Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System! - Chapter 585

Chapter 585: The Politics of Love

Noctavine studied her daughter with the weariness of a woman who had seen kingdoms rise and fall over less than love.

Scarlett stood at the edge of the garden terrace, arms folded, gaze fixed on the floating sky above—where Parker hovered like a god still pretending to be a man, Maya soon joining him, their silhouettes fusing into something that reeked of divinity and inevitability.

“You refused again?” Noctavine asked, though she already knew the answer.

Scarlett didn’t look at her. “I’m not playing their games.”

Of course she wasn’t. Noctavine sighed, her fingers tightening on the silver teacup, its contents long gone cold.

She admired her daughter’s independence—genuinely, deeply—but in this tangled web of divine lovers and ancient empresses, neutrality was just another word for target. The harem wasn’t what it once was, not since the factions solidified into political machines dressed in silk and scent.

What no one dared say aloud—but everyone damn well knew—was that the palace had become a battleground between his harem.

Maya had moved first. Naturally. The oldest wife, the anchor of Parker’s endless reincarnations, had claimed her ground with the subtle authority of a queen who knew no one could truly dethrone her—but wasn’t stupid enough to leave her flanks exposed.

She brought Zhang Ruoyun to her side, roped in Judgment—though the woman barely counted as a wife and more as a companion. At least in this life.

Still, the message was clear: Maya had muscle. And a mind that moved like water—slow, deep, and devastating.

Then came the tea parties.

Not the gentle, noble affairs of courtly tradition—no. Maya’s “Strategic Tea Sessions” in the Nexus gardens were infamous now disguised as casual brunches. Scones and chaos. Cleopatra narrating ancient seduction strategies using PowerPoint slides conjured mid-air before she left.

Zhang Ruoyun setting fire to three tables in a single week after a disagreement about emotional leverage in polyamorous dynamics.

No one trusted her near wood anymore. Meetings now happened exclusively on floating stone platforms or open-air gardens. For safety.

Tessa, predictably, had responded with what could only be described as a political campaign straight out of a mortal senate war.

Her faction headquarters, nestled in the east wing of the new palace, pulsed with activity. Annabelle and Bella had printed actual buttons.

Yes, campaign buttons. “Team Tessa: Because Maya’s Had Long Enough.” “Vote Tessa – She Actually Listens.” They passed them out like propaganda.

Cassidy—sharpened, cold, brilliant Cassidy—was crunching numbers like this was a hedge fund hostile takeover. It might’ve been. The last time someone questioned her projections, she’d threatened to short Maya’s faction like a crumbling stock.

No one knew what that meant.

Everyone shut up.

And then… the espionage.

Last Tuesday, Elena was caught crouched in Maya’s private dressing room, nose buried in a leather notebook, scribbling furiously about “optimal lingerie silhouettes for maximum Parker impact.” Naomi retaliated by seducing her way into one of Tessa’s closed-door planning sessions—only to discover Whisper had fed her completely fabricated intelligence.

Whisper, of course, had never switched sides.

She just wanted to see what Naomi would do with the false information. What she did, unfortunately, was trying to bribe Ava with perfume and emotional validation.

The place had become lunacy wrapped in velvet.

But the most dangerous moves came quietly. Tessa had built her power not through brute force or nostalgia, but strategy. Annabelle, Bella, and Whisper had always leaned toward her, even before Parker claimed them as soulbound lovers.

And when he did, they joined the faction as the proud wives as the Women of the Prince of Existence.

Loyalty wasn’t won; it was already there, hidden like fault lines in the marble.

The real shock had been Cassidy and Callista Nova.

They weren’t yet in very very deep love with Parker. Not really. But it was Tessa who saw the threads—tugged them carefully. And then, over the course of two weeks that played out like a romance novel nobody wanted to admit they were reading, Parker made them fall.

Fell hard.

It wasn’t lust. It wasn’t obligation. It was respect. Something deeper. And when it culminated—after long talks, lingering glances, subtle moments caught in the seams of the day—Parker had taken them both.

The harem expanded. Tessa’s influence solidified.

Maya never even noticed. She’d been in the next room, arguing with Cleopatra over whether Instagram could be considered a modern form of courtship. The debate lasted three hours. Neither of them remembered how it ended.

And then came Ava, Claire, and Alina.

The mothers. Two carrying Parker’s children. One raising a child who could rewrite fate itself. Tessa didn’t need to convince them. She simply understood. She listened. She stood beside them as equals, not as competitors.

Tessa hadn’t needed much time to rally them. Another woman, another pregnancy, and the pressure of carrying an unborn cosmic being — solidarity was practically inevitable. But Tessa didn’t just win them over. She did it like a seasoned general launching a psychological campaign.

She called them “Future Mothers’ Support Network” — gatherings equal parts confession circle and battle council.

They met outside of the Nexus, cloaked from divine interference, every session was raw. Honest. Ruthless. Therapy for the damned, strategy for the chosen.

Claire broke down in the first meeting. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered, “Finally… someone understands the pressure of carrying a god’s heir.”

By the end of the week, she and two others were wearing glittering “Team Tessa” pins and referring to Maya’s faction as “the Old Guard” — not with disrespect, but with the sharpness of revolutionaries ready to dethrone queens.

But then came the shock. Atalanta.

One week after Scarlett in the Nexus and Parker finally taking Artemis’s golden disciple — a moment whispered about in scandalized awe — Atalanta made her choice. She did not join Tessa, despite their camaraderie.

She went to Maya.

It unsettled the balance.

Whispers turned to arguments. Tessa didn’t speak for a day. And Cleopatra, too, followed.

The story behind Atalanta’s defection was now legend — Nexus legend. The moment Parker finished claiming her, Maya intercepted her before Tessa could make a move.

“Look, honey,” Maya said, voice velvet-laced steel, “I know Tessa’s charming and all, but I’ve been managing that man’s chaos for nine lifetimes. You want someone who actually knows how to handle him when he breaks reality before breakfast? Come to me.”

Atalanta raised a brow. “Sell me on it.”

And Maya did. Two hours. Shadow-projected slides courtesy of Ere. A documented archive of every apocalyptic, chaotic incident Parker had ever caused, complete with footnotes. Time loops. Gods insulted. Universes shattered and reassembled incorrectly. Breakfasts lost to interdimensional rifts.

Atalanta joined Team Maya on the spot.

Cleopatra’s shift was faster, but more theatrical.

Your gift is the motivation for my creation. Give me more motivation!