The assembly ended.
Students poured out of the auditorium like rats fleeing a sinking yacht—chattering, filming, already turning the morning's public execution into premium Paradise gossip content. Phei had the balls to challenge the starting five. Brian flipped teams like a hooker switching johns. Derek folded faster than origami in a windstorm.
And Phei Maxton had stared straight into Marcus Heavenchild's silver spotlight and refused to fucking kneel.
But Phei had bigger, sharper problems.
He slipped his Samsung out as he walked, thumbs moving with the cold efficiency of a man composing ransom notes.
[PHEI'S HAREM — Private Group]
The name still dragged a dark chuckle out of him every time he saw it. Melissa had downgraded it from Phei's Harem and Complaint Department to the stark, possessive Phei's Harem. No explanation. No vote. Just done.
