Interstellar Beast World: All My Husbands Are Powerful and Rich!

Third Floor — Bedroom

Rory was fast asleep.

Soft afternoon sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, scattering dappled patterns across the floor. She shifted in her sleep, turning slightly—only to feel a faint tickle at her waist.

As if a feather were brushing back and forth, light and teasing.

She stirred, instinctively twisting her body to escape the sensation.

But the moment she moved, the "feather" turned into a hand.

Firm. Unyielding.

It caught her by the waist and pulled her back—straight into a warm, solid embrace.

Vincent’s chest pressed snugly against her back, his body heat wrapping around her like a second skin. His breath, warm and steady, brushed against the hollow of her neck in slow, deliberate rhythms.

Rory blinked awake, still groggy.

The first thing she saw was a strip of black silk.

"...Vincent?" Her sleepiness vanished instantly. "What are you doing here?"

Wasn’t he supposed to still be in his own room?

Vincent didn’t answer.

Instead, he tightened his hold around her, resting his chin against her shoulder and nuzzling lightly.

The movement was soft... almost plaintive. Like someone who had suffered a great injustice.

Rory’s heart tightened at once.

"What’s wrong?" she asked gently. "Did something happen?"

How had he gone from fine... to this, in such a short time?

Who had upset him?

"...Rory, you lied to me."

His voice was low, edged with the faintest trace of grievance—soft enough to sound almost pitiful.

Rory blinked, confused. She turned in his arms to face him, her gaze landing on the black silk still covering his eyes.

"When did I lie to you? We were playing a game," she said. "You told me I could punish you however I wanted. I was just... punishing you."

Vincent had expected that answer. Of course she wouldn’t admit it.

"Rory..." he murmured, his tone still carrying that quiet hurt, "do you know what Nix and the others said about me after you left?"

Rory’s fingers rose unconsciously, brushing lightly over the silk covering his eyes.

"What did they say?" she asked. "Don’t tell me they dared to badmouth you."

Vincent was her first partner—strong, dependable, the one the others deferred to.

Who would dare?

Vincent fell silent for a moment, as if gathering himself.

Then, slowly, he spoke. "They said... I’m not good enough."

Rory blinked several times, confused. Her mind went blank for a full second.

"...Not good enough for what?"

Surely not— 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

"...Exactly what you’re thinking."

Rory stared at him, stunned. "That’s ridiculous! How could they possibly think that?"

They hadn’t even—

She cut herself off.

Vincent explained calmly, though his tone still carried that faint trace of grievance, "After a male bonds with his female for the first time, he usually stays close to her the next day. But after we bonded, you left on your own...and I stayed in bed."

"They assumed I was too exhausted to get up."

When he finished, he buried his face lightly against her neck, his voice muffled.

"My reputation is ruined. This concerns a male’s dignity."

His breath brushed her skin, sending a subtle shiver through her.

Even without seeing his eyes, Rory could feel his gaze—full of quiet accusation.

"Rory... what do we do now?"

Rory pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. Then she lifted a hand, gently patting his back.

"...This is my fault," she admitted softly. "I didn’t know they’d think that. I’ll go downstairs and explain—it was just a game. You’re perfectly fine."

More than fine, she thought.

There probably wasn’t anyone in better condition than him.

"No." Vincent refused immediately.

He shook his head slightly, the silk ribbon brushing faintly against her cheek.

"The more you explain, the more they’ll think I’m trying to cover it up. That I’m guilty."

He leaned closer, their noses nearly touching, their breaths intertwining.

"This kind of thing..." he murmured, voice dropping into something softer, more dangerous, "can’t be proven with words. Only with action."

Rory’s face flushed instantly.

She understood.

Of course she did.

This man... was absolutely taking advantage of the situation.

Before she could protest, Vincent closed the distance again, his presence wrapping around her like a net.

"Rory... you don’t want them to keep thinking I’m incapable, do you?"

He looked so wronged, so unfairly treated, that she couldn’t bring herself to refuse.

It was her fault.

If this wasn’t cleared up... Vincent might never hold his head high in this house again.

"...Fine," she sighed softly. "I’ll make it up to you."

She cupped his face and pressed a light kiss to his lips.

Vincent was very satisfied with that answer.

He lifted his hand, guiding hers toward the black silk at his eyes.

"...Help me take it off?"

His voice carried a faint rasp now.

Rory’s fingers brushed the smooth fabric—then the warmth of his skin beneath it.

Unbidden, memories from the night before surfaced.

Her heartbeat quickened.

Just as her fingers began to loosen the knot, Vincent caught her hand again.

Then he let out a low, quiet laugh.

"...No. Leave it."

He guided her hand downward instead, placing it over his chest.

"...This is more interesting."

Through the thin fabric, she could feel the steady, powerful beat of his heart.

Vincent leaned closer, his voice soft, teasing.

"They say I’m not capable... what do you think?"

Rory’s face burned.

What did she think?

She thought he was more than capable—far too capable.

But Vincent didn’t press her for an answer.

Instead, he held her hand firmly in place, his breath growing slightly uneven—though his tone remained calm, controlled.

"...Since you won’t say it... I’ll prove it to you myself."

Rory felt her resolve unraveling, piece by piece, melting under his warmth.

The room was quiet, bathed in soft light.

The air thickened with something unspoken.

Vincent, still blindfolded, withdrew his mental perception—leaving himself guided only by touch, by instinct.

It was trust.

And an invitation.

He drew her closer, lips finding hers—slowly, patiently—wearing down the last of her resistance.

Only after a long moment did he pull back slightly, resting his forehead against hers.

His voice was low, softened, threaded with something dangerously tender.

"...Rory. Now... it’s your turn to make it up to me."