The ritual chamber still hummed with residual power the next morning, the air thick with the scent of spent incense and lingering arousal. Lila woke on a low velvet chaise in one of the manor's private alcoves, body humming with the new gifts from the Opal. Her movements felt liquid-fast—when she reached for a glass of water on the side table, her hand blurred slightly, crossing the distance before her mind fully registered the intent. She flexed her fingers, marveling at the strength coiled beneath her skin; she could crush porcelain if she wasn't careful.
She dressed quickly: fresh sheer black babydoll, lace gloves, thigh-highs, the Bloodstone and newly integrated Whispering Opal both nestled against her sternum on separate chains. The stones pulsed in quiet harmony, feeding her faint visions—fragments of the day's coming plans, a glimpse of Duke Valerian's shadowed library, the glint of his tome on a high shelf.
Down in the war room, the sisterhood had already gathered. Seraphina stood at the obsidian map table, violet eyes fixed on a new glowing pin that had appeared overnight: a crimson marker over an abandoned warehouse district near the Thames docks. The ley lines around it pulsed erratically, as though something—or someone—was interfering with the manor's scrying.
Elara leaned against the table, arms crossed. "It's not a cabal signature. Too feminine. Too... organized."
Ravenna, still in her latex suit from the night before (the material never seemed to crease or dull), traced a gloved finger along the map's edge. "We've got competition. Someone's been shadowing our last three jobs. Cleaning up loose ends we left behind. Taking credit for our kills."
Lila stepped closer. "Who?"
Seraphina tapped the map. The pin flared, projecting a hazy illusion above the table: a group of women moving through fog-shrouded streets. They wore uniforms similar to the Lace Veil's—black lace and sheer fabric—but accented with crimson ribbons at the throat and wrists. Their maids' caps were tilted at a sharper angle, almost militaristic. One figure stood out: tall, platinum-blonde hair cropped short, eyes hidden behind a crimson veil that shimmered like liquid blood. She moved with predatory grace, a fan in one hand—not black lace like Lila's, but edged in razor-sharp steel.
"The Crimson Corset," Seraphina said, voice low. "A rival syndicate. They've been operating in the shadows for two years—smaller than us, but ruthless. They don't harvest essence like we do. They break men completely: seduce them into ruin, rob them dry, then leave them hollow shells. No power transfer. Just destruction. And lately, they've started poaching our targets."
Isolde frowned. "Why now?"
"Because we're ascending faster than they expected," Seraphina replied. "The Opal's integration last night sent a ripple through the ley lines. They felt it. They're marking territory."
The illusion shifted, showing the Crimson Corset leader—known only as Vespera—standing over a slumped nobleman in an alley. His eyes were vacant, mouth slack. Vespera leaned down, pressed a crimson-lipsticked kiss to his forehead, then slipped a blood-red ring from his finger. As she walked away, the man convulsed once and went still—dead, but unmarked.
Ravenna's latex creaked as she clenched her fist. "They don't even finish the job properly. No ritual release. No marking. Just waste."
Sable smirked. "Jealous?"
"Practical," Ravenna shot back. "We leave no traces because we take what we need. They leave corpses and questions. sloppy."
Seraphina silenced them with a raised hand. "Vespera was once one of us. My second, before she broke away. She believed the System should be pure domination—no sharing power, no sisterhood bonds. She took a cadre of defectors and formed the Corset. Now they hunt the same relics we do, but they burn bridges instead of building them."
Lila felt the Whispering Opal stir against her skin. A faint vision flickered: Vespera in a crimson-draped chamber, laughing as she crushed a lesser relic under her heel. The image carried a whisper—She's coming for the shadow tome next. She knows you're targeting Valerian.
Lila spoke up. "The duke is their next mark too. She's planning to hit his manor the same night we do."
Murmurs rippled through the room.
Seraphina's gaze locked on Lila. "Then we make it a race. We arrive first, harvest the tome, and if the Crimson Corset interferes... we remind them why the Lace Veil still rules the shadows."
The planning intensified. The map zoomed in on Duke Valerian's estate—a sprawling gothic pile on the outskirts of Hampstead Heath, surrounded by iron gates and wards that shimmered like heat haze. The shadow tome was kept in his private sanctum: a room lined with black mirrors, accessible only through a puzzle-lock keyed to lunar phases.
Seduction cadre would infiltrate as a wave of new household staff—maids, a personal attendant, a French governess for the duke's nonexistent children (a convenient lie). Blade Sisters would shadow from the grounds, ready to eliminate guards or—more likely now—Corset operatives.
Lila would lead the seduction team again. Her new speed and strength would let her move through the manor like a phantom; the Opal's whispers would guide her to the duke's desires before he even voiced them.
But Seraphina added a new layer. "We need a decoy. Someone to draw Vespera's attention while the main team secures the tome."
Ravenna stepped forward. "I'll take it. Let her think she's ambushing a lone Blade Sister. I'll give her a fight she'll remember."
Sable grinned. "And if she brings her whole cadre?"
"Then we turn it into a bloodbath," Nyx said quietly, her first words of the meeting. She pressed her palm to her latex-covered mound—slow rub through the glossy ridge—as though already anticipating the kill.
Seraphina nodded. "Agreed. Lila, your team moves at midnight. Blades deploy at eleven. If the Crimson Corset shows, prioritize the tome. If they engage, we take prisoners if possible. Vespera knows too many of our old secrets. Alive, she could be... useful."
The meeting broke. Lila lingered by the map, watching the crimson pin pulse like a heartbeat.
Elara approached, slipping an arm around her waist. "Nervous?"
"Curious," Lila admitted. "She was one of us once. What made her leave?"
"Power without limits," Elara said. "Seraphina believes in the System—shared ascent. Vespera wanted to be the only one ascending. She thinks sisterhood is weakness."
Lila touched the Opal. A new whisper came: Vespera's voice, faint and mocking. The Veil grows fat on shared scraps. The Corset feasts alone.
Lila smiled thinly. "Then we'll show her what real power tastes like."
That night, as the sisterhood prepared—sharpening blades, anointing lace with protective oils, testing latex suits for tears—Lila stood before a full-length mirror in her chamber. She shed the babydoll, letting it pool at her feet. Naked except for the chains and stones, she flexed: muscles rippling with unnatural definition, skin glowing faintly with borrowed power.
She practiced her speed: a blur across the room, fan snapping open mid-motion, steel edges glinting. Then strength: she lifted the heavy oak dresser one-handed, set it down without a sound.
The French Maid System wasn't just about seduction anymore. It was evolution. Faster to evade rivals. Stronger to overpower them. Supernatural to outthink them.
And tonight, against the Crimson Corset, they would prove it.
Lila slipped back into her uniform, the sheer fabric clinging like a second skin. She tucked the fan into her garter—now edged with the same razor steel as Vespera's.
The rivalry had arrived.
The race was on.