The clock on Noah's nightstand read 7:02 a.m. when he jolted upright, the dream still echoing in his skull like distant thunder. Sunlight sliced through the half-closed blinds, painting golden bars across the catastrophe that used to be his bed. The sheets were drenched—mattress, pillows, comforter, everything—saturated with a thick, warm, pearlescent flood that smelled unmistakably of him, only richer, deeper, almost sweet beneath the raw masculine musk. It had pooled, soaked through, and still glistened in places as though his body had simply… overflowed.
Noah's hands shook as he stared. His body looked exactly the same as yesterday—5′9″, narrow shoulders, soft around the middle, the same faded band tee clinging to his chest. No towering frame, no carved muscle, no impossible length straining between his legs. Just Noah Bennett, ordinary, unmade.
Yet the evidence said the dream had been more than a dream.
"Fuck," he whispered, voice cracking. He couldn't let his parents see this. Couldn't let Mia see this.
He moved fast, ripping the fitted sheet free first, then the flat sheet, bundling the comforter inside them like a giant, leaking burrito. The fabric squelched. He grabbed a clean flat sheet from the closet and wrapped the whole dripping mess inside it, knotting the corners tight so nothing would leak onto the carpet. His arms were already slick to the elbows.
Bathroom. He sprinted across the hall, stripped off his soaked boxers and tee in one frantic motion, and jumped into the shower. Hot water pounded his skin, washing away the sticky evidence, but the scent clung—musky, warm, strangely pleasant even to his own nose. He scrubbed until his skin stung, toweled off in record time, yanked on yesterday's jeans and a fresh hoodie, and raced back to his room.
The moment his fingers closed around the doorknob, he froze. It was still slick with his seed from earlier. "Fuck, what the fuck," he muttered. He grabbed a wad of toilet paper from the bathroom, wiped the knob clean, flushed the evidence, and only then bolted for the stairs.
The bundled sheets waited in his room like a guilty secret. He hoisted them against his chest and bolted for the stairs.
He was halfway down when Mia stepped out of her bedroom at the bottom landing, yawning, one hand rubbing sleep from her emerald eyes. She wore an oversized sleep shirt that barely reached mid-thigh, chestnut hair tousled from the pillow. The girl who had shared his home, his parents, his life since they were both young, yet the adoption papers had always quietly reminded them they weren't bound by blood.
Mia's nose wrinkled as he tried to slip past. "Whoa—what is that?" She leaned in slightly, confused, then inhaled again, slower. Her cheeks pinked. "Noah… that smells… really good. Like, stupidly good. Did you spill cologne or something?"
His stomach dropped. The bundle was sealed, nothing visible, yet the scent was leaking through. To his shock, her voice carried no disgust—only genuine, sleepy appreciation. "Uh—laundry," he muttered, face burning. "Just… getting it done early. Sorry."
He didn't wait for more questions. He dodged around her, thundered down the remaining stairs, and shoved the entire bundle into the washing machine in the laundry room off the kitchen. Extra detergent, hot cycle, extra rinse. He slammed the lid and started it, heart hammering louder than the water rushing in.
Outside. He needed air.
The neighborhood was still quiet, the summer morning soft and golden. Noah slipped out the back door and walked, hands in his pockets, sneakers scuffing the sidewalk. The sun touched his face and something inside him answered—warmth spreading through his limbs, sharpening every sense and straightening his spine without effort.
He thought of the dream again. The golden space. The Woman whose face kept shifting—every beautiful woman he had ever imagined, and more. Her words still vibrated in his bones: We blossom from your strength and essence… You must come into yours, Noah. Not only for yourself… but for all of us who need it.
His body had returned to normal the instant he woke, but the volume of cum left behind was not normal. Valeria's voice from yesterday slid into his mind, calm and precise: "It is important you learn this, Noah. To remain in the dark is to be unprepared for forces that will soon shape your life whether you choose to engage them or not."
He was still wearing the same jeans. His fingers brushed the pocket and found the black business card, matte and heavy, the silver V embossed like a promise.
He stared at the matte card, thumb tracing the silver V. A hidden estate in the Swiss-Italian Alps sounded like the start of every conspiracy video he'd ever binged… or something far stranger. But staying here and pretending last night was just a wet dream? That wasn't an option anymore.
Noah stopped under a streetlamp still glowing faintly against the rising sun. He took a slow breath—the deepest he had taken in days—and dialed.
The line clicked after one ring.
"Noah," Elara's voice answered, warm and immediate, as though she had been waiting. "Good morning. How are you?"
He opened his mouth and nothing smooth came out. "I—uh—hi. Yeah, I'm… I mean, good. Morning. I, um… I've been thinking. A lot. And I've… decided. I'm coming. To the estate. If the offer's still good."
Silence for half a heartbeat—then her laugh, soft and genuinely pleased. "It is still good, Noah. Very good. I'm glad. Truly." Kindness wrapped every syllable, the kind that said she understood exactly how big a step this was for a boy who had never left Washington state. "When do you think you'll be ready?"
He wanted to hedge. Next week. Next month. Never. The old Noah would have already started negotiating delays. But something in his chest—small, quiet, iron—shifted. For once in his life he saw the truth clearly: he didn't have a life to keep living until he walked through whatever door this was. Everything after would be on hold until he knew who he actually was.
"I can be ready this evening," he said, voice steadier than he felt.
"Perfect," Elara replied, warmth blooming. "We'll be there by six. Pack light—everything else can be provided. You won't regret this."
They said goodbye. Noah lowered the phone, staring at it. His hands weren't shaking. The anxious static that usually buzzed behind his ribs was… quiet. Not gone, but contained. He had never known himself to stand so still inside his own skin.
The rest of the day blurred in the best way. He packed a single duffel—jeans, hoodies, the few books he couldn't leave behind. He wanted to pack his gaming laptop but for the first time in his life he thought it probably didn't make sense to bring on a trip.
Downstairs he helped his mom with lunch, listened to his dad's nervous jokes about "European royalty," and let Mia hug him extra tight in the hallway, her emerald eyes shiny. "You better text me every day, okay? And come back richer and hotter or whatever." He laughed, hugged her back, and felt the ache of leaving the only home he had ever known.
At six sharp the black Escalade rolled up to the curb. From the outside it looked like any luxury SUV—tinted windows, chrome wheels—but when Noah stepped inside after the tearful goodbyes on the porch, the difference hit him like stepping into another world. The interior was vast, butter-soft leather that seemed to cradle him, ambient lighting in soft gold, and a dashboard full of sleek screens and controls he had never seen on any car. The professional driver up front kept his eyes forward, earpiece glowing faintly, saying nothing. The back smelled faintly of cedar and something electric.
Noah settled between Elara and Valeria, suddenly aware of them the way he hadn't been yesterday—when shock had dulled every sense. Now that the decision was made, his eyes truly saw.
Valeria Kane sat ramrod straight on his right, 32 and lethal in a tailored black jacket over a crisp white blouse. Tall, athletic, severe black hair pulled into its usual tight bun, sharp cheekbones, intense gray eyes.
But now he noticed what shock had hidden—the elegant length of her neck, the quiet power in her posture, the unmistakable curve beneath tailored fabric.
She smelled faintly of gun oil and something warmer, like sun-warmed leather.
On his left, Elara Montvale was pure elegance—29, slender yet unmistakably womanly, long blonde hair swept into a sophisticated chignon, refined features softened by warm hazel eyes and a mouth that looked made for quiet smiles. Her silk blouse draped over generous curves, the neckline hinting at smooth skin and the delicate hollow of her throat. She moved like water, every gesture graceful, and when she crossed her legs the soft whisper of fabric made Noah's pulse jump.
He cleared his throat. "So… where exactly are we going?"
Elara turned, smiling. "A private airfield about three hours from here. From there we fly straight to the Vespera enclave. It's a hidden estate in a remote valley along the Swiss-Italian border. It's an incredible estate; your every need will be taken care of. You'll be safe, comfortable, and free to leave once the contract is up. The flight will be long but very pleasant."
They talked for the first hour—light, careful conversation. Noah felt painfully self-conscious. These two women were striking, powerful, the kind of people who shaped events instead of drifting through them.
What did he have to offer? Video-game strategies? He stuck to safe answers, polite questions, trying not to stare at the way Elara's breasts were highlighted by the curve of her blouse or the elegant silhouette of Valeria's crossed legs in her slacks.
Then Elara paused mid-sentence, nostrils flaring delicately. She leaned a fraction toward Valeria. "Are you wearing a new perfume? It smells… incredible. Like something I am struggling to remember."
Valeria's brows lifted in genuine surprise. She inhaled, then shook her head. "No. I thought that was you. It's… lovely, actually."
Elara's hazel eyes fluttered half-closed for a split second, as if savoring it, while Valeria shifted in her seat, the movement elegant but not quite as controlled as usual.
Noah's stomach flipped. It reminded him of Mia. However, this time he wasn't holding an entire bed set soaked in his seed.
They resumed talking, but Noah barely heard the words. Then, without warning, the scent in the confined space seemed to thicken around him. A sudden wave of raw energy surged through his body—hot, electric, undeniable. His cock stirred, swelled, and hardened with shocking speed, pressing urgently against the denim of his jeans. Insistent, throbbing, and impossible to ignore.
The jeans and underwear helped hide the outline, thankfully, but the flush that crawled up his neck was impossible to stop.
He shifted slightly, trying to find a comfortable angle. Elara smiled at something he had said—warm, encouraging—and her hazel eyes lingered on his face a heartbeat longer than before. Nothing overt. Just… longer.
Noah sat there, rock-hard in the back of a million-dollar luxury SUV, flanked by two of the most beautiful women he had ever met, while they chatted politely about European architecture and the weather in the Alps—while the boy between them struggled to contain something his body no longer seemed willing to hide.
And for the first time, the thought didn't fill him with panic.
It filled him with something far more dangerous.
A deep, yearning hunger he had never known—and a quiet certainty that these two women were only the beginning.