Chapter 181: "Move in With Me"

’From zero to hero to villain, depending on perspective. But Madison’s right—the complete lack of shame makes it easier. The kind of ease that comes from knowing you could sell someone’s soul back to them and they’d thank you for it.’

"One more thing," Madison said. "This necklace? It’s perfect. Not because of what it cost, but because you chose it. You looked at it and thought of me."

"That’s how gifts work, Madison," I said, trying not to smirk like the charming little narcissist I was.

"No," she shook her head. "That’s how thoughtfulness works. There’s a difference. Between a boy who buys jewelry and a man who leaves women trembling in boardrooms and bedrooms."

"You know what’s funny?" she said. "Six months ago, I was just another trust fund princess dating for social status. Now I’m having dinner with Lincoln Heights’ most notorious bad boy while he plans to seduce half the female population."

"Only the neglected half," I clarified. "I have standards. Very high standards. For women, chaos, and dessert options."

"Right. Standards. Your standards include ’female’ and ’frustrated. Girlfriends, housewives and mothers’."

"You weren’t frustrated."

"No," she agreed. "I was curious. Turns out that’s even more dangerous. Much like giving a loaded gun to a sociopathic teen genius. Except sexier and with a big dick." We laughed at once.

Tomorrow would change things. The Voyeur job would make me professionally what I’d been becoming personally—someone who profited from desire, who traded in attention spans, hormones, and whispered secrets like they were stocks. But we all knew I was better than that and loved all my women.

She leaned over to kiss me, deep and promising, like she was already signing off on my empire of conquest. "But Sunday? After you’ve conquered Sofia and charmed the wellness center? I want every detail."

"Your."

"Guilty." She grinned against my lips. "So, you need rest for tomorrow’s campaign. Campaigns involve strategy, stamina, and style—three things you, Peter Carter, happen to have in excess and more."

’But tonight? Tonight, I’m just Peter Carter. Wearing a suit he couldn’t have afforded last month, sitting next to a woman I normally shouldn’t own, plotting revenge that would make Machiavelli furiously take notes. And of course, my liberation journey.

’Problems I never thought I’d have. But here we are. Tomorrow, I dominate professionally, personally, and politically. Tonight, I savor silver jewelry well-given, plans well-made, and the terrifying satisfaction that Madison Torres—queen, accomplice, and chaos enthusiast—understood exactly who I was becoming. And loved me anyway.’

*

The thing about juggling multiple women is realizing you’ve basically become a walking, texting circus act.

Sitting across from Madison at Le Bernardin, my phone buzzed like a dying wasp with three separate notifications—Isabella sending "lecture notes" that were basically euphemisms, Luna double-checking the schedule for tomorrow’s "session," and Janet casually asking if I’d be gracing her presence tonight.

’Three women. Three desires. One brain that’s already short-circuiting.’

Of all my women, Janet was the most surprising less contradiction.

Unlike Madison with her family empire to consider, Isabella with her teaching career and marriage, or Luna with her mother’s expectations, Janet had no chains holding her back. She lived alone, worked her corporate job with the dedication of someone filling time rather than building a career, and had been doing so for years.

The void in her life wasn’t just sexual—it was deeper, carved by something she’d only hinted at in our conversations.

"I used to avoid men," she’d told me one night, curled against my chest in her minimalist apartment. "For a long time, I couldn’t even stand being alone with one."

She didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t push. Some traumas didn’t need detailed explanation to be understood. The way she’d flinch at unexpected touches, how she always needed to see the exit, the careful way she’d test boundaries before relaxing—it all painted a picture I could read without background checks.

’Someone hurt her. Badly. And she’s been running from it ever since.’

What surprised me most was how she hadn’t pushed me away that first time in the bathroom. A woman with her history should have fled from a stranger’s aggressive approach. Instead, she’d melted into it, like she’d been waiting for someone to breach her carefully constructed walls.

When I’d asked about it during one of our sessions, she’d laughed shyly and hidden her face against my chest, hips never stopping their rhythm as she rode me.

"You felt safe," she’d whispered eventually. "I don’t know why. You just did."

’The system knew. Somehow it identified not just sexual frustration but emotional need. Janet needed someone to trust, and I became that person.’

The conversation that changed everything happened last week. I’d been visiting her apartment—the third time that week—when I made the offer.

"Move in with me."

She’d stopped mid-motion, looking down at me with those eyes that held too much history. "Peter..."

"I’m serious. I have more space than I know what to do with. You wouldn’t have to be alone anymore."

"I can’t just quit my job—"

"I’m not asking you to." I’d pulled her down for a kiss, tasting her uncertainty. "In fact, I have a position that needs filling. Similar pay, better benefits, and you’d be working directly with me."

"What kind of position?"

"That’s a surprise for when I move into the estate. But trust me, it’s perfect for your skill set than working at the mall."

It had taken hours of convincing, mixed with the kind of persuasion that left us both breathless, but she’d finally agreed. Janet would be moving into the Vampire House next week, taking on a role I hadn’t told anyone about yet.

’Director of Operations for my growing empire. Someone to manage the legitimate ’businesses’ while I handle the supernatural side.’

Unlike Isabella and Luna, who remained unaware of each other, Janet knew everything. Every woman, every identity, every plan. She’d become my confidant in ways like my queen Madison, offering the perspective of someone who’d survived real trauma and come out the other side.

"Speaking of your empire," Madison said now, pulling me back to the present, "our guests are here."