Lust System: Conquering the World Beauties

Chapter 287: Chapter 287 Are You Gay

Liam’s eyes blinked open slowly.

The room was quiet. Morning light filtered softly through the half-drawn curtains, casting warm patterns across the walls. Lilith was still asleep, nestled against him with her head resting on his chest. Her breathing was soft and steady, completely relaxed.

It was rare to see her like this—so peaceful.

Her usual sharpness and intensity were nowhere to be found in her sleeping face. She looked younger like this. Softer. Almost innocent.

Liam reached up and gently brushed a few strands of golden hair from her cheek, letting his fingers linger just for a moment. Then, carefully, he slid out from under her without waking her. She shifted slightly, but didn’t stir.

He stood, stretched, then made his way to her bathroom.

The space was sleek and minimal, just like everything else in Lilith’s penthouse. He turned on the shower and stripped down, letting the hot water run down his body as he stood there, head bowed. The silence helped him think, and what he was thinking about wasn’t pleasant.

The image of last night flashed through his mind—not just the sex, but the tension that had led up to it. The danger pressing in from all sides. The weight on his chest hadn’t disappeared.

After drying off, he found a fresh change of clothes in her walk-in closet—black pants, fitted black T-shirt, and a jacket that somehow fit him perfectly. He knew she buys cloth his size but it was the first then trying one of them.

On his way out, he stopped at the set of keys hanging beside her wine rack. He took a moment to pick one—the one with a matte black key fob and the stylized L insignia. Probably her most ridiculous car.

Liam slipped quietly into the private elevator and descended into the underground garage.

The doors slid open and revealed a vast lineup of machines—sleek, deadly, expensive.

He pressed the key in his hand.

A car at the far corner beeped and its headlights flashed. A low-slung, jet-black hypercar with a long hood and gold trim. The kind of car that made the ground vibrate even before the engine started.

Liam walked toward it, his boots echoing lightly against the polished concrete floor. He ran his fingers over the body as he moved along the driver’s side, then slid in.

The interior felt like the cockpit of a stealth jet—tight, luxurious, built for someone who lived on the edge. He hit the ignition.

The engine roared to life with a growl that echoed in the garage. Noisy. Arrogant.

He backed out slowly and then shot out of the building onto the main road, the car slicing through the morning traffic like a blade.

The city was waking up.

People were everywhere. Kids running to school, laughing and shouting with backpacks bouncing behind them. A woman crossing the street with a baby stroller, looking both ways before hurrying over. Old men opening up corner stores. Street vendors rolling carts into position. Construction workers in neon vests waving traffic along.

Normal life. Ordinary. Innocent.

And if they failed to stop the Crimson Hand?

All of this would vanish. Turn to smoke, blood, and fire.

Liam’s jaw clenched as he shifted gears, the car responding with a roar. It wasn’t about being a hero. That title never fit him anyway. He didn’t want a cape or a statue.

But watching children laugh on their way to school, seeing tired mothers cradle their babies, seeing people just... live?

That hit him somewhere deep.

He couldn’t let that get destroyed.

Not by junkies pumped full of nightmare drugs. Not by some gang playing gods. And not by whatever twisted monster was pulling their strings behind the scenes.

He took a hard turn and veered into a quiet residential area, heading toward Dickson’s house. They hadn’t spoken in days.

By now, Dickson’s father would already be gone—probably halfway across the city for work. His mother too. And his younger sister would be at school. That meant the coast was clear.

No need to knock.

He pulled into a spot a short distance down the street, killed the engine, and stepped out. The cool air hit his face as he slid the car keys into his jacket pocket.

Liam circled the side of the house casually, keeping his head low. He scanned the surroundings: no neighbors peeking, no joggers, no dogs barking.

Perfect.

Dickson’s room was on the second floor, window half-cracked open like always. Liam crouched below the edge of the fence, checking the angles one last time. When he was satisfied no one was watching, he moved.

With one swift leap, he shot into the air, his boots brushing against the pipe that ran vertically along the side of the house. He grabbed the pipe, anchored himself with one hand, and shifted his weight toward the open window.

The breeze caught his jacket slightly as he twisted his body midair.

Then, with a quiet pull...

He launched himself right through the window.

----

The moment Liam landed in Dickson’s room, he stopped dead in his tracks and furrowed his brows tightly.

What the hell?

The floor was littered with clothing—skirts, bras, thongs—definitely not Dickson’s. The room didn’t just look like it belonged to a brothel, it smelled like it too. Thick with perfume, sweat, and something unmistakably intimate. The air was warm, heavy, and damn near suffocating.

His eyes shifted to the bed... and he froze.

There were at least three naked girls curled up with Dickson—bare skin, tangled limbs, and tousled hair all over the sheets. They were cuddled against him like kittens, clinging to his arms, chest, and legs. One had her leg slung over his hip. Another had her face buried in his shoulder, lips parted slightly. The third was half on top of him. They were all out cold.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what happened here.

Liam blinked, then shook his head with visible irritation. ”What the fuck is this idiot doing...”

His voice wasn’t loud, but it was enough.

Dickson stirred, grunted, then slowly opened his eyes. His pupils were tiny. His face twisted like he had a hangover. He looked around, dazed—then saw Liam standing near the window, arms crossed, looking like a disappointed parent.

”Oh... shit.” Dickson groaned as he started pushing the girls off him. ”Liam?”

One of the girls whimpered and tried to cling tighter, but he gently peeled her arm off his chest.

”Hey, bitch,” he muttered with a smirk, still half asleep, ”haven’t seen you in a while.”

Liam didn’t return the greeting. He just glared and said flatly, ”Pull up some fucking pants.”

Dickson blinked, looked down—and realized his dick was just out in the open, swinging casually in the breeze like it had no shame.

”Oh, come on,” he said, looking back at Liam in disbelief. ”There are three naked girls in this room, and the only thing you notice is my dick?”

Liam raised an eyebrow without saying a word.

Dickson gasped dramatically. ”Tell me, brother... are you gay?”

Liam didn’t respond. Instead, he reached toward the cluttered desk near the bed, picked up a kitchen knife—an actual sharp one, just sitting there for some reason—and flexed it in his palm like he was testing the weight.

Dickson saw that and gulped hard.

”Okay! Okay—shit!” he said, stumbling around the bed to grab his pants off the floor. ”Relax! Don’t get violent!”

He fumbled with the waistband, practically tripping over himself to get dressed as fast as possible.