Peerless Perverted Actor Has a Celebrity Harem?!

"Okay," he murmured. "That’s rude as hell."

They were standing in the exact centre of the three towers directly between them, with the structures rising on every side and the open sky above reduced to something oddly small and rationed.

The Imperial Park Royale complex occupied close to two and half a kilometre in the heart of Aurora Imperial City and remained sealed off from the rest of the capital by private roads, landscaped grounds, security checkpoints, and enough surveillance to make paranoia look like light housekeeping.

Guards held carefully positioned stations along the outer perimeter. Small security drones moved high above the gardens, near invisible against the bright sky, while cameras tracked every vehicle from the instant it entered the property. Physical barriers, guarded access lanes, and layered checkpoints kept paparazzi and tourists and curious commoners from drifting anywhere near the inner plaza.

The arrangement had been criticised for years. Politicians and journalists and a great many furious citizens had accused the monarchy of permitting a private city for the wealthy to exist inside the capital itself—a glittering playground reserved for people who treated ordinary prices as light comedy and regarded privacy as a constitutional right available exclusively to anybody carrying nine digits.

The Palace had responded with the royal equivalent of damn, that’s crazy, and then changed absolutely nothing about it.

The public sections stayed open to tourists, registered visitors, and shoppers wealthy enough to walk in without consulting their balance every twelve minutes. The middle and upper floors belonged to a different world entirely: private galleries, luxury residences, members-only restaurants, celebrity lounges, noble clubs, and restricted retail levels sitting behind layers of access most visitors would never even learn existed.

Money opened the first few doors, and after that only names worked.

A valet had already taken the Aston. The Maybach slid away toward a private underground garage, and Park stood in the plaza with Emmeline and the four staff accompanying them.

Including Quinn.

She came around the vehicle in that immaculate grey suit with her spine perfect and her hair drawn back without one strand out of position, looking irritatingly composed.

The morning light did the same generous work on her, and Park was obliged to notice, at some length, that the tailoring on that suit had opinions about her waist which it was not attempting to keep private.

She caught him looking; she held his gaze exactly one second and then went back to scanning the perimeter with the flat professional calm of somebody whose job description did not include this.

’Hours ago,’ Park thought, entirely against his own advice, ’those hands took every stitch of clothing off my unconscious body and put me to bed. She has seen more of me than I have seen of myself and she is standing there checking sightlines like a woman with nothing whatsoever on her conscience.’

For half a second he seriously considered complimenting her driving or her how beautiful she looked in her suit but then common sense arrived, late but mercifully sober, and pointed out that he had already flirted with her, sent her an uncaptioned love song at an indecent hour, and been undressed by her while unconscious—all inside a single span of less that 24 hours.

There was such a thing as becoming predictable before lunch, and Park had standards.

’Questionable ones, admittedly, but standards.’

He looked at the plaza instead.

The space between the towers formed a vast circle paved in pale stone, the surface polished to the point where it barely seemed to belong outdoors at all.

Shallow reflecting pools curved around sculpted trees and low gardens and narrow channels of dark water that held the three towers in broken trembling reflections. From the centre the buildings appeared to lean inward over them—three enormous glass monarchs gathering for a private conversation about which of them owned the sky.

Each tower had its own entrance. Two faced each other across the plaza while the third looked directly down the private approach road, its doors set beneath a tremendous canopy of black glass edged in gold.

But none of these doors served the general public; the actual public lobbies sat much further out, connected to the sprawling retail floors wrapped around the towers, where thousands of visitors poured in every hour.

These were the VVIP entrances. No crowds, or tourist girl shrieking because she had recognised Emmeline, and—most importantly—no bored stranger taking one blurry photograph of Park and his sister and accidentally detonating nineteen years of family secrecy across the internet before lunch.

Emmeline moved up beside him and followed his gaze upward, regarding the impossible towers with the easy familiarity of somebody who had been here often enough for architectural insanity to become wallpaper.

"We’re using the upper floors," she said.

Park finally lowered his head. "To avoid attention?"

"That too."

Something suspiciously delighted slipped into her smile. "But mostly because that’s where the good stuff is."

Of course; Emmeline Bennett had not hauled him across half of Aurora Imperial City to shop in some ordinary boutique surrounded by people who still checked a price tag before touching fabric, and Park found he had no appetite for that either.

The family’s unlimited platinum card sat in his pocket carrying the reassuring weight of irresponsibility. Why in the hell should he go on dressing like his predecessor, a boy who had apparently been terrified that spending money might somehow bruise the feelings of the obscenely wealthy man whose account settled the bill?

He was not squandering some random stranger’s fortune.

’I am exercising my birthright.’

There was a difference, and he was confident it would hold up under examination, provided the examination was not conducted by anybody with legal training.

The immense glass doors opened ahead of them without anybody touching a handle and cool air rolled across his face as they entered a private corridor lined in dark stone, warm recessed lighting, and security panels disguised so carefully they read as decoration.

The silence after all that wind and engine noise arrived with something close to violence.

The corridor opened into what Emmeline had casually described as a small reception lobby of VVIPs.

Small, in the language of this family, apparently meant large enough to host a respectable wedding with room left over for the subsequent divorce.

Three enormous glass lifts stood against the far wall, transparent shafts running away upward into the tower. There was no public queue, only a single receptionist, two guards, and enough silence to make breathing feel like something requiring an appointment.

The receptionist recognised Emmeline instantly. Her posture straightened and the professional smile arrived one degree more careful than standard.

"Good morning, Lady Bennett."

"Morning."

Emmeline barely slowed. She crossed to the centre lift and reached into her purse for a thin black card.

Park’s attention went straight to it.

There was no visible name anywhere on it, number or family crest. The card was matte black, dark enough that it appeared to be quietly consuming the warm light around it, with a single narrow line of gold running down the centre. Even by the ridiculous standards of this place it managed to look expensive in that hushed threatening manner reserved for objects nobody is expected to ask the price of.

She pressed it to the panel beside the lift and the entire frame flashed gold.

[ROYALE BLACK ACCESS CONFIRMED.]

The doors opened without a sound. Emmeline walked in as though nothing of any interest had occurred while Park followed more slowly, still watching the card.

"What was that?"

"My Royale Black." She slipped it back into her purse.

"So another access card."

She gave him a look. "Very different."

The glass doors sealed the group inside, and Park glanced around to find the floor and walls and part of the ceiling all transparent, the plaza and the city laid out beneath and around them.

"What does it actually do?"

"Gives me the restricted retail floors, the private galleries, the member lounges, the skybridge clubs, the residential entrances, and the VVIP routes connecting all three towers."

Park turned toward her. "That sounds less like a shopping card and more like diplomatic immunity with a magnetic strip."

"It can also have staff close certain sections temporarily."

He stared at her.

Emmeline smiled sweetly. "For privacy."

Park looked out at the receptionist and the guards just before the doors finished closing. "Wait. You can shut down part of the mall because you feel like buying clothes?"

"Not the whole mall." A pause, delicately timed. "Usually."

"Mon dieu."

The lift began to rise, and it rose fast enough that the plaza dropped away beneath them so suddenly his stomach stayed behind for half a second, reconsidered the terms of its employment, then rushed up to rejoin the rest of him.

He looked down through the glass floor and watched the cars shrink and the guards reduce to dots and the enormous circular plaza fold itself into a neat little design far below.

The city widened with every second. Roads tangled across Aurora like silver thread. Buildings that had looked gigantic from the ground sank quietly beneath them. One of the great skybridges appeared in the middle distance, floating between two towers like a glass neighbourhood somebody had left suspended in midair and forgotten to collect.

’I was face-down in the snow on a pavement while strangers filmed me dying and a woman I never met cried about it. Today I’m being lifted into the sky in a glass box because my sister needs to buy me trousers.’

He decided he preferred today.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered.

Emmeline giggled beside him. "Welcome to the Imperial Park Royale Towers, little brother."

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