Interstellar Beast World: All My Husbands Are Powerful and Rich!-Chapter 84: Dizzy

Rory blinked hard, her thoughts scattering the instant she realized she was no longer alone.

A man stood only a few steps from her bed—tall, composed, and utterly out of place, as though he had stepped in from another world entirely. The air around him felt subtly warped, charged with an unfamiliar pressure, as if reality itself had bent to accommodate his presence. Shock rippled through her, and her heart slammed violently against her ribs.

"You’re... one of my suitors?" she demanded, forcing her voice into steadiness despite the tremor threading through it. "What’s your name?"

Only moments ago, she had been drifting toward sleep beneath the covers, wrapped in the quiet safety of her room. Layers of security surrounded her. No alarms had sounded. No warnings had flashed across her light-brain. And yet, impossibly, here he was.

Her mind raced, questions tumbling over one another as she stared at him in stunned disbelief.

The man laughed softly—a low, controlled sound that carried an unsettling ease, as though he found the situation mildly amusing. The sound sent an unexpected shiver down her spine.

Then, with infuriating familiarity, he reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers brushed her skin just long enough to be unmistakable, leaving a faint, lingering warmth in their wake that made her pulse spike all over again.

"I’m the one you were thinking about before you fell asleep," he said calmly.

He stepped closer, close enough that she could sense him fully now. His scent was cool and clean, like wind passing over stone after rain. Slowly—deliberately—he began undoing the buttons of his shirt, one by one, revealing smooth skin beneath the fabric. The casual intimacy of the gesture left Rory momentarily speechless.

He leaned in, his lips brushing the curve of her ear as his cultured, velvety voice murmured,

"Female Master... aren’t you happy to see me?"

Rory’s thoughts screamed.

What an outrageous flirt.

This kind of confidence—this effortless, almost arrogant charm—wasn’t common. In fact, Rory had only ever heard of one group that carried themselves like this, as though the world existed merely to accommodate them. Her eyes narrowed sharply as suspicion flared, cutting through her shock.

"You’re Wayne Creed, aren’t you?" she said, each word precise.

For the briefest instant, the man froze.

The room seemed to hold its breath, the air tightening as if reality itself were waiting for his response.

Then, instead of answering, he gave a careless shrug—and pulled his shirt off entirely, tossing it aside as though the question no longer mattered. He stepped closer, closing the distance until there was barely a breath of space between them. One arm slid around her waist, firm and possessive, anchoring her in place with unmistakable intent.

Rory stiffened, her pulse pounding.

His voice dropped into a quiet, conspiratorial whisper, warm against her ear.

"And why would you assume that, Female Master?" he murmured. "Why not Vincent?" A pause, deliberate. "Or... Yuel?"

Unbeknownst to Rory, this man had once lain helpless and broken, suspended between life and death like a withered branch waiting for spring. Though his body had been dormant, his consciousness had never fully faded. In scattered moments of half-awareness, he had overheard voices—Jasper’s, Rory’s—speaking of matches, of fate, of her identity and circumstances.

Piece by piece, he had learned the truth.

He had learned that fate itself had bound him to a huntress—and now, standing before her, he had no intention of letting that bond go untested.

That she was human.

That truth alone should have terrified him. To all therians alike, human blood was sacred beyond measure—a catalyst that could elevate beasts to near-divinity. And yet, knowing the danger, she had still used her own blood to save him.

Her motives might not have aligned with his desires.

But she saved him all the same.

That was enough.

His deep blue eyes softened as he looked down at her, affection flickering beneath the surface. The intensity of his gaze made Rory’s breath hitch. Heat crept up her neck, and she turned her face away, unable to withstand it.

How does he do that? she thought wildly. One look, and it feels like he’s seducing me without even trying.

Clearing her throat, she forced herself to regain composure.

"It’s simple," she said, steadying her voice. "I may not have met any of you in person, but I reviewed your profiles in my light-brain."

She lifted her chin.

"Vincent is the second prince of Astrium—serious, reserved, barely smiles. Definitely not you. And Yuel is a battlefield commander who barely speaks unless necessary. That leaves the Enchanter-style types."

Confidence surged through her as she finished. The logic was flawless.

The man smiled faintly, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"A reasonable conclusion," he said. "But perhaps next time, you shouldn’t rely solely on appearances."

Her suspicion deepened.

"What are you implying? That I’m wrong? You’re not Wayne Creed?"

Instead of answering, he gently guided her backward until the backs of her knees met the mattress. With a controlled motion, he eased her onto the bed.

"Do you truly believe seduction belongs to one clan alone?" he murmured. "Personas are merely masks. What the world sees is never the whole truth."

He leaned closer, his voice soft but absolute.

"The part of me no one else sees—the part that belongs only to you—that is the real me."

Before Rory could react, his lips captured hers.

The kiss was sudden, fierce, and utterly consuming.

"Remember this," he whispered against her mouth. "I am Yuel. And I am far more dangerous than any enchanter."

Yuel?!

Her thoughts exploded in shock. That wasn’t what the light-brain records had described at all—

She didn’t get to finish the thought.

His arms tightened around her waist, drawing her closer until there was no space between them. Her thin nightdress offered no protection from the heat of his body; she could feel every breath, every shift of muscle.

Despite his refined appearance, his kiss was anything but restrained—commanding, intense, stealing her breath and leaving her dizzy.

Rory tried to push him away, but he didn’t yield.

In a flash of desperation, she bit down.

He pulled back sharply, pain flickering across his expression. But beneath the calm exterior, something darker glinted in his eyes—something dangerous.

And that look alone sent her pulse racing even faster.