The More I Invest in My Wives, the Stronger I Become

Daemon was already half-sunk in sleep when the System cut through his mind like a blade.

Ding!

[Warning]

[Calista is attempting a hostile action against the Host.]

His eyes almost opened at once.

Almost.

He forced his body to remain still.

The alert was clear enough. Someone was standing near him with killing intent. And according to the System, that someone was Calista.

A dozen reactions rose in him at once. Move. Block. Seize the weapon. Wake Victoria.

But another thought stopped him.

Why?

Why would she do this?

If he reacted too fast, he would only stop the attack. He would learn nothing.

So he kept his breathing slow and even, pretending to remain asleep, every muscle ready to move the second the danger became real.

The room was quiet.

Victoria slept on the other side of the bed, close enough that her thigh and foot rested lightly against his body, as if even in sleep she refused to drift too far. Her breathing was steady. Soft. Unaware.

Then he felt it.

A presence at his side.

Calista stood there in the dark.

From the faint shift of air and the thin metallic scent, Daemon could tell the knife was already raised.

She did not speak. She did not hesitate long enough for an ordinary person to notice. But through the narrow gap of his lashes, he caught the outline of her figure and the rigid line of her arm.

She was staring at him.

Whatever emotion lived behind that mask, it was sharp enough to tremble.

Her anger seemed to climb higher the longer she looked at him. The knife rose. Higher. Ready to come down.

Then her arm stopped.

The silence cracked.

A broken sound escaped her throat.

”I can’t...”

The knife shook in her grip.

”I can’t do this...”

Her voice was small, strained, and wet with tears she was clearly trying to force back. The killing intent that had been so clear a second ago collapsed in on itself, leaving only something raw and confused.

”Why you...”

She did not finish the sentence.

Her shoulders began to tremble. The knife lowered by a fraction, then another, as if her body and her heart were fighting over the same command. One side wanted the blade to fall. The other refused to let it.

Daemon stayed still, listening.

This was not simple hatred.

It was something tangled. Painful. Incomplete.

Calista’s breathing turned uneven. For a moment, it sounded like she might actually force herself through with the attack anyway.

Then a quiet sob broke out of her, sharp and helpless, and the strength in her arm finally failed.

The knife no longer looked like a weapon in her hand.

It looked like a burden she could not carry.

Daemon prepared to speak.

Before he could move, Calista did something completely unexpected.

She climbed onto the bed.

Not toward his throat.

Not toward Victoria’s.

She moved into the narrow space between them, small and careful, and took one of Victoria’s hands with one of her own.

With the other, she caught Daemon’s right hand and pulled both of them close, as if anchoring herself between the two of them.

Then she curled there, still faintly shaking, and pressed in like a child seeking shelter after nearly drowning.

Within seconds, her breathing began to slow.

She was falling asleep.

Daemon stared at the ceiling in pure confusion.

What... was this girl doing?

One moment she stood over him with a knife.

The next, she was holding both of their hands and sleeping between them like the danger had never existed.

He wanted answers.

He wanted to wake her and demand every one of them.

But the weight of the day pressed down hard on his body, and with the immediate threat gone, exhaustion returned with interest.

Victoria had not stirred. Calista’s grip on his hand was tight, almost desperate, even in sleep.

Daemon exhaled slowly.

”...What are you?”

There was no answer.

In the end, his eyes closed again.

Sleep took him before the questions could.

Across Ashford City, the night was far less quiet.

Sana stood on the rooftop opposite Apex Guild’s main tower, white hair hidden under a dark hood, eyes fixed on the glowing structure below.

Security lights swept the outer grounds in steady intervals. Hunters came and went through the front gates in small groups, badges visible, postures relaxed in the way of people who believed their walls made them untouchable.

Lucien crouched beside her, a strip of cloth already in his hand, looking deeply offended by life.

”I want it on record,” he whispered, ”that infiltrating a private S-Rank guild in the middle of the night was not on my weekly schedule.”

Sana did not look at him.

”Record it later. Work now.”

”I am working. I am emotionally preparing.”

”You are complaining.”

”That is also work.”

Sana’s mouth twitched, but her focus never left the building.

”Stick to the plan. I move through the outer shadows and map staff routes. You scan for the corruption signature. If Kassia is connected to Apex, something in there will answer.”

Lucien exhaled, tied the cloth around his eyes, and muttered under his breath.

”Astral Resonance.”

The air around him shifted.

For a few seconds, he said nothing. His head turned slightly left, then right, as if following invisible threads only he could see. Then his brow tightened.

”...There it is.”

Sana’s eyes sharpened.

”Kassia?”

”Not directly,” Lucien said. ”But the same pressure I felt before. Corruption. Faint. Scattered. Like someone tried to bury the signal under layers of interference.”

”Where?”

Lucien was quiet longer this time.

”Not the main lobby. Not the public wings. Lower. Or farther. It feels like the trail leaves the central tower.”

Sana’s gaze moved to the side of the complex, where a restricted loading area sat behind layered fences and keycard gates.

”Then we start there.”

They moved.

Sana slipped into the dark first, body sinking into a long stretch of shadow cast by the outer wall. One moment she was visible.

The next, she was gone, traveling unseen along the path of a passing patrolman. Lucien followed at a safer distance, using service alleys and blind corners, muttering curses every time a light swept too close.

Near the loading bay, Sana reappeared behind a stack of sealed crates and listened.

Two Apex staff members spoke in low voices while checking a transport list.

”Special route again tonight?”

”Don’t ask. Valen’s private line. We load, we leave, we forget.”

”What about the medical seals?”

”Already handled. Whatever they are keeping off-site, it is not meant for normal registry.”

Sana’s eyes narrowed.

Off-site.

Not inside the main guild.

She marked the route in her mind and returned to Lucien.

”They are moving something through a private channel,” she whispered. ”Leonard’s line. Not registered.”

Lucien’s expression had changed completely. The humor was gone.

”The corruption trail clings to that route,” he said. ”If Kassia is alive, this is the closest we have gotten.”

Sana looked back toward the dark road leading away from Apex tower, where a black transport vehicle waited with its lights off.

”Then we follow it.”

The vehicle’s engine hummed to life.

As it began to roll toward the restricted exit, Lucien suddenly stiffened.

His head snapped toward the lower levels of the complex, cloth still bound over his eyes.

”...Sana.”

”What?”

His voice dropped.

”Someone else is watching that same route.”

Sana’s hand went to her dagger.

”Apex?”

Lucien swallowed.

”No.”

The transport turned the corner and vanished into the night.

And from the opposite rooftop, deeper in the dark, another presence shifted sharp, patient, and already aware of them.