Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!

Tessa, in that midnight dress that looked painted onto starlight, already halfway across the ballroom by the time people realized they'd moved. She crashed into him with a small, delighted squeal, gripping his arm like he was gravity and everything else was fake.

"You came for me honey," she said against his chest.

Parker looked down at her, then to the stunned guests. "Hope y'all weren't attached to Ashford property values," he said casually, like snapping entire families out of their own estates was a Tuesday errand.

Luciano Wilder cleared his throat. The old man looked ten years younger now that the weight of betrayal had shifted off his shoulders. He raised a hand, and the room stilled with a hush sharp enough to slice diamonds and took a sip.

He looked directly at Parker, then at Tessa beside him—beaming, electric, a woman who'd spent her whole life being bartered now finally chosen.

"Give your blessings to the couple, y'all. My granddaughter, Tessa Wilder… and Parker."

There was a second of stunned silence.

Then chaos.

Maya blinked slowly, sipping her champagne with ancient queen levels of calm. "This doesn't affect me."

Tessa gasped. "You don't even care?!"

"I care," Maya replied. "I just don't emote like you. Or wear dresses made of sparkles and ambition."

"Jealousy is not a good look, grandma," came Annabelle, already halfway into Tessa's side like she was going to pull her into a headlock of love and chaos. "Let the girl shine."

Bella and Whisper flanked them seconds later like backup dancers in a heist movie.

Bella smirked. "It's about time someone put a ring on the chaos god."

Whisper, Princess of Shadowmires, tilted her head at Tessa and deadpanned as she raised her glass, "To the lucky girl who gets to die of stress for the rest of eternity. Cute."

Luciano groaned, but there was laughter underneath it.

Zhang Ruoyun stood a few paces behind Maya, arms folded, one eyebrow slightly raised. She hadn't said a single word—but the look on her face made it clear: if anyone dared interrupt this moment, they would be fed to a black hole.

Parker, despite being at the center of it all, said absolutely nothing. Just watched them—his women, his family, the origin of his entire universe—descend into chaos over a party-turned-engagement.

"Do I get a say in any of this?" he finally asked, deadpan.

"No," said every woman in the room. Even Whisper nodded solemnly.

Luciano raised his drink. "To the future Queen of Existence—and to the Wilders finally having in-laws who can bend reality. Try topping that, Ashfords."

People laughed. Drinks were raised.

But across the room, Dominic Ashford and Aleric stood near the shadows, not part of the celebration. Dominic's jaw was clenched so tight he looked like a granite sculpture about to crack.

"You ruined us," he muttered to Aleric.

"No, you did," Aleric said quietly, nursing what remained of his dignity.

Then a sharp snap sounded again.

The chandelier shifted. Lights dimmed and realigned. Soft music started to float through the room, some perfect waltz that no one could identify but felt ancient and royal.

Someone whispered, "Did he just… shift the mood of the room?"

"He doesn't need a DJ," Annabelle said. "He is the vibe."

Tessa's dress caught the starlight, and Parker—serious, composed, divine—followed her lead for once. Around them, the Wilders danced. Even Helena allowed Robert to offer his hand.

And Annabelle? She stood just off-center, a drink in hand, gaze locked on Parker. Not with jealousy.

With awe.

With something she couldn't name yet.

It was just music.

Just her.

And he thought: 'Let them try and take this from me.'

The Wilder mansion glowed on.

And far above, for reasons no one could name, a few stars moved slightly out of place—as if making room.

The quartet drifted into something slow‑but‑not‑boring—strings with a sneaky little backbeat—and Tessa felt Parker's fingers lace through hers. Same hand, same warmth, but the weight behind it was different now: not the teenage boy who used to count steps under his breath, but the literal Prince of Existence who could probably out‑waltz gravity if he felt like it.

He eased her like it was nothing, like he'd been doing this since dinosaurs were trending. Which, technically, he had.

"Déjà vu?" he murmured, settling a palm at her waist. The contact buzzed like live wire.

Tessa huffed a laugh. "More like whiplash. I spent a whole night teaching you a basic foxtrot, remember? You stepped on my toes so hard I thought I'd need steel‑toe heels." How could she forget that night she tried to teach him how to dance.

"Guilty," he said—then steered them into a turn so smooth Tessa forgot to breathe. No counting, no hesitation, just muscle memory baked by a few billion candle‑lit galactic galas.

She shot him a look. "You've been holding out on me."

"Billions of years of practice comes at you fast," he deadpanned. "Perk of dating the geriatric crowd."

"Oh wow, self‑drag," she snorted. "Maybe I should hand you back to Maya—she's got the eternity mileage to keep up."

Across the floor, Maya rolled her eyes so hard it might've sparked a minor quake. "Please, niña—I got married when this planet was magma. You keep the antique."

Annabelle, posted up with a flute of champagne, smirk‑whispered to Bella and Whisper, "Translation: she's low‑key jealous that someone else is on Parker‑sitting duty."

Tessa nudged his shoulder with her own. "Kidding. There's a weird thrill in being engaged to the Handsomest Fossil Alive. And the dancing upgrade is a nice bonus."

He twirled her under his arm; her dress fanned out like a burst of nebula. "Admit it—you're in it for the elder wisdom."

"I'm in it for the abs, free cosmic healthcare, and oh, my... I love the sex so much." she shot back, breathless from the spin.

Near the punch fountain, Isabella Harrington nudged Diana Morello and stage‑whispered, "If being immortal comes with moves like that, I'm signing up. I'd risk a toe or two."

Diana raised her glass. "Screw toes—I'd risk a limb for a century‑old waltz tutor."

The comment made Tessa laugh mid‑dip. Parker heard it too; his grin flashed—sharp, pleased, a little wicked. He drew her closer, breath grazing her ear. "Tell them the application list is closed."

"I would," she said, "but it's fun watching you get auctioned like vintage wine."

"Hmm. Vintage? Try primordial." He spun her again, and this time she realized she wasn't guiding a single thing. He was in full cosmic autopilot, reading the room, the tempo, her heartbeat, all at once.

The strings swelled; the floor seemed to tilt just enough to suggest they might be dancing on a slow‑turning planet instead of polished marble. Guests shifted aside, mesmerized. Even Zhang Ruoyun paused her eternal vigilance to watch, arms folded, a hint of a Not‑bad glimmer in her storm‑grey eyes.

Tessa tucked her chin, trying—and failing—to smother another laugh. "Seriously, who are you and what did you do with the boy who looked confused every time I said 'five‑six‑seven‑eight'?"

"He evolved," Parker said, voice low, spinning her into a long glide. "And he got tired of counting steps when he could count supernovae instead."

"Show‑off."

"You love it."

"And apparently so does half this ballroom." She nodded toward the sidelines where Isabella and Diana were conferring like sports commentators; Annabelle had a hand cupped to her mouth, calling play‑by‑play to Bella and Whisper, complete with exaggerated footwork demonstratives.

Parker chuckled, the sound rolling down her spine. "Jealousy is a fine seasoning for an engagement party."

"Spoken like a man who's never had to share a bathroom shelf."

"True." A final twirl, then he drew her in until their foreheads almost touched. "But I'll build you your own galaxy‑sized vanity if it sweetens the deal."

She could have answered with a joke—another quip about his age, maybe—but the moment sank deeper. Music softened, lanterns dimmed; it felt like the rest of the world blurred out for two heartbeats.

"It already is sweet," she said quietly. "Even if my fiancé is basically older than dirt. And way better at this than I'll ever be."

His smile gentled. "Correction: older than stardust. And dancing's just physics in a tux. You're the one who makes it art."

Cheesy. Heart‑punching. Pure Parker.

She laughed, sealing the admission with a kiss to his cheek right as the music slid into its finishing chord. Applause burst around them—some polite, some downright rowdy, courtesy of their peanut gallery of semi‑immortal girlfriends.

Maya called out, "Nice footwork, Tessa! He didn't step on you once!"

Annabelle joined in: "That's growth, Parker! Only took a couple cosmic eons!"

Isabella added, "Whenever you're done, send him our way—we've got choreography needs!"

The lights lifted; Parker tucked a stray curl behind Tessa's ear, then offered her a mock bow so courtly it was almost obscene. She curtseyed back because when the Prince of Existence hands you a fairy‑tale, you lean into the drama.

They stepped aside as another couple took the floor, but the buzz lingered. Tessa's toes might still bruise tomorrow—just memory echoes of long‑ago lessons—but tonight they felt lighter than gravity, like dancing with him had rewired her balance.

Maybe dating a billions‑years‑old guy was weird.

Maybe it was perfect.

Either way? She was definitely keeping him away from the resale market.