The laughter that erupted wasnât nervous. It wasnât fake. It was the kind of laughter that tastes like gasoline before the match hits. Joy, lust, anticipationâseven women already mine, already orbiting, already waiting for the finale.
And me? I wasnât just Peter Carter anymore. I was the ringmaster of the most dangerous, unholy, god-tier circus on Earth.
"Actually," Anya said, business brain clicking, "I want to start a bet on how many women heâs going to add to our group while heâs in Miami."
Without hesitation, I dove in first. "Iâll bet ten hundred thousand dollars that Iâm getting absolutely nobody."
Seven pairs of eyes froze like Iâd just said I was switching to Android. Thenâdetonation. The whole call burst into laughter, the kind that makes neighbors bang on walls.
"Youâre betting against yourself?" Luna asked, scandalized like Iâd just confessed to using 2014 hashtags in 2025.
"Free money!" Janet whooped. "Iâm definitely taking that bet."
"Since we all know heâs definitely getting at least one woman, we should all be winners," Elena said matter-of-factly. "So we divide the money equally, right?"
Madison smirked like Wall Streetâs evil twin. "Or we make it interestingâeveryone puts in money, but whoever guesses the exact number gets fifty percent of the pot."
"You guys seriously donât think I can show some fucking restraint?" I asked, mock offended, clutching my imaginary pearls.
Every face turned toward me with the same look my mom gave me when I said Iâd only have
one drink
.
"Not when it comes to women," Victoria said flatly, like a court ruling.
"Absolutely not," Anya chimed in.
"Zero chance," Isabella deadpanned.
It was like being roasted on Comedy Central, except the panel was my personal harem.
"The fuck! You donât think I can restrain myself?"
They didnât even dignify that with words. Just synchronized headshakes, like Iâd asked if Kanye was about to have a chill year.
I laughed and grabbed my other phoneâyeah, plural phones, donât judgeâsending ten grand to Isabella, Janet, and Luna. "Alright, you beautiful degenerates, put your money where your mouths are."
Isabella and Janet slapped down two grand each, grinning like Powerball winners about to buy tacky yachts. The wellness center crew followed, and then Madison went nuclear: ten thousand on me bagging three women total.
"Three in one night?" Anya scoffed. "Thatâs not even physically possible."
Janet nearly spit her wine. "You clearly donât know our man yet. He pulled you three in one
day
at the wellness center, and that was before he even clocked in for work."
That shut Anya up real quick.
"You know what?" Janet declared, eyes blazing with milf-confidence. "Fuck it, Iâm betting on eleven women by the time heâs back. Maybe one just for tonight."
My grin split wide. "I love you, Janet! You have such beautiful expectations for me. Youâre basically the Disney adult of my sex life."
Watching seven goddesses casually place Vegas-style bets on my ability to rack up more women was surreal. This wasnât fantasy. This wasnât fanfic. This was my goddamn life: a harem who didnât just tolerate my chaosâthey bet money on the expansion pack.
Only my Ghost was missing from this perfect cast list.
"Iâll make it up to all of you when I get back," I promised, and for once, I meant it.
One by one, they lined up their demandsâfull nights with me, solo time, no sharing, no interruptions.
But when Janetâs turn came? She broke the script.
"All I want," Janet said, voice dipping softer, almost fragile, "is to move in with you. I want to sleep in your arms every night, kiss that beautiful face every morning when I wake up..."
She cut herself off before it got too teary, but the longing in her voice hit like a sucker punch. For once, the call went dead quiet. Seven women, one confession, and meâthe bastard at the center of it.
"What does Janet mean about moving in?" Luna asked gently, like we were on some emotionally raw
Oprah
special instead of the horniest group chat in history.
"Iâm acquiring a new place soon," I said, letting the words hang heavy. "Big enough for all my women and all my business operations. Basically, headquarters for everything Iâm building."
"Headquarters," Madison added with a grin sharp enough to cut steel. "Thatâs where the Church of Sexual Liberation will be based."
The call erupted in laughter, but it was nervous laughterâthe kind people do when theyâre not sure if itâs a joke. Spoiler: it wasnât.
"I want to move in too," Anya said instantly, like sheâd just pressed the buzzer on
Family Feud
. Victoria and Elena nodded in quick agreement.
"Iâd love to," Luna whispered wistfully. "But I canât. Not right now. With my situation."
Then came Isabella. And the look on her face... yeah. We all knew. Married. Kids. Responsibilities shackled to her ankle like realityâs ugliest ankle monitor.
Thatâs when Madison stepped in, pulling queen duty.
"I canât move in either," she said, steady but soft. "Even though Iâm his fiancĂ©e, it wouldnât be appropriate right now. Iâve got training with my father, a future business to run. Iâm not ready." She turned her gaze toward Isabella. "So that makes two of us."
Translation? Madison was benching herselfâvoluntarilyâfor Isabellaâs sake. Because make no mistake: as my fiancĂ©e, she couldâve moved in tomorrow. The Torres family wouldnât just approve, theyâd hire architects and security contractors like they were building the next Avengers Tower. But Madison gave that up. Not because she had to, but because she knew Isabella needed it.
And in that sacrifice, she crowned herself. Madison wasnât just my woman. She was my Queen.
The real prize...
Seven faces staring back at me through the screen. Each one beautiful. Each one mine. Each one willing to orbit the chaos of Peter Carter because deep down theyâd already accepted what we were.
And thatâs when it crystallized.
I wasnât just building a harem.
I was building a fucking empire.
Not the type in history books. The type future historians whisper about like a scandal. Rome burned. Kardashians divorced. Bieber got arrested. But this? This was Peter Carterâs dynasty.
And it was only the beginning.