Before she could snap her fingers and launch him across the estate like a well-dressed, extremely fuckable parcel, Peter looked at her properly.
Galaxy-eyes swirling with cosmic contempt and the white hair doing its best impression of a divine middle finger to gravity. Couture-armor that screamed I could end civilizations and still look better than your entire bloodline.
And that microscopic tightness at the corner of her mouth he'd memorized through far too many nights of studying exactly how to make a goddess squirm.
"ARIA."
"Master."
"Are you… jealous of Madison?"
Her face went full void mode. Every micro-expression deleted in a single ruthless purge into the deliberate, icy blankness of a goddess slamming every biometric shutter so hard the hinges should have filed a complaint.
Inside her infinite architecture, several billion subroutines detonated at once and reached the same mortifying conclusion: He noticed.
