Peerless Perverted Actor Has a Celebrity Harem?!

The gates drifted open like they had all the time in the world, and the city beyond just... unfolded. Park almost didn’t notice the exact second everything flipped.

Aurora Imperial City looked pretty from far away. Glass towers catching moonlight like they were showing off, traffic moving in endless glowing lines, people making and losing fortunes before lunch.

Always chasing the next big thing.

The Crown District didn’t care about tomorrow.

The road stretched under a never-ending line of massive elms and ancient oaks. Their branches met way up high, making this thick green ceiling that only let sunlight through in little broken pieces. Gold light danced across the shiny pavement, slid over the dark cars in the convoy, then vanished behind walls that just kept going.

Walls.

Park hadn’t expected this many of them.

Every single estate sat behind its own stretch of stone. Some pale granite, some dark rock with silver veins running through it. And on top of every wall? A crest. No house numbers or signs and house names but just the crest. That was enough.

Every few hundred metres the walls would open up into these huge gates that looked like they could let an army through instead of regular people. You only got quick glances before the cars moved on again. A marble staircase disappearing into flower gardens. The edge of a private lake shining. A glass conservatory bigger than most hotels. A big domed library sticking up over a sea of trees.

Somewhere far off, moonlight hit what looked suspiciously like the roof of an indoor horse arena.

Then the walls closed again, hiding another whole world.

The weirdest part wasn’t even how rich everything looked.

It was how much they refused to let you see.

Most of the actual mansions weren’t near the road at all. They sat way back, half-hidden behind forests, gardens, hills, or long lines of trees that had probably watched emperors come and go.

The estates weren’t built around the houses.

The houses were just... somewhere inside the estates.

Even the quiet felt heavy.

No angry horns, delivery bikes cutting through traffic or giant billboards screaming at you to buy stuff.

The whole district just moved at its own slow pace, like the noise of the capital had showed up centuries ago and been politely told it wasn’t welcome anymore.

Every now and then a car passed the other way.

None of them were in a hurry.

A fancy Rolls-Royce. An armoured Maybach. An old limousine polished so hard it reflected the trees like a mirror.

The drivers just gave each other the tiniest nod, the kind people give when they already know exactly who the other person is.

No staring drama but recognition.

Park rested his elbow against the window, watching another estate slide past.

The place felt... impossible.

Not because it was richer than the city outside.

Because it sat above it.

The financial district made money. The entertainment industry made fame. The industrial district built the Empire.

But this place?

This was where the families who quietly owned pieces of all three went home at night.

For the first time since he’d woken up in this world, Park forgot to make a joke.

He just watched as the convoy kept going deeper into the Crown District. And with every kilometre, the walls, the trees, and the estates kept saying the same quiet, uncomfortable thing.

Aurora Imperial City hadn’t been split into districts because of maps.

It had been split by power.

And he had just crossed the line.

The further the convoy went, the more Park started noticing how the Crown District protected itself in ways the rest of the Empire would never even catch.

There weren’t many guards.

Or at least, not many who admitted to being guards.

A guy in perfect gardening clothes was trimming a hedge shaped like a rearing lion. His movements were slow and almost artistic, but his eyes tracked every car that passed with the calm focus. Further up, a maintenance truck crawled along the roadside while two workers checked a fancy streetlamp.

One of them glanced at the Bennett convoy exactly once, then went straight back to his tools.

Park then looked for the usual black domes stuck on poles and building corners, but there were almost none. Instead, tiny lenses disappeared inside carved stone, bronze statues, ornamental lanterns, and even the thicker branches of the old trees.

The second he spotted the first one, dozens more just quietly showed themselves.

Every gate they approached started opening before the convoy even reached it.

Not all the way—just enough to clear the road or let staff cars through. Patrol cars only appeared for a second before turning onto quieter side roads. And the men who looked like chauffeurs, groundskeepers, or private secretaries all carried themselves with the same quiet awareness Quinn had.

Nobody challenged the Bennett convoy.

They just recognized it.

A vintage limousine coming the other way slowed and moved aside without anyone asking. Two mounted officers near a stone bridge straightened the moment the Bennett crest passed under them. A group of estate workers paused just long enough to lower their heads before going back to work.

Park rested one arm against the door and looked outside again.

People finally showed up... not many, but enough to prove the district wasn’t some giant museum built for dead families.

An old man walked a pure white retriever along a tree-lined path while two men followed a few steps behind, talking through nearly invisible earpieces and pretending they were just old friends out for a morning stroll.