My Taboo Harem!-Chapter 343: The Dravenna Games and Hope

The Ashford Elite Academy Stadium was not a usual stadium.

It was a cathedral.

A monument to excess built by people who had more money than God and twice the ego. A structure that made professional NBA arenas of this world look like high-school gyms and seem quaint, that existed solely because the Ashford family had once decided their students deserved better than ordinary—and then decided the universe deserved to witness it.

The ceiling soared sixty feet overhead—a void of matte black punctuated by hundreds of industrial lights that cast the court below in brilliant, surgical white. No exposed beams. No cheap fluorescents.

Just darkness above and radiance below, like the court was floating in space itself, a lone planet orbiting in arrogant isolation.

The design was aggressive. Modern. Intimidating.

Sweeping black curves dominated the walls—massive architectural waves that flowed from floor to ceiling like frozen tsunamis, their surfaces gleaming with that polished obsidian finish that cost more per square foot than most estates in Downtown Paradise.

Between the waves, enormous LED screens stretched floor to ceiling, currently displaying the Ashford Academy crest in rotating 3D—a dragon coiled around a crown, scales rendered in such detail you could count each one, each claw, each ridge, each glint of predatory intelligence.

The court itself was a work of art.

Pale hardwood—premium maple, imported, sanded to silk—formed the playing surface, but the boundaries weren’t painted in ordinary lines. Black curved dramatically across the wood in bold, sweeping arcs that echoed the walls’ design, turning the court into a living extension of the architecture.

The center court logo wasn’t just printed; it was inlaid, the Ashford crest embedded directly into the wood with materials that probably cost thousands a meter, black onyx, violet-tinted crystal that caught the light and threw it back in wicked, shifting refractions.

Two regulation hoops stood at either end, their glass backboards so clear they seemed invisible, their rims regulation orange—the only splash of color in the entire monochrome palace, sharp and defiant like a warning.

Seating rose in steep, dramatic tiers on all sides. Thousands of seats. Tens of thousands. Black cushioned chairs with individual armrests, each one worth more than a month’s rent in Downtown Paradise.

The lower sections closest to the court were premium—wider seats, more legroom, cup holders built into the armrests that could chill drinks to precise temperatures. The upper sections climbed toward the darkness of the ceiling in vertiginous rows that made you dizzy just looking up at them, vertigo turning into awe.

And then there were the VIP booths.

Suspended along the upper rim of the arena like glass boxes hanging in the void, each booth was a private kingdom unto itself. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered unobstructed views of the court below.

Interior lighting was customizable—warm gold for some, cool blue for others, depending on the occupant’s preference.

Leather seating.

Private bars stocked with bottles that cost more than cars. Personal attendants waiting just outside the soundproofed doors, ready to materialize with champagne or caviar or silence.

This was where Paradise’s elite sat.

The Main Families.

The ones whose names were carved into the foundations of this city, whose wealth made millionaires look like beggars, whose influence shaped everything from local politics to global markets.

They didn’t sit with the common folk.

They watched from above. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

Like gods observing mortals scramble for entertainment.

Dravenna Ashford watched from her personal booth.

The largest one. The most central. The one that offered a perfect, unobstructed view of every inch of the court below. She sat in a leather chair custom-fitted to her measurements, legs crossed, silk robe slipping just enough to bare the elegant line of her collarbone and the swell of her breast.

A glass of wine in her hand—red, deep, expensive enough to buy small countries—rested lightly between manicured fingers.

Her expression was carved from ice.

But her eyes—

Her eyes gleamed.

She’d played her part. Every piece moved into position with surgical precision. The Pride Card deployed against the Heavenchilds. The stadium opened for use. The media circus orchestrated to maximum effect.

The whole world watching, waiting, holding their breath for what was about to unfold.

She took a slow sip of her wine—lips leaving a perfect crimson imprint on the glass—then set it down on the armrest with deliberate calm.

Her assistant—young, nervous, clipboard clutched like a shield—hovered near the door.

"Ma’am... the feed will be live in three minutes. Also, the board is asking if you commentary muted or—"

Dravenna didn’t look at him.

"Leave."

Now it was Phei’s turn.

Because if he failed—

Dravenna Ashford took a slow sip of her wine—deep crimson, expensive enough to buy silence from gods, from Melissa’s shop. Bitch has the best wine here—and let the liquid sit on her tongue before swallowing.

If he failed, she went back to serving the prince.

That was what this was about. What it had always been about. Not some high-school rivalry. Not some petty dick-measuring contest between Legacy kids playing at dominance.

This was about her freedom. Her future. The chains the Heavenchilds had wrapped around her throat for years, the leash they held that kept the Dragoness tethered to their will like a prized hunting bitch.

Phei was the key.

Marcus Heavenchild was the lock.

Should the Prince of Earth fail to handle one charity-case boy on his own—should he prove incapable of crushing a nobody in front of the entire world—gaps would appear. Cracks in the Heavenchild armor that had seemed impenetrable for so long.

And Dravenna would slip through those cracks like smoke through fingers.

Then she’ll be free to be the Dravenna she was supposed to be to Phei.

The other families would see it too. A fall of a giant. An heir who couldn’t handle a single nobody. Whispers would start. Doubts would fester. The wide net the Heavenchilds had cast over her—over the Ashfords—would develop a wide hole.

A hole for her draconic talons to grip.

To tear through like a hot knife through tofu.

Yes, the Heavenchilds would still be powerful. Insanely powerful. The most powerful family in the world, they were called, and for good reason.

She couldn’t go against them directly. Couldn’t challenge them openly. Couldn’t do anything so foolish as to declare war on a dynasty that had crushed empires like stepping on ants.

But that wasn’t her business.

Her business was simpler.

As Dean of Ashford Elite Academy—as an Ashford herself, even if only an Immediate branch member—she would have no business bending for the prince anymore. No reason to kowtow. No obligation to serve as their lapdog in exchange for peace or holding back on Phei either.

They’d still have leverage, of course. They always did. But after today?

After today, using that leverage would mean war with the Ashfords.

And the Heavenchilds, powerful as they were, sat at the top of a very specific hierarchy. Most powerful family in the world, yes. But the Ashfords were right below them. Second only to some mysterious family no one knew much about—old money so old it had become myth, influence so deep it had become invisible.

Even the Heavenchilds couldn’t afford a war with the Ashfords when the game wasn’t in their favor.

Dravenna sighed—soft, almost amused.

My little dragon will win.

For this game. For her and Phei... she’d agreed to let them use this stadium—the crown jewel of Ashford Academy’s athletic facilities, normally reserved for championship games or when professional teams paid obscene rental fees to play on its legendary court.

She’d done her part.

Now it was his turn.

The seats filled fast.

Students poured through the lower entrances in excited waves, claiming the sections closest to the court with the territorial aggression of people who’d paid good money and weren’t about to let outsiders steal their views.

These were Paradise Academy students—the ones who’d watched this drama unfold from the beginning, who’d seen Phei transform from invisible nobody to whatever the fuck he was now, who’d placed their bets and picked their sides and were ready to scream themselves hoarse.

So, they’d paid the premium few of $1000 which wasn’t even 0.000000001% of money they spent a day, so they could sit at the front. That’s like 2,000 of the student body.

Behind them came the Downtown Paradise residents. The obscenely wealthy parents. The curious socialites, moguls, A-listers, young millionaires who didn’t mind paying $500 for Paradise drama. The business executives who’d cleared their afternoon schedules because watching a Heavenchild potentially humiliated was worth more than a single board meeting.

As for the outsiders?

Outsiders could be damned.

The few who’d managed to secure tickets through gates found themselves in the nosebleed sections, staring at the giant screens just to see what was happening on the court below. This wasn’t their world.

They were lucky to be here at all—lucky the Ashfords hadn’t simply declared the game "Paradise Only" and barred the riffraff. But Paradise loved its spectacle, even when the spectacle was a charity-case boy about to get publicly executed by a Heavenchild prince.

Soon, every seat was filled.

Two hundred thousand people packed into a space that hummed with anticipation, their voices blending into a single roar of white noise that made the air itself vibrate. The screens flickered—showing crowd shots, replaying clips of Phei’s challenge declaration with dramatic slow-motion and bass-heavy music, cutting to the empty court where history was about to be made (or broken).

And then—