Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!

Beyond the kitchen, faint music played, barely spilling into the space of the depths of Nyxilith Manor, a soft beat thumped like it was lost in a jungle—music was definitely playing, but the damn mansion was so big it barely made it past the living room and into the kitchen.

And speaking of size, this place? Huge. Dumb huge. Like, "why-do-we-need-a-spiraling-staircase-to-heaven" kind of huge. Yesterday, the girls tried to explore the whole thing while Parker was away, but after walking past the tenth room that looked like it belonged in a billionaire's Pinterest board, they tapped out. Too many halls.

Too many shiny-ass mirrors. Too much marble. The biggest hall? Up on the first storey, flexing its echo game like it paid rent.

It looked like a throne hall of some sort. Crazy!

Second storey was a pure hallway runway vibes. Third was the boss territory.

Up there, on the third floor, in a bedroom, sunlight spilled in through the wall-sized glass like it had VIP access. The sun didn't just rise—it straight up leaked into the room like it forgot how to knock. Liquid gold, sliding through the gaps in the curtains like it paid rent. Warm, slow, annoyingly gentle—like a cat stepping on your face, but in the most poetic way possible. It didn't ask for permission, it just pulled up like, "Wakey-wakey, bitches."

And there was Tessa—glued to Parker like a stubborn sticker that refused to peel off. She fit there. Like perfectly. Like the space between his arms was reserved seating with her name on it. The world? Who the fuck cared.

She was deep in that kinda sleep where your soul finally shuts up, where breathing's not just automatic—it's honest. Peaceful. Vulnerably real.

The duvet, oh boy—the kinda plush that could finance someone's college debt or a bad addiction to oat milk lattes. But that wasn't the real flex. The real luxury was this: two people, tangled up like dumb teenagers on a sleepover they never wanna leave, just existing under way-too-soft covers and shared warmth.

Then the sun had the audacity to kiss her shoulder first, like it was tryna flirt. Rude. She stirred—not like she was startled, but like the sun had just joined the group chat and she already knew it was coming. Eyes blinked open, lashes twitching, breath tiny and slow, like her soul was still half in dreamland. Yet her arms still locked around Parker, like, nah fam, five more minutes.

Because in that moment, messy hair and expensive blankets and all, the universe didn't owe them a damn explanation. It just shrugged, smirked, and said, "Yeah. This is it."

The rays snuck across the silk sheets and kissed Tessa's cheek with a rise and shine, energy.

Parker's voice, raspy with that half-awake, heavenly charm, muttered, "You up?"

Tessa didn't even pretend. She nodded, sleepy smile on her lips, and leaned in for a soft kiss—quick, sweet, clingy. Like her body said, I'm leaving the bed, but her heart whispered, I'm never leaving you.

Then she slipped out of the sheets like a goddess on a mission, bare feet hitting the soft floor with that sexy, main character walking in the morning light vibe.

And the room still smelled like her perfume and his cologne and probably sin.

Tessa was already stretching like a cat in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, soaking in the morning sun like she was solar-powered. Still wearing nothing but Parker's shirt—because duh—she looked back at him with that sleepy devil grin.

"You staring or sleepin'?" she asked, one eyebrow up, hair a whole beautiful mess.

Parker was still half-wrapped in the duvet, watching her like damn. "Both. Multitasking, honey. You look hot."

She rolled her eyes. "Pervert."

He smirked. "Facts. I can show you—" Next thing he knew, she tossed a pillow at him and bolted into the bathroom with a giggle that made his soul hurt in the best way. She was a bit faster than him. Immortal tier after all.

He followed, of course—because who tf wouldn't?

Bathroom was, marble countered, lights with dim settings, a shower big enough to host a TED Talk.

Tessa flicked water at him like some chaotic water nymph. "You better not think about taking me in the shower," she said, already stepping in with a wink.

Parker, dead serious: "You say that like I haven't already claimed you and this place as my Empress and kingdom."

"Disgusting. Go stand in your corner, King of universe don't dare come near me."

Between her teasing and him lowkey getting distracted every two seconds, it took way too long to shower. Half the time they were bumping into each other on accident, the other half? Not even pretending. He tried to grab her shampoo and got a loofah to the face.

She slipped once, and somehow, that led to both of them laughing way too hard while water sprayed everywhere like a busted sprinkler.

This kind of morning routine smelled like mint and flirtation. In the bathroom, they brushed their teeth side by side, elbows bumping like clockwork.

Tessa looked at him through the mirror, her lips smeared in toothpaste foam like a rabid anime character. "You still like me even when I look like a foam-mouthed squirrel, right?"

Parker leaned down, minty-fresh. "I'd marry the rabid squirrel."

She flashed him a messy grin, toothpaste everywhere. "Dumbass."

By the time they stumbled into the walk-in closet—still dripping and wrapped in towels—Tessa was dragging her fingers through her damp hair while Parker stood there with the world's most indecisive expression at his side of the wardrobe.

The walk-in closet looked like a luxury boutique got drunk and exploded. Designer bags, stacked shoeboxes, clothes still with tags—most of them hers. Like, a lot hers. She'd claimed 70% of the space like it was some kind of colonization project. Parker didn't even blink.

That was the price of love, apparently—sacrificing shelf space to twenty pairs of nearly identical boots.

"I have like a hundred things you bought picked for me and nothing to wear," Parker muttered, staring at his section like it had betrayed him.

Tessa, already digging through her blouses like a pissed-off raccoon, shot him a look. "You're not a high school girl on prom week, babe, just pick anything"

He spun around dramatically. "But I wanna feel hot."

She didn't even look—just lobbed a rolled-up sock at his chest. "You're hot. Now put on pants, whore."

He caught the sock like a champ, tossed it back, and debated between his 'CEO of Darkness' black shirt or the slightly softer 'I might let you live' grey. Meanwhile, Tessa tried on a blouse, looked in the mirror, cringed like it just insulted her mom, and flung it onto the chair with full disrespect.

Eventually, they both ended up dressed—teasing, laughing, throwing light insults like confetti.

*****

I felt like rom-com today (⁠✷⁠‿⁠✷⁠)｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡