Putting down Lyra's call, I turn to Sera, who is trailing delicate kisses across my bare back, each touch like butterfly wings against my skin.

  She pauses, eyebrow arched with elegant concern. Having overheard my mention of tomorrow's first flight, her eyes search mine.

  "So soon?" she asks, her voice a velvet whisper. "Has something happened there?"

  I nod, shoulders tensing slightly. "Ruby politics shift like clouds before a storm."

  Then I soften, offering her a smile that belies my concerns. "But there's nothing I can't navigate."

  Something in my confidence touches her. I watch as admiration blooms across her features.

  "You have grown up," she sighs, her words carrying quiet approval that warms me from within.

  Soon, our lips meet in a consuming, unhurried kiss. Our tongues dance—tasting, exploring—the slow burn of desire building between us.

  Our bodies press closer, skin against warm skin. My arms encircle her slender waist while hers trace the contours of my shoulders. Our breasts meet, soft against soft, sending electric currents through my core. My toes glide along the silk of her calves as her hands find my hips, her fingers pressing with just enough urgency to convey her hunger.

  It's 11pm. Sensuous jazz plays on the sound system, scented candles heightening the excitement.

  She rolls over on top of me, the length of our bodies rubbing against each other.

  Then, knowing I have a long day ahead tomorrow, Sera breaks our connection. She sits up, moonlight casting silver highlights across her naked form. There's something different in her eyes tonight—a tenderness mixed with determination.

  “Don't worry. I’ll take care of your project here. The stablecoin will launch in time.” she whispers, reaching for massage oil from her nightstand drawer.

  “Thank you, sister. I'm lucky to have you.” My reply is turning onto moaning, under the touch of her oil-soaked hands.

  She works her way from my feet to my calves, and then to my thighs, warm oil tranforms her touch into liquid silk.

  Then she places her hand over my crotch, sending tingling sensations through me. Her fingers part my wet lips as she draws them upward to caress my clit.

  I raise my hips in silent encouragement, wanting—needing—more pressure, more friction. My breathing grows shallow as pleasure builds, coiling tight within me.

  Behind closed eyelids, I surrender to sensation, to this not so sisterly love between us.

  We both need this. Though still rivals, we must collaborate. We need a bond that transcends sisterhood—a trust that cultivates tender feelings between us.

  The bond formed in these moments feels unbreakable. More than physical pleasure, this exchange creates something foundational between us—one built on vulnerability and shared desire.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  She cups my breast with her free hand, then lower her face to kiss the other. She teases my aeriola with her tongue, her tongue tracing deliberate circles around my nipple before drawing it between her lips. The dual sensation makes me clutch the sheets, my body responding with a will of its own.

  I reach beneath where she is sitting, finding her wet heat with my fingers. As she draws my nipple deeper into her mouth, I mirror her movements, circling her swollen bud. Our bodies establish a rhythmic conversation—each touch answered, each pleasure reciprocated.

  Her response is immediate—the hand between my thighs grows more insistent. I gasp as she slides one finger inside me, then withdraws only to return with two. My breathing fractures into ragged pants, soft moans punctuating each exhalation.

  The fingers searching for my G-spot, while her thumb keeps busy on my clit. I follow her lead, mirroring these movements against her own slick flesh, delighting in the tremors that pass through her body.

  Our sounds blend in the candlelit room—sighs and moans creating their own melody above the jazz still playing softly. I feel her wetness increasing against my palm, her body's eloquent response to my touch.

  But then she shifts away, beyond my reach. Before I can protest the loss, she repositions herself between my thighs, her intentions clear in the hunger darkening her eyes.

  I surrender to her completely, focusing solely on the exquisite sensations she creates. She takes each of my lips between hers and suck on them. My fingers tangle in her hair, not directing, just connecting as her hand reaches up to caress my breast, teasing the already sensitive peak.

  Her tongue draws long strokes licking just beneath my clit—building anticipation with each near miss.

  My moans grow louder, less controlled, as pleasure builds toward something inevitable and overwhelming.

  She demonstrates exquisite control, her movements precisely calibrated. Each time I approach the precipice, she eases back, prolonging the journey, intensifying the destination.

  "Please, Sera, please," I finally beg, my voice barely recognizable, my hands clutching her hair with desperate need.

  When release finally comes, it crashes through me with stunning force. Yet she continues, her tongue relentless against my oversensitized flesh, drawing out waves of pleasure so intense they border on torment. My cries echo through the room, loud enough that I briefly wonder about her husband sleeping in the guest bedroom.

  When clarity returns, I find her watching me with unmistakable satisfaction illuminating her features.

  "Little sister," she murmurs, her voice husky with affection, "do you like the parting gift I gave you?"

  I nod with childlike enthusiasm, overcome with gratitude and lingering pleasure—as though she's presented me with something far more precious than any material offering.

  … …

  The morning air feels brittle, like something about to snap. I call Grandpa before sunrise. Tell him I am leaving.

  He doesn’t argue. He knows how volatile things may become in the Ruby Republic. Still, he insists on meeting me at the airport. Some things, he says, shouldn’t be handed over through intermediaries.

  In the first-class lounge, he sets the metallic briefcase between us. It gleams under the soft lighting—clinical, deliberate. I don’t need to open it. I already know.

  Lyra’s blood.

  I picture her waiting at the destination gate, her eyes scanning the crowd until they land on me. She’ll ask what’s in the case. I’ll hesitate. I’ll lie. Or maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll tell her the truth and watch something fragile fracture between us.

  Grandpa leans in, his voice low and surgical. “CRISPR isn’t the foundation,” he says. “This is.”

  He holds my gaze, his eyes boring into mine as if trying to brand the words permanently into me.

  I nod, a storm of conflicting emotions churning inside me. Longevity without suffering. That’s what matters to him. Not legacy. Not love. He never meant to pass the mantle to us. We’re couriers. Vessels. Heirs only in the sense that we deliver him into eternity.

  I can’t say that to Sera. But she feels it. She always does. That’s why we could make up by making love—through the one ritual unites human hearts.

  Now, with the Ruby Republic and Lyra ahead, I wonder if my sacrifices meant anything. The humiliation. The torturous games. The loss of innocence. Now that I know the heir story was just a myth to keep me loyal.

  The question gnaws at me.

  But I have a long flight. And maybe, somewhere over the ocean, I’ll decide whether I’m still chasing success—or just trying to outrun the truth.