My Taboo Harem!-Chapter 341: The Gathering Before the Storm

Emily ran...

Blazer flapping behind her like a cape on a discount superhero who’d forgotten the dignity upgrade, hair escaping its ponytail in wild strands. Zero composure preserved. Zero fucks given. She tore through the corridors toward the coaches’ offices like her life depended on it—because in her mind, it kind of did.

The kit.

She needed to get Phei’s kit.

Coach Reyes was waiting for her—the female basketball coach, a compact woman with eyes that had seen too many seasons, too many spoiled brats, too many Legacy tantrums to be impressed by much of anything anymore.

She was one of the few people on the entire athletics staff openly supporting Phei.

The head coach had washed his hands of the situation faster than a politician caught in a scandal. The assistant coaches had sided with Marcus like it was a blood oath. Even the equipment managers had made their loyalties clear by "accidentally" misplacing half of Phei’s gear.

"Here." Reyes handed Emily a garment bag without preamble. "Custom fit. Academy colors. His name’s already on the back—stitched in gold thread like he’s already won the damn thing."

Emily clutched it to her chest like it contained the Holy Grail, the Ark of the Covenant, and a lifetime supply of Phei-flavored oxygen all in one.

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

"Don’t thank me yet." Reyes’s expression was unreadable—stone-cold neutral with just enough edge to remind you she’d once thrown a clipboard so hard it embedded in a wall. "He’s going against the entire Ashford Elite team. Including Marcus Heavenchild."

"He’ll win."

"You sound sure."

"I am."

Reyes studied her for a long moment—long enough that Emily started wondering if she’d accidentally confessed to a felony.

Then, slowly, the coach nodded. "Good. Someone should be."

****

In the Main Legacy Common Room, Sierra’s alarm blared like a war siren designed by someone who hated sleep.

She jolted awake—disoriented, groggy, momentarily forgetting where she was and why her body felt like it had been hit by a truck full of existential dread. Then memory crashed back like a tidal wave of bad decisions: the vigil. The void-ice.

Phei’s cold, empty eyes staring through her like she wasn’t there—like she was just background noise in his personal apocalypse.

"Maddie." She shook the girl sleeping beside her. "Maddie, wake up. It’s time."

Maddie groaned. Stirred. Blinked at the ceiling with the unfocused confusion of someone who’d slept too little and dreamed way too much about things that went bump in the dark.

"The Challenge?"

"Mhmm."

They moved—slowly at first, then faster as adrenaline kicked in like a cheap energy drink. Freshening up in the common room’s private bathroom. Fixing hair. Adjusting uniforms. Trying (and failing) to look like they hadn’t spent the last night watching a boy they loved transform into something terrifying that might eat them next.

"Do you think he’ll..." Maddie started, voice small.

"Win?" Sierra applied lip gloss with practiced precision, like war paint for Legacy princesses. "Obviously."

"I was going to say ’look at us like we exist.’"

Sierra’s hand paused mid-swipe.

She met Maddie’s eyes in the mirror.

Neither of them had an answer for that.

****

Outside the Academy, the world converged.

Limousines lined up at the VIP entrance like a motorcade of the rich and powerful who’d collectively decided today was the day to flex. Bentleys. Rolls Royces. The occasional armored SUV carrying families who took security more seriously than most small countries took national defense. Doors opened. Heels clicked on pavement like tiny gunshots.

The elite of Paradise from Downtown and Main Paradise arrived to watch their children compete—or, in this case, to watch a charity case attempt the impossible while sipping champagne and placing discreet millions-worthy bets on how many minutes it would take Marcus to break him.

The Maxton family car pulled up third in line.

Inside, the atmosphere was... complicated.

Harold Maxton sat ramrod straight, jaw tight, radiating the particular energy of a man who desperately wanted to be somewhere else but couldn’t figure out how to extract himself without losing face in front of people who already thought he was a joke.

Not too far from him, but still far, Melissa sipped champagne with the casual elegance of a woman who had absolutely nothing to worry about.

She had everything to worry about.

Her boy—her man now—was about to face the entire Ashford Elite team in front of a global audience. And she was sitting here with her so-called husband, pretending she hadn’t spent the last weeks fucking Phei in every room of their penthouse and sometimes in the wine storage in the Mansion while Harold was busy being useless.

With them sat the Castellanos.

Mr. Castellano looked tired. Worn. Exhausted from dealing with a son whose scandals had just exploded across every social media platform in Paradise like a grease fire in a dry kitchen. He’d returned from his business trip two days ago, walked straight into the shitstorm Renee had created, and hadn’t rested properly since few hours ago

His wife, Adriana—the Hot Rude Neighbor, as Phei had mentally dubbed her—seemed less affected.

She lounged against the leather seat, legs crossed, wine glass in hand, chatting with Melissa like they were at a spa day instead of en route to watch their families’ complicated entanglements play out on a basketball court.

"—and I told her, ’Darling, if you can’t handle the heat, stay out of the Hamptons in July,’" Adriana was saying, voice dripping with practiced disdain so thick you could spread it on toast.

Melissa laughed.

Not because the joke was funny—it wasn’t—but because laughing gave her cover to think.

Adriana.

Phei.

In one room.

Just the two of them.

That plan was already forming. Had been forming since the moment, she’d realized long ago that if she was going to be part of Phei’s world, she might as well help him expand it.

Adriana would look so pretty on her knees sucking his cock.

Melissa giggled again—soft, almost girlish—hiding the wicked thought behind her champagne flute like a murder weapon in a purse.

"What’s so funny?" Adriana asked, eyebrow raised.

"Nothing, darling. Just remembered something amusing."

"Do share."

"Later. I promise."

Adriana shrugged, returning to her wine and her not so funny story.

Harold, meanwhile, was busy feeling superior.

His son Danton—clean. Spotless. Untouched by scandal.

The Castellano boy—drowning in accusations and rumors and evidence that painted him as exactly the privileged little monster everyone suspected Legacy kids of being.

It was petty, finding satisfaction in another family’s misfortune. Harold didn’t care. Petty satisfaction was still satisfaction.

It was the closest thing he had to joy these days.

"Terrible business, all this," he said to Mr. Castellano, voice dripping with false sympathy so thick it could’ve been used as syrup. "I can’t imagine what you’re going through."

"We’re managing," Mr. Castellano replied tightly, the verbal equivalent of "eat shit."

"Of course, of course. If there’s anything we can do..."

"There isn’t."

The limo fell silent.

Melissa and Adriana exchanged glances—the universal look of wives who’d learned long ago to ignore their husbands’ posturing and instead focus on the real power plays happening right under their noses.

Outside, the Academy gates loomed.

Inside, a game was about to begin.

Elsewhere, other cars carried other passengers.

Victoria Maxton—eldest daughter, college student, the one who’d escaped Paradise’s gravity only to be pulled back by the irresistible force of family drama—sat in the backseat of a black sedan, watching the Academy approach through tinted windows.

She hadn’t been back in months.

Hadn’t wanted to be back yet.

But since Phei’s changes and now this?

Her cousin—the quiet, forgettable charity case she’d barely acknowledged for ten years—challenging the Heavenchild prince to a basketball game that had somehow become international news in a few hours?

She had to see this for herself.

Beside her, her college friends whispered excitedly. They didn’t understand Paradise politics. Didn’t know the weight of what was happening. To them, this was just drama. Entertainment. A fun distraction from midterms.

Victoria knew better.

Something had changed.

Something was about to change more.

In another car, Nastya Romano—the eldest Romano daughter, equally returned from college—had similar thoughts. She’d grown up with the Legacy kids. Knew Marcus. Knew the Heavenchilds who ruled over the world and whole Paradise.

Knew exactly how impossible what Phei was attempting should be.

And yet.

The videos she’d seen online. The photos circulating through group chats. The boy who’d somehow transformed from invisible to unforgettable in the span of weeks.

Something was very, very different about Phei Maxton.

She intended to find out what.