Chapter 5: Bathroom Confrontation
The bathroom door clicked shut, sealing them in. The sound was a period at the end of a sentence Weiss hadn’t finished writing. Her back was against the cold, painted metal, her body rigid in the thin, borrowed robe. Argent reached past her, not touching her, and turned the lock. The mechanism engaged with a solid, final thunk.
He didn’t look at her. He moved to the shower stall, a fiberglass cubicle in the corner, and twisted the knob. Water hissed, then roared against the plastic floor, quickly fogging the glass door and filling the small space with a blanket of humid, white noise.
He turned then, leaning against the sink counter. The neon from the window sliced through the steam in distorted bars across his face. “Onto the shower floor, Weiss,” he said. His voice was calm, almost bored.
The command was a wire pulled tight through her spine. Her hands, of their own volition, went to the tie of her robe. The silk belt slipped free. The robe fell open, then slid from her shoulders to puddle at her feet. The air, thick and warm, felt like a violation on her bare skin. She stepped over the fabric, moved past him—catching the sterile, clean scent of his cologne over the steam—and opened the shower door.
The water was scalding. She didn’t adjust it. She stepped inside, letting the near-painful heat beat down on her head and shoulders, and sank to her knees on the textured floor. The water plastered her white hair to her scalp, streamed down her back in rivulets. She stared at the drain, watching the water spiral away.
He stepped in a moment later, closing the door behind him. The stall was cramped for one person, intolerable for two. His legs were right in front of her. Water sluiced down the lean muscle of his calves. He took the soap from its niche, lathered his hands with a clinical efficiency.
“You’re thinking too hard,” he said over the spray. He began washing his arms, his chest. “Trying to calculate the variables. The exit strategies. The odds of someone hearing you. It’s a waste of energy.”
She said nothing. The heat was beginning to feel numb.
“It took a lot of planning to get you here,” he continued, as if discussing a difficult homework assignment. “Coordinating the take-down of a full team, creating the right scenario for isolation. Logistics. Your team is… famously tight. It was an interesting puzzle.”
He nudged her shoulder with his knee. “Up. Turn around. Let’s get this over with.”
She rose, turning her back to him. He began soaping her shoulders, his hands moving with a detached, practical rhythm. Not a lover’s touch. A custodian’s.
“The biggest piece, of course, was your semblance,” he said. His fingers worked into the knots of tension at the base of her neck. “The hereditary Schnee Glyphs. Versatile. Powerful. A real prize. The cornerstone of my whole strategy for you.”
Weiss closed her eyes. This was it. The transaction. Her body for her power. It was almost a relief to have the brutal calculus stated so plainly. Her value, quantified.
“So imagine my surprise,” he said, his voice dropping to a conversational murmur near her ear, “when I realized I didn’t actually need to fuck you to get it.”
His hands paused.
Weiss’s eyes snapped open. The water poured over her face.
“What?” The word was a choked gasp, lost in the shower’s roar.
He turned her around roughly by the shoulder. His expression was one of mild, academic amusement. “I said I already have it. Your family’s semblance. I’ve had it for months.”
The world tilted. The steam was suddenly suffocating. “That’s… impossible. It’s passed through the Schnee bloodline. It’s only us.”
“Is it?” He raised his hand between them. A faint, intricate, blue-white glyph—a perfect, spinning Snowflake—materialized in the steam above his palm. It hummed with potential, casting jagged, dancing light across the water on his skin and the shocked planes of her face. It was unmistakable. It was hers.
Then, with a thought, he shifted it. The glyph reconfigured, fracturing into a dozen smaller, sharper geometric shapes—the exact, aggressive pattern Winter favored for her military-grade attacks.
Weiss’s breath hitched. A cold deeper than any mountain snow seeped into her bones, rivaling the shower’s heat. “Winter.”
“Captain Winter Schnee,” he confirmed, dissolving the glyph. “Atlas’s finest. Stoic, disciplined, fiercely protective of her little sister.” He resumed washing her, his hands moving over her collarbone now, as if detailing an asset. “She was in Vale for a security conference last semester. We met at a dignitary’s mixer. She was… suspicious of me at first. Thought I was another social climber after your family’s money.”
He smiled, a thin, private thing. “I convinced her otherwise. She’s got a loneliness to her, you know? A rigidity that craves a firm hand to tell her to let go. I gave her that. One night in a secured VIP suite at the Grand. By morning, she was mine. Her semblance was mine. And she went back to Atlas believing our connection was her most carefully guarded secret. My loyal agent in the heart of the military.”
Weiss began to shake. It wasn’t fear anymore. It was a foundational collapse. Her sister. Her proud, unassailable, heroic sister. The one person she thought was beyond all of this. A secret keystone of her world had been hollowed out and replaced without her ever knowing.
“Why?” The question was a ragged thing. “If you have what you wanted… why all of this?” She gestured weakly, water flying from her fingers, encompassing the shower, the dorm, the horrors of the last few hours.
He tilted his head, as if the answer were obvious. “Because I don’t just want your power, Weiss. I want you. Your name. Your influence. Your brilliant, tactical mind. The Schnee Dust Company isn’t just a symbol; it’s a machine. And with Winter controlling the military angle from the inside, and you, the heiress, poised to take the corporate reins… well, that’s not influence. That’s sovereignty.”
He cupped her cheek, his thumb smearing water across her cheekbone. “The semblance was just the proof of concept. This? This is about loyalty. I need to know you’re broken to the bit. That you understand your place isn’t beside me, it’s beneath me. That every command I give, you’ll follow, not because you have to, but because you’ve been rebuilt to want to.”
He reached past her and turned the water off.
The sudden silence was deafening. Drips echoed in the stall. Weiss stood trembling, naked and cold, the truth washing over her more violently than the shower ever had. There was no transaction. No bargaining chip. She had been neutralized before the game even began.
“Now,” he said, opening the door. Cool air rushed in, raising goosebumps on her skin. “We’re going back out there. You’re going to kneel by the bed with the others. And you’re going to watch what happens next. You’re going to learn.”
He tossed her a towel. It hit her in the chest and fell to the wet floor.
“Pick that up. Dry off. You have thirty seconds.”
She moved slowly, mechanically. She retrieved the towel, patting her skin dry without feeling it. Her mind was a frozen scramble. Winter. He has Winter. There is no outside. There is no rescue. The fortress was already occupied.
He unlocked the bathroom door and opened it, steam billowing out into the cooler dorm room.
The scene was just as they’d left it, yet utterly changed. Yang was curled on the mattress, drowsy and sated. Ruby was still facing the wall. Blake was on the floor where Yang had left her, having pulled her shorts back up, her knees drawn to her chest, her gaze vacant and fixed on nothing.
Argent walked to the center of the room, water beading on his skin. He didn’t bother dressing. His eyes found Blake.
Weiss, the damp towel clutched to her chest, obeyed her own unspoken command. She walked to the edge of the merged mattresses and sank to her knees, the cold floor seeping into her bones. She was a student again, awaiting a lesson.
With both a few words from Argent, the rest of her teammates, all naked and sweaty and dripping with cum between their legs were also kneeling besides her, Weiss watched from her knees, water from her hair dripping onto the towel in her lap. She understood now that this was the real process. The breaking. The demonstration. And she was here to bear witness, to learn the cost of resistance, and to understand the absolute, suffocating scope of the cage.
She was a Schnee. She was used to reading the fine print. And in the silent, neon-drenched room, she read the terms of her new life in the set of Blake’s shoulders, in the empty space where her sister’ integrity used to be, and in the cold, evaluating eyes of the boy who now owned them all.
And in the silent, neon-drenched room, she read the terms of her new life in the set of Blake’s shoulders, in the empty space where her sister’s integrity used to be, and in the cold, evaluating eyes of the boy who now owned them all.
Argent let the silence stretch, a palpable tension wire. He scanned their kneeling forms—Blake’s vacant stare, Ruby’s hunched resignation, Yang’s languid devotion, Weiss’s frozen calculation.
“Okay,” he said, cracking his neck. The sound was like a starting pistol. “Enough foreplay. Time to stop playing with my food.”
He walked over to Blake, crouching down until his face was level with hers. She didn’t blink, her amber eyes fixed on a point somewhere beyond his left ear. Her breathing was a shallow, silent thing.
“Blake Belladonna,” he stated, his voice losing all conversational pretense. It became a tool, a chisel. “From this moment, you are in love with me. Deeply, irrevocably, and selflessly. Your loyalty is absolute. Your devotion to serving me in all things I ask is the core of your being.”
Blake’s nostrils flared. A tremor started in her hands, which were clenched in her lap.
“You are proud of this,” he continued, each word a hammer strike on a forging metal. “You are not horrified by my control. You are grateful for it. You understand that nothing will ever please you more than doing what I ask of you, and doing it well. That purpose is your joy. Your obedience is your pride.”
A sharp, choked gasp escaped Blake’s lips. Her body jerked as if tasered. She began to hyperventilate, her chest hitching, shoulders trembling violently. Her eyes screwed shut, then flew open wide, the pupils dilated with a storm of internal conflict. She was fighting it, tooth and nail, her past life and instincts screaming against the invading code.
Weiss watched, her own breath held. This was the architecture of a soul being rebuilt in real time.
The trembling peaked, a violent seizure that made her teeth chatter. Then, as if a switch had been thrown, it stopped. All at once. The tension drained from Blake’s frame, leaving a strange, serene looseness in its place. She slowly raised her head. Her expression shifted, the blank horror melting away like wax, re-formed into something soft, adoring, and chillingly certain.
A small, genuine smile touched her lips. She looked at Argent as if he’d just offered her water in a desert.
“Yes,” Blake breathed, the word full of warm relief. “Of course. It’s so simple. Why was I fighting that?” She shook her head, a faint, self-deprecating laugh in her voice. “I want to serve you. I need to. Telling me what to do… it’s a gift. Thank you for making me see.”
She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his knee in a gesture of pure, uncomplicated reverence.
Argent patted her head.“Good. Go sit with Yang.”
Blake rose, moving with a new, fluid grace, and settled beside the blonde, who immediately slung an arm around her with a possessive, affectionate squeeze. Blake leaned into it, beaming.
Weiss felt something inside her crystallize and crack. That was Blake—the most wary, independent of them all—unmade and remade in under a minute.
Argent turned to Ruby. She finally turned from the wall, her silver eyes meeting his. They were already clouded, pre-shattered. The foundation was poured; he just had to set the final walls.
“Ruby,” he said, his tone almost gentle. “You love me. You adore me. Your happiness is my approval. Your sister’s devotion to me makes you happy, not jealous. You want to help me gather others. It’s our shared mission. You find the idea exciting.”
Ruby’s face crumpled. A single tear traced down her cheek, but it was a tear of overwhelmed emotion, not resistance. The conflict was shorter, less violent. Her existing conditioning accepted the new parameters like a software update.
“Okay,” Ruby whispered, nodding rapidly. “Yeah. A mission. Together.” She wiped her cheek, offering him a wobbly, earnest smile. “I can help! I’m good at making friends!”
“I know you are,” Argent said. “You’re perfect.”
He then looked at Yang. She was already watching him with liquid, loving eyes, her chin propped on Blake’s shoulder. “Yang, my adjustments stand. You are mine. You are happy. You are complete.”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” Yang sighed, contentedly.
Finally, his gaze landed on Weiss. It was a different kind of look. Slower. More savoring. He walked over and crouched before her, forcing her to meet his eyes. The scent of lavender and male sweat and steam was on him.
“Your turn is coming, Weiss,” he murmured, for her ears alone. “Last. The finale. I’m going to take my time with you. I’m going to peel back every layer of that proud, Schnee composure. I’m going to rewrite every line of that brilliant, strategic mind until the only strategy you know is how to please me...but first...I want you get a sneak peek of what your future holds when you see your sister Winter again eventually," He said with a grin.
He stood up, leaving her kneeling in the chill, and addressed the room.
“One last piece of housekeeping,” Argent announced, his voice cutting through the humid air. He looked at Ruby, then Yang. “You two. The whole sister thing. That disgust you used to feel about any… intimate ideas? That’s gone.”
He said it like he was correcting a misaddressed letter. “You’re both members of my harem now. Harem members enjoy each other’s sexual company. It’s for bonding. Harmony. You understand? The idea doesn’t just not bother you—it turns you on. Deeply.”
Ruby blinked. Yang’s brow furrowed for a fraction of a second, a ghost of old programming encountering an update. Then both their expressions smoothed into placid acceptance.
“Of course,” Yang said, a slow smile spreading on her face as she looked at her little sister. “It’s about us all being close. Being one big happy family.”
Ruby nodded, a faint blush spreading on her cheeks that wasn’t from shame, but from dawning, compelled arousal. “Yeah. That… that makes sense. Harmony.”
“Good,” Argent said, nodding toward the mattress. “Then show me. Ruby, on your back. Yang, get on top of her. Scissor. I want to see your pussies kiss. I want to see my cum mixing between you.”
There was no hesitation.
Ruby lay back, spreading her legs, her silver eyes fixed on Yang with a warm, wanting glow. Yang moved over her, bracing herself on her arms, a strand of damp blonde hair falling across Ruby’s face. They adjusted, their bodies aligning.
Weiss watched, frozen on her knees, the damp towel now forgotten in her clenched fists.
Yang lowered her hips. Their cunts met, swollen lips parting, pressing together in a wet, intimate slide. A slick, audible sound filled the quiet room. Strings of Argent’s spend, still thick inside them, smeared and mixed between their folds as they began to move.
“Oh, fuck,” Yang groaned, her head dropping forward, her hips grinding in a slow, circular rhythm against Ruby’s. The friction was direct, clit against clit, a wet, messy crush of sensitive flesh.
Ruby gasped, her back arching off the mattress. “Yang… it’s… it’s so much…”
“I know, sis,” Yang whispered, the title now a filthy endearment. She increased the pace, her thrusts becoming more urgent, their combined wetness creating a lewd, squelching cadence. “Feels so good. We should have… ah… always been this close.”
Weiss’s hands flew to her mouth, her fingers pressing hard against her lips. Her eyes were wide, unblinking saucers of horror. This was the demonstration. This was the “sneak peek.”
This casually ordered depravity, this twisted parody of sisterly love, was what awaited her with Winter. The proud Captain, the unshakeable Specialist, reduced to this—mindlessly grinding against her, compelled to find ecstasy in the violation, calling it bonding, calling it harmony. The implications crashed into her with the force of a glacier.
Argent watched the sisters, his expression one of calm evaluation. He stepped closer to the mattress, his shadow falling over their writhing forms. “Harder,” he instructed.
Yang obeyed, driving her hips down with more force, the slap of skin on skin joining the wet sounds. Ruby cried out, her legs coming up to wrap around Yang’s waist, locking her in closer.
“Tell her how much you love it,” Argent said to Ruby, his voice a low catalyst.
“I love it!” Ruby sobbed, the pleasure searing through her, authentic and engineered. “I love you, Yang! I love being yours like this!”
“We’re his,” Yang corrected her between gritted teeth, her muscles corded with strain and building climax. “We’re his, and this… this is how we belong!”
Their movements lost all rhythm, becoming a frantic, grinding chase for release. Weiss, behind her hands, could only stare as Yang’s body stiffened, a raw, guttural roar tearing from her throat as she came, her cunt pulsing against Ruby’s. Ruby followed a second later, her entire body convulsing, a high-pitched wail escaping as her own orgasm ripped through her, amplified by the mirrored pleasure and the profound, corrupted intimacy.
They collapsed together, a tangled, sweating, spent heap of limbs, both of them gasping, their sexes still pressed together in a warm, dripping mess.
Argent let the aftermath hang in the air for a long moment, the only sound their ragged breathing. Then he turned his head, his gaze finding Weiss’s over his shoulder.
Her hands were still clamped over her mouth. Tears streamed silently down her cheeks, cutting tracks through the residual dampness from the shower.
He saw the understanding there. The total, devastating comprehension of her future. Not just submission, but joyful, enthusiastic corruption alongside the person she’d once admired most. A bonding experience.
He smiled.
“See?” he said softly, the word just for her. “Harmony.”
Weiss’s breath hitched behind her fingers. A desperate, silent scream built in her throat, with nowhere to go. The walls of her cage, invisible and impregnable, finally felt real. They were made of her sister’s stolen will, her teammate’s broken minds, and the promise of her own inevitable, grinning collapse.
Argent watched her cry. He didn’t speak. He let the sounds of Yang and Ruby’s slowing breath fill the space, let the visual of their limp, intertwined bodies serve as his argument. He simply waited, his head tilted, until Weiss’s silent tears became shuddering, uneven gasps for air behind her hands.
“Stand up, Weiss,” he said finally. His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.
Her body obeyed, muscles moving with a stiff, marionette’s precision. The damp towel fell from her lap. She stood naked before him, trembling, her skin pebbled in the room’s chill. She couldn’t meet his eyes. She fixed her gaze on the floor near his feet, on a smudge of dirt beside his toe.
“Look at me.”
She forced her head up. His expression was unreadable, a flat plane of anticipation.
“This is the last moment,” he stated. “The last seconds where the person called Weiss Schnee exists. The heiress. The strategist. The girl with a legacy. In a few minutes, there will just be my Weiss. A happier, simpler thing. A vital part of my machine.”
He took a single step closer. The heat from his body reached her. “So. Do you have any final words? As the person you used to be?”
Weiss swallowed. The motion hurt her dry throat. Fear was a metallic taste on her tongue, and resignation was a cold stone in her stomach. Defiance was pointless. Appeals to morality were a joke. She knew that now. But the compulsion to speak, to etch one last, true thought into the universe before the lights went out, was overwhelming.
She drew a ragged breath, her chest tight.
“Make it worth it.”
Her voice was a scrap of sound. Argent’s eyebrow lifted, just a fraction.
She pushed on, the words gaining a desperate, sharp momentum. “You have… immense power. A variety of semblances no one has ever had. Control over people like… like this.” A gesture, trembling, towards the bed. “With that comes responsibility. An immense responsibility.”
She was pleading now, but not for her life. For a meaning. “Use it. Improve things. Defend the kingdoms. Protect humanity from the Grimm. Really protect them. If you’re going to be this… this force, then be a shield. Not just a… a parasite in a dorm room.”
She ran out of air, of thought, of hope. She stood waiting for the laugh, for the cruel rebuttal, for the order that would dissolve her into nothing.
Argent didn’t laugh. His gaze softened, not with kindness, but with a spark of genuine, surprised recognition. He studied her face as if seeing a complex formula finally resolve on a scroll.
“Interesting,” he murmured. He leaned back against the edge of the mattress, ignoring the way Yang nuzzled sleepily at his hip. “You’re smarter than I credited. That’s exactly it.”
He crossed his arms. “That’s a big part of the reason I started this project, actually. To become powerful enough to wipe out hordes. Hundreds of Grimm at a time. To clear territories we’ve lost for generations.”
He paused, letting that hang. “And I can. I’ve done it. It takes me about an hour of sustained combat to ramp up to that level of area denial, using a combination of what I’ve acquired. I still get tired. Even my aura reserves and semblance versatility have limits, though they far exceed anyone else’s.”
A slow, true smile spread on his lips. It wasn’t the charming one or the cruel one. It was the smile of a man discussing his life’s work. “For the last few years, I haven’t just been collecting pretty huntresses. I’ve been building a secret network. Influence in every kingdom. Resources. Logistics. My people are in councils, in militias, in dust mines. They don’t even know they’re mine. They just follow… suggestions.”
He pushed off the mattress and closed the final distance to her. He put a hand on her cold shoulder. His touch was almost paternal.
“I am getting ready to wage the most destructive campaign against the creatures of Grimm this world has ever seen. I will burn them out of the ground. And I will rule what’s left. So,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Find comfort in that, Weiss Schnee, as you join me. Your last thought was a good one. It aligns with the master plan. Now, your part begins.”
The finality in his tone was absolute. The time for words was over.
He didn’t lead her to the bed. He turned her, firmly, to face the large, vacuous window that overlooked Beacon’s glittering nightscape. Her reflection, pale and ghostly, stared back, overlaid with the city lights.
“Put your hands on the glass,” he commanded.
She raised her arms, pressing her palms flat against the cool, unyielding surface. Her breath fogged a small circle. In the reflection, she saw him move behind her, a dark shape. She saw Yang watching with lazy, approving eyes. She saw Blake smile encouragingly.
“Now,” his voice was at her ear, his body not touching hers yet. “You want this. You have always wanted to surrender this brittle control. You crave the simplicity of service to a greater purpose. You are desperate for me to fill you, to rewrite you, to make you useful. You ache for it.”
The command was a scalpel, precision-engineered for her psyche. It didn’t bludgeon. It sliced, separating nerve from memory, doubt from desire. It echoed the pleading she had just voiced and twisted it into a sexual, all-consuming hunger.
A high, thin sound escaped her lips. Her head dropped forward, her forehead touching the glass. The fight was a silent, internal convulsion. She saw her sister Winter’s face, stern and proud, and then she saw it slack with pleasure under this same boy. She saw the glyph he had conjured—her glyph—and felt a shocking, traitorous spike of awe. Of want.
The conflict crested and broke.
Her body sagged, then arched, pushing her ass back against the empty air in a shameless, silent invitation. A deep, shuddering sigh left her, one that carried out the last ghost of her old self.
“Yes,” she breathed, the word fogging the glass. “Please. I’m so empty. Make me useful. Make me yours. I need it. I need you to fuck my mind out of me.”
“Good girl,” he whispered, and she shuddered at the praise, a bolt of pure, unearned pleasure shooting through her.
He spit into his hand, a crude, wet sound. He didn’t prepare her. He guided the head of his cock to her tight, untouched entrance and pushed.
Weiss shrieked. The sound was one of pure, brutal sensation—pain and violation and a shocking, immediate fullness. The glass rattled in its frame under her palms. He was large, and she was dry, and he sheathed himself inside her in one relentless, splitting thrust.
“Oh fuck,” he grunted, his hands clamping on her hips, fingers digging into the bone. “Tight. So fucking tight, Weiss. Like a vice.”
He didn’t wait. He pulled back and slammed home again. The pain blurred, smeared into a burning, stretching ache that consumed her entire lower body. Each drive knocked the air from her lungs, her breasts flattening against the cold window.
“This is your purpose,” he snarled in her ear, setting a punishing, rhythmic pace. “This stretch. This taking. You’re a vessel. You hold my cum and you hold my will. That’s your function.”
Tears streamed down her face again, but they were different now. They were tears of overwhelmed sensation, of psyche being forcibly remapped. With each brutal thrust, the command rooted deeper. The idea of being used, of being a tool for his grand design, began to feel not just acceptable, but righteous. Necessary.
He fucked her like he was punishing the old world out of her. The wet, meaty sounds of their coupling filled the room, punctuated by her ragged cries and his sharp exhales. She felt herself tearing, a sharp sting, and a new slickness—blood or forced arousal—eased his passage.
“You love this,” he demanded, his voice raw.
“I love it!” she sobbed, the confession ripped from a place deeper than truth. “I love it! I love being your vessel! Use me! Please!”
Her body betrayed her utterly. A coil of heat, sick and undeniable, tightened in her gut. The pain transmuted, feeding a shameful, rising tide of pleasure. Her inner muscles, beyond her control, began to flutter around his invading length.
He felt it. His pace became frantic, piston-like. “You’re gonna come, aren’t you?” he laughed, a harsh, breathless sound. “You’re gonna come on the cock that’s owning you for the first time. You pathetic, perfect slut.”
The degradation was the final key. It shattered the last crystalline shard of her pride. The orgasm tore through her, unexpected and catastrophic. Her scream was muffled against the window as her body seized, clenching around him in violent, rhythmic pulses that felt less like pleasure and more like a system rebooting.
Her climax triggered his. With a final, deep grind, he buried himself to the hilt and groaned, his release flooding her, hot and claiming. She felt it, a tangible invasion, the physical anchor of his control.
As he pulsed inside her, a new, freezing current—alien and precise—unspooled from the point of their joining and shot through her nerves. It wasn’t the burning magma of Yang’s power. It was the structured cold of a Schnee glyph forming. Her own hereditary semblance, already his, now resonated within him anew, the connection deepening, the copy perfecting itself through the act of her ultimate submission.
He stayed there for a long moment, pressed against her, both of them panting, outlined against the city lights. Then he pulled out.
The sudden emptiness was profound. A mixture of his spend and her blood dripped down her thighs. She slumped against the window, her strength gone.
He turned her around. Her eyes were wide, glassy, but the calculation was gone. In its place was a dazed, waiting openness.
“Weiss,” he said, cupping her cheek. His thumb stroked her skin.
A smile, slow and uncomplicated, spread across her lips. It reached her eyes. It was the grinning collapse she had foreseen, and it was a relief. “Master,” she sighed, leaning into his touch.
“Welcome home,” he said.
He led her, stumbling slightly, to the bed. Blake and Yang made space. Weiss lay down among them, curling instinctively into Yang’s side. She looked across the tangle of bodies to where Ruby slept, and she felt a wave of fond, sisterly affection. She looked at Blake and felt camaraderie. She looked up at Argent, who stood watching his work, and her heart swelled with a devoted, placid love.
The Schnee heiress was gone. The final piece was in place.
Argent watched the four of them—the weapon, the spark, the shadow, and the heiress—now just his loyal foundation. His new eager harem girls.
And smiled in satisfaction as he laid back on the four-way bed, closing his eyes surrounded by the naked team Ruby.