand. "Lilyca, do you think it’s good or bad...?"
"It’s GREAT!" Lilyca bounced on the cushion, her braid bobbing behind her. "You’re soooooooooooooooooo sweet smelling right now! And delicious! And a bit smoky? And savory! Like pasta! Holy pasta!"
Her tummy rumbled. Loudly. The sound echoed through the cozy reception area, and Lilyca’s cheeks flushed pink as she clamped both hands over her stomach. "Uuuh... sorry, I’m hungry now..."
Cecilia chuckled. "Do you not have breakfast yet...?"
"I have... but morning prayers and morning purification make me hungry again..." Lilyca’s shoulders slumped. "You know I need to bless and purify a bunch of water so they can be sprayed to purify the items we harvested from the rift, right?"
Cecilia nodded, her expression softening. "Yep. You did such good work!"
"And after this, I need to go to my lessons! Soooooooooo annoying!" The eight-year-old Saintess threw her head back against the sofa cushions. Even being a holy figure, she still had homework.
"But you know it’s important, right?"
"Yeah... but so annoying..."
"Aww, I know..."
Cecilia reached out and rubbed the girl’s head, her fingers gentle against the dark silk of her hair. The gesture was instinctive, the same way she used to comfort Rinne when he was frustrated with his studies.
She smiled, and it was a big smile. Whatever had happened with Arzhen yesterday, whatever chaos still awaited her, this moment was simple and good.
And she missed Rinne. Her son. Yes. She would meet him in this world soon, too.
"Lesser Goddess."
Both Cecilia and Lilyca turned. Damon was approaching them across the reception area, his stride measured but unhurried. He was alone, no aides, no assistants, no tablet or clipboard. Just him, in a well-fitted suit.
"I’m sorry for the delay," he said. "Are you... alone?"
Cecilia blinked, caught slightly off guard by the question. "Yes. I thought it’s better for me to be alone?"
After yesterday, Arzhen’s rampage, and the videos, her husbands had been reluctant to let her out of their sight. But she had insisted. This was Hunter Association and her invention business. She could handle it. And they had work of their own to return to.
Damon hesitated. "No," he said gently. "Please call your boyfriends... or anyone close to you to accompany you."
Cecilia slowly rose from the sofa, her hand instinctively moving to rest on her belly. "Why? Is there a problem?"
Damon smiled. "No," he said. Then, after a beat, "Just that today’s meeting will be a bit... surprising for you."
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