I AM A MAGE BUT WITH MILF SYSTEM

He paused, sipping the wine, his gaze never leaving Julian’s. “She’ll be here soon, dressed to captivate, ready to make this night unforgettable. You’ll see.”

With that, the two men began sipping their wine, slipping into light, casual conversation. Their voices remained low, but every now and then, their gazes drifted toward the performances unfolding in the grand chamber.

During their exchange, Julian picked up a few key things. The estate wasn’t just lavish—it was strategic. The King of Apollo had personally overseen its development, planning every detail down to the underground facilities. And the Marquis? He wasn’t just a noble—he was the king’s most trusted shadow. His right-hand man.

Julian swirled his wine, lost in thoughts. Just then, the Marquis rose from his throne, the glass of wine in hand. He turned to Julian and offered a slight bow.

“Your Grace… shall we?”

Julian nodded as he stood, setting his wine aside, and followed the Marquis. They walked until they left the chaotic Chamber of Lust behind and reached a narrow corridor, cloaked in shadow. The torchlight flickered over stone walls as they moved in silence, the air thick with anticipation.

The marquis paused at a wooden door, his hand resting on the iron handle as he glanced back at Julian with a nod. Pushing the door open, he stepped inside, gesturing for Julian to follow.

Julian entered, and a new hall stretched before them. It was dimly lit by four flickering torchlights at each corner, casting long, dancing shadows across the stone floor.

In the center of the room stood a massive bed, draped in black velvet that instantly drew Julian’s gaze like a magnet. His eyes locked onto the three figures seated there, and the sight sent a jolt of intrigue through him.

Shayla sat at the head of the bed, stripped off her usual noble grace. Her body was barely covered by scandalous red lingerie that clung to her curves like a second skin. Her brown hair cascaded loosely over her shoulders, and her eyes met Julian’s with a mix of allure and seduction, a far cry from the composed Lady Ravenswood who had greeted him earlier.

She shifted on the bed, one leg crossing over the other, the movement drawing his gaze to the curve of her thigh. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lower lip, her body leaning slightly forward, as if daring him to come closer.

Beside her sat Aryl, dressed in a thin, white nightgown that covered her youthful body yet didn’t fail to hint at her form. It hung loose on her shoulders, dipping low at the chest, nearly transparent beneath the dim torchlight. She held her hands together in her lap, as if trying to hide trembling fingers.

She glanced at Shayla, hoping to seek guidance, but her mother’s bold action only heightened her confusion.

And at the edge of the bed sat Vigg, his expression caught in a war of emotion. His jaw clenched as if bracing for something he couldn’t fully grasp.

“Welcome, Your Grace,” the Marquis said with a smirk, his voice smooth and unhurried as he walked toward a chair positioned just a few feet from the bed. He sat with ease, legs spread, wine glass in hand, like a king surveying his chosen entertainment.

“Let’s sit… and begin, shall we?”

Julian nodded, his eyes never leaving the trio on the bed. As he eased into the seat beside the Marquis, he let out a soft, amused chuckle.

“Mmm… quite the view you’ve prepared, Marquis.”

Vigg shifted uncomfortably, but Julian didn’t even glance at him—his attention was entirely on the women. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his voice lowering to a slow purr.

“I have to admit, Marquis… I’m impressed. You’ve turned legacy into lust. And your wife and daughter… into something quite exquisite.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” the Marquis laughed, his rich voice echoing in the dimly lit chamber. “These three are the treasure of my Ravenswood family,” he said, gesturing to Shayla, Aryl, and Vigg on the massive bed. “Let’s not waste time, Your Grace.”

He turned to Shayla, his tone shifting from playful to commanding. “Dear, give a show to His Grace.”

Shayla’s lips curled into a sultry smirk, her eyes locking onto Julian’s with smoldering intensity. She arched her back slightly, pushing her chest forward and drawing his full attention. Her red lace clung tighter with every movement, revealing the soft swell of her breasts beneath the thin fabric.

She swung one leg around and rose slowly onto her knees, now fully facing Julian. Her hands roamed from her thighs to her hips, pausing at the curve of her waist before gliding upward to cup her own breasts.

Julian’s eyes narrowed slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Oh, Lady Shayla,” he murmured, “you’re off to a fine start.”

Shayla responded with a soft smile—but her eyes didn’t stray away, challenging and inviting all at once. She reached behind herself, unfastening the hook at the back of her bra. The red lace slid forward, loosening from her skin… but she didn’t remove it just yet. Instead, she let it hang—barely covering her now-erect nipples—as she crawled slowly toward the edge of the bed.

Her hips swayed in subtle, hypnotic rhythm as she moved. She stopped at the edge, one hand gripping the velvet mattress, the other lifting to her mouth.

Her tongue flicked out again, slow this time, wetting her fingers. Then she trailed them down her neck, between her breasts, and further down, until her palm rested just above the waistband of her panties.

“I wonder…” she said softly, her voice like sweet honey, “what kind of show pleases Your Grace the most?”

She dipped one finger just beneath the lace, not fully slipping inside—just enough to suggest, to provoke. Then she slid her hand back up her body and sucked the finger between her lips, eyes never leaving Julian’s.

Julian exhaled through his nose, jaw tensing. His smirk had shifted—no longer amused, but darkened with hunger.

Beside him, the Marquis let out a satisfied hum. “She’s quite the performer, wouldn’t you say?”

Julian didn’t answer. He leaned forward slightly in his seat, his hands tightening on the chair’s arms.

“She has only just begun,” he said, his voice low, dangerous. “Let’s see how far she’ll go to honor her house.”