Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!

Parker stood near the window, arms folded, watching city flicker like a galaxy that still hadn't decided if it worshipped him or feared him. Behind him, the click of heels—slow, click of heels—slow, confident, calculated—announced the arrival of two of the most powerful women on Earth.

They'd gone to change from their previous outfits...

Isabella after her dress and undies had been ruined, she now wore navy silk, slit to the hip, the fabric hugging her curves like it had been engineered for sin. Her dark auburn hair fell in lush waves, skin glowing with a practiced sheen of wealth and genetics. Every step she took whispered: I break kings for brunch.

Diana was sharper, icier—a platinum storm in pearl-gray chiffon, shoulders bare, lips red, hair twisted in a loose knot that dared someone to undo it. She wasn't dressed to negotiate. She was dressed to conquer, and maybe—if the mood struck her—to let herself be conquered in return.

Parker turned, catching both sets of eyes at once. Calm. unreadable. The Prince of Existence in rolled sleeves and still-too-handsome-for-this-plane posture. There was something eternally composed about him. It made people want to either kneel or rebel.

Diana smiled first, cool and deadly.

Confident, calculated—announced the arrival of two of the most powerful women on Earth.

He guided them to the leather couch. They followed without protest—Isabella's heel straps dangling from her fingers, Diana's dress whispering secrets against her thighs. Parker dropped into the corner seat, an effortless sprawl of long legs and lazy dominance. The women flanked him, draping themselves with the grace of big cats staking warmth by the fire.

Diana slid closer until their shoulders touched, the gold of her chains kissing his arm. Her voice dropped to boardroom silk. "The Five Families grease every statehouse on the planet. You want to rip that down, you'll burn centuries of leverage and spend a decade picking through rubble."

Her hand settled on his thigh—strictly business if one ignored the molten spark skipping up her spine. "Let Beaumont keep the scaffolding standing. We answer to you, no middlemen."

Isabella traced the inside seam of his other sleeve, nails grazing muscle. "Harrington influence and now the power of the media in Wilders, we will distract the masses when you need breathing room. CEOs, senators, crown princes—we own most of their secrets. Let us keep the puppets dancing. You pull the strings behind the curtain."

Parker met her stare—dark, unreadable. "Control remains mine."

"All vetoes, all board seats," Isabella vowed, sliding closer until her hip pressed into his. The contact made her stomach swoop; she had to bite back a sigh. "You sign, we serve."

Diana's breath brushed his ear. "Any war that sparks? We smother it before bedtime."

The fireplace popped, scenting the room with sweet cedar smoke. Outside the windows, moonlight iced the terrace stones; inside, everything was heat, heartbeat, hush. Isabella couldn't tear her gaze from the angle of his jaw—she wanted teeth there, maybe a bruise shaped like intent.

Diana felt the cadence of his breathing through chain-kissed skin and imagined what it would sound like broken, half-moaned. Both women were seasoned negotiators, but right now every skill blurred under a single primal tick: have him.

Parker's hands didn't roam farther but their weight felt like gravity. Isabella's thighs tensed—silk sliding, garter biting soft flesh—as she shifted fractionally closer, needing more of that palm burning her waist. Diana angled her knees toward him, the twin slits revealing generous glimpses of sleek, bronze muscle.

She let her fingernail skate up the inside of his wrist to the cuff of his shirt; he flexed, and her breath hitched.

Diana smiled first, cool and deadly.

"We assumed you were going to take us off the board," she said.

No question. Just fact.

Parker tilted his head, amused. "Was I?"

Isabella took three steps closer, hands behind her back. "You've already swallowed the Ashfords. The Beaumonts and Harringtons were next. We'd be foolish not to see the writing in every burned ledger."

Parker said nothing, just let the silence hang.

"So we came to make a pitch," Diana said smoothly, coming to his other side. "You don't need to raze our families. You don't need a war. You're already winning."

"We're offering a… simplification," Isabella added, brushing a finger lightly against the collar of his shirt. "Keep the five intact. But make you the axis they orbit."

Diana stepped closer, her perfume a heady pull of jasmine and winter smoke. "Let us keep the structures. The global fronts. The deep-state leverage."

"But place us beneath you," Isabella breathed. "Not beside. Beneath. You hold the leash."

They flanked him now, bodies close. Every word coated in seduction, but beneath it? Strategy. Fear. A bid for survival cloaked in silk and thigh-high slits.

Parker raised a brow. "And what do I get in all this?"

"Loyalty," Diana said, fingers tracing the buttons on his shirt. "Access. Every network. Every military-grade secret we've kept out of governments' reach."

"A partnership you don't have to babysit," Isabella murmured. "We've run the world longer than half your allies have been alive. We know how to play the long game."

"And you'd give all that up?" Parker asked, voice a low hum. "Just for my mercy?" He didn't bother mentioning he had full access to their 'offerings'.

They exchanged a glance. Then Isabella leaned in, her voice suddenly quieter, trembling at the edge of something real.

"No. Not just for mercy." Her eyes flicked to his lips, his jaw. "For a place in what you're building. For a future where we're not relics—but foundation."

Diana's hand landed gently on his chest. "Let us be useful. Let us belong."

The words held weight.

For a moment, nothing but the fireplace crackled.

Then Parker reached out, took Isabella's wrist—slow, not rough—and turned to Diana. He gently brushed a thumb across her cheekbone. His touch was velvet over storm.

He exhaled.

"I see the value," he said simply. "And I like efficient women."

Their shoulders relaxed. Just slightly.

"But understand this." His voice cooled, the temperature in the room shifting with it. "This isn't a negotiation. This is an offering of obedience. If you want in—truly—you will serve the world I'm creating. Not the one you used to own."

Isabella's pupils dilated. Diana shivered—and not from fear.

"We understand," Diana said softly.

Isabella nodded. "And we accept."

"You understand," she whispered, voice cracking on want, "we're not walking out of this room untouched."

Parker chuckled, low thunder. "Negotiations come with signing bonuses?"

Isabella leaned in, lips barely brushing his. "Call it… escrow," she said, and the words trembled with reverence.

For a beat they hovered at that razor edge—desire begging to tip. Isabella felt the velvet of his breath against her mouth, tasted the echo of champagne. Diana's knuckles whitened on his thigh, nails dimpling fabric.

Then Parker pulled back the smallest inch, his eyes molten but steady. "After today," he said again—soft but unarguable.

Isabella's groan was half frustration, half worship. She closed her eyes, forehead touching his. "You're torture, you know."

"Necessary evil," Parker answered.

Diana's laugh was shaky; she pressed a kiss—swift, scorching—to the corner of his jaw. "We'll wait. Build interest."

He drew a slow breath. "You keep your empires. All roads lead to me. Transparent. Immediate compliance."

They nodded—breathing in sync, bodies still humming.

"Say it," he murmured.

"Parker commands, Beaumont obeys," Diana whispered, lips brushing his earlobe.

"Harrington too," Isabella added, pressing her vow against the pulse just under his jaw. "No daylight between us."

He closed his eyes, absorbing their words like ink on parchment. Then he nodded, sealing it.

For a long moment, no one moved. Fireplace crackle, distant party music, three heartbeats.

Isabella nestled closer, content for now. Diana's head rested on his shoulder, gold chains warm against his skin. Their breaths slowed.

Downstairs, the orchestra hit another swell. Glasses clinked. The engagement party rolled on, oblivious to the silent power coup stewing on the suite's leather couch.

Parker finally whispered, "After tomorrow, we will have a meeting."

Outside, clouds parted. Moonlight flooded the windows. Inside, the Prince of Existence sat between two dynasties now bent to his orbit—desire banked, power consolidated, the night finally granting him a moment to be something rarer than unstoppable.

Still...