Breakfast at the Carter household had mutated into a goddamn UN peace conference crossed with a telenovela feeding frenzyâwith me trapped at the center as the sacrificial lamb.
Tommy showed up around 10 AM dragging his mom like battle armor, and when Ms. Chen got the full downloadâthe API deal, the billionaire-bestie package, the whole "make my son rich" fairy taleâshe hit me with a full-frontal assault of traditional Asian mom gratitude.
Which meant bowing. Deep, soul-crushing, spine-liquifying bows that made me want to melt into the floorboards and die painfully.
Three times
.
Forehead nearly kissing my fucking knees
every time.
"Peter," she wheezed rising, hands clasped so tight her knuckles glowed bone-white like she was praying to
me
instead of some seventeen-year-old punk with supernatural dick energy and morally bankrupt life choices. "What youâve done for Tommy... I can never..." Her voice cracked, thick with tears and reverence. "This. I can never repay."
"Ms. Chen,
please
," I begged, feeling my face
combust
like that time I accidentally broadcast
***
Kardashians nudes on the church widescreen during Easter Mass. "Stop. Youâre literally my second mom. This is ritualistic humiliation."
And Christ, speak of mind-fucking tortureâthe woman was a goddess carved from midnight and expensive silk. Sorry, but facts were facts: Lily Chen was the goddamn
MILF MVP
of Lincoln Heights, and today sheâd declared open season on my sanity.
She sat across from me, afternoon light slamming into her skin like it had been summoned by her presence. The silk dressâdeep burgundy that probably cost more than your annual grocery budgetâclung like a second skin, declaring war on
decency.
It hugged her curves with a softness that felt like violenceâsilk whispering threats against
skin
, mapping every swell and dip with betraying precision.
Her breasts pressed into the fabric like ripe
watermelon
fruit straining against silk, full and natural, the burgundy depth making them look bruised, edible, the thin weave revealing the faint halo of areolas beneath, at least to meâ a delicate shadow that made the air around them feel thicker, charged.
Neckline screaming invitation not statementâa plunging V that wasnât daring, but devastating, cutting a clean line to the swell of cleavage, exposing the soft valley where collarbone met sternum, a dark shadowed hollow that promised secrets.
Her waist nipped in sharplyâ the subtle suggestion of corset boning visibly straining against her torso, carving an exaggerated hourglass that made the silk
work
to hold her, every breath making the fabric whisper rebellion against its task.
The taut pull drew the eye inevitably downward, where the slight flare of her hips beganâa gentle sway that wasnât movement but existence, a constant, hypnotic rhythm as the silk clung then released
over
the gentle jut of her hipbones.
Legs crossed with lethal graceâone knee slightly raised, the silk pulling taut across her thigh, revealing the hard line of muscle beneath, the curve so perfect it looked carved, not grown. The edge of her dress, where silk met skin at her knee, gleamed like a blade in the afternoon lightâa bright,
dangerous
slash against the deep burgundy.
Every inch of her was a battlefield of sensationâsoftness that cut, grace that killed, elegance that bled raw desire. The dress wasnât clothing; it was a confinement spell, and she was the sorceress barely contained within its whispers.
"Thank you for looking out for Tommy," she said, voice like honey poured over gravel, each word a deliberate caress on my mind that was already fucking her over the table, fuck, this needs to stop, right? "Heâs all I have."
Mom chimed in from the kitchen, brandishing a spatula like a fucking broadsword. "If he hadnât helped Tommy, Iâd have disowned him myself!"
Everyone swiveled to stare at Linda Carter, RNâ
ICU ward terror
with a
spatula scepter
.
"Iâm serious," Mom declared, pointing the spatula at me like it held court-martial power. "Tommyâs been looking out for Peter since they were five. Remember when those Morrison bastards tried to stuff Peter in a locker? Tommy
bit
one of them. Drew blood. Tetanus shot."
She smiledâa predatorâs flash of teethâat the memory. "Since then, I heard they never dared to bully my boy, ever! Thatâs family. And if my son didnât help family when they needed it, then he wouldnât be the son I raised." If she only knew.
The warmth in the room was almost suffocatingâa thick blanket of sentiment, obligation, and unspoken history.
Charlotte sat quietly in the corner, observing everything with those calculating eyesâtaking mental notes, filing away the dynamics, the alliances, the pressure points. Madison watched in rapt fascinationâthis was her first audience with the legendary Ms. Chen, the woman Iâd mentioned maybe three times in passing, always in hushed tones.
"Though, I am surprised to hear it only today... I didnât know Peter was engaged," Ms. Chen said suddenly, eyes sharpening like scalpels as they shifted to Madison, a predator scenting fresh game. "Such a beautiful girl. How did you meet?"
SMACK.
The sound of Ms. Chenâs hand connecting with the back of Tommyâs head
cracked
through the living room like a
gunshot
.
Tommyâs eyes went wide as dinner plates. "MOM."
"You didnât tell me Peter was ENGAGED?" She switched to rapid-fire Mandarinâguttural, furious, sharpâthat Iâm 99.7% certain contained at least twelve different ways to call him an idiot, ungrateful bastard, and disgrace to his ancestors. "Your best friend, your brother, gets engaged and you donât tell your mother?"
Tommy scrambled away from her reach, diving toward the couch where Emma sat, his body a panicked blur. "Itâs complicated! Theyâre not technicallyâOW! Mom,
stop
!"
Emma stiffened violently as Tommy landed next to herâher whole body locking rigid like high-voltage current had just been dumped into her spine.
She shifted with lightning speed, putting deliberate, desperate distance between them, gripping her water bottle so tight the plastic crackled under the pressure, whining like a threatening fuse.
Tommy noticed, his face falling like a stone monument collapsing, all the blood draining away. "Emma, Iâm notâ"
"Donât," she said quietly. Her voice was flatâemptied of everything, not cold but hollow, vacant. "I donât run a pity-party."
"Iâm not pitying you."
"Yes, you are." Her voice was still dead, toneless, but beneath the emptiness, something sharp and raw threatened to tear through. "Everyone is. Poor little Emma who gotâ"
She cut herself off mid-sentence, jaw clenching so hard a muscle jumped in her cheek, teeth grinding behind pale lips, swallowing the rest of the confession like poison.
"Thatâs notâ" Tommyâs voice cracked like crumbling concrete. "Emma, Iâve known you since you were in diapers. I changed your diapers when your mom was working and Peter was too busy playing video games to notice youâd shit yourself. Iâm not pitying you. Iâm worried about you. Thereâs a difference."
Fuck off buddy, she changed your diapers once, and Ms. Chen was there hovering like a goddamn helicopter parent. Your diaper-duty story belongs in the trash bin of exaggerations.
"I donât need your worry either," Emma shot back, but her voice waveredâfrayed at the
edges
like old rope.
"Too bad," Tommy said firmly. "Youâre stuck with it. Just like youâre stuck with me teaching you to code, and stuck with me making sure you eat actual food instead of living on Pop-Tarts, and stuck with me being here whether you want me or not."
Emmaâs eyes filled with tears she refused to let fallâglittering gems trapped behind iron gates. "I hate you."
"No, you donât," Tommy said gently, his voice
softening
like
old leather
. "You hate that you canât control how people feel about you. But guess what? Iâm going to care about you anyway. Deal with it."
The room hung suspendedâsilence thick enough to choke onâbroken only by Momâs whisker whisking aggressively in the kitchen, a rhythmic percussion to the emotional carnage unfolding in the living room.
Ms. Chen cleared her throat delicately, the sound cutting through the tension like a scalpel. "Madison, dear, how long have you and Peter been together?"