Chapter 546: The Three Cougars and MILF

Today was the fucking day.

Catherine finally called — and not for one of those "therapeutic but not really therapeutic" sessions we kept pretending were normal. No, this call felt different. Sharper. Like she’d been pacing around her house rehearsing what to say, then gave up and dialed anyway.Another week gone. Another seven days I barely felt.

Time didn’t crawl anymore — it sprinted. Like it was trying to get ahead of me and failing.

My days had turned into a pattern I didn’t mind at all: Catherine calling every two days, then Dominique doing the same like they had a shared Google Calendar labeled Eros. Patricia had basically migrated into the penthouse full-time, which, honestly, made the place feel weirdly complete. Three cougars orbiting the same space, same man, same secret. They didn’t just visit — they settled. Nested. Claimed it.

Patricia only left to work or deal with divorce meetings that Richard kept stalling because he suddenly pretended he cared about "the process."

Yeah, right. The man was losing everything and trying to grab dirt on his way down.

The BioLa deal with Torres Developments. His control over Mercy Hospital that the court ordered him to withdraw. Everything returned to Patricia: 49% ownership, with Mercy Medical University holding 20%, the board and her family splitting the rest.

But that wasn’t even the plot twist.

Patricia Mercy — not Morrison anymore — Patricia was known by her peers as the richest Morrison. She owned 15% of Morrison Constructions too.

Used to.

She sold it.

To me.

When she told me she didn’t want anything from her ex’s empire, I bought the shares outright. Transferred the money. She tried pushing it back, mumbling something about how I should just "keep it." like she hadn’t just handed me the keys to a kingdom.

I didn’t keep the money.

Gave it to ARIA, let her play the stock market like it was a VR minigame.

The cash multiplied. The shares stayed with me.

Everyone won, except the guy who deserved to lose.

Meanwhile, in a different corner of my life, Jack’s little world was imploding in delicious slow motion. I leaked everything to the new VP’s computer — nothing that pointed back to me, just enough for the school board to drag Jack and his cronies into the office for a public scolding.

They walked out with

community service

.

The fuck?

Whatever. I wasn’t done. Revenge tastes better when it simmers.

Back to Patricia — she reclaimed her name, her identity, and her freedom. Living in my penthouse like she’d always belonged there.

The three of them—Patricia, Catherine, Dominique—had met properly last week. We’d had our first foursome. My cougars were chaos incarnate when you put them together.

And the foursome was exactly the kind of chaos you’d expect when you throw three highly intelligent, highly emotional, highly sex-starved older women in a room with a man they all want to devour.

But none of them — not one — matched Isabella’s level of "I don’t give a fuck."

She’d crossed over from the Crown Jewel. Joined us twice now. Full sessions. No hesitation. As for her daughter Maya—the little big-breasted, cute, short girl—she was always flirting with me when I visited as Eros.

And lately we weren’t even pretending it hadn’t escalated.

It was coming. That moment.

I could feel it building like static.

Right now, though, I was stuck in the Bugatti Chiron, trapped in LA rush hour, watching the city oozing forward inch by inch. The kind of traffic that makes you question your life choices and consider abandoning

millions-dollar

car on the freeway.

Billboards flashing above me — some owned by Rivera Next Media, some competitors — all screaming the same headline:

AR.NuN AI taking over the world.

Reviews flooding in. Students using it to ace essays. Corporations stress-testing it. Chip sales exploding. App downloads hitting records like we’d bribed the entire population.

And this was just the USA. Barely 20% penetration. Ground-level success before the real wave hit.

The AI they were praising wasn’t even 1% of what ARIA could actually do—like,

one fucking percent

. The earbuds were still in marketing and testing, not released yet, but the anticipation was building among those who’d tested the AI. They couldn’t wait to see what both could do together, like kids waiting for Christmas if Santa was a tech billionaire who fucked.

We’d delivered the CIA’s version too. 1% of ARIA’s capability. They were so impressed they brought more security to Quantum Tech—federal agents now, standing around looking serious and bored and probably wondering why they were guarding a software company instead of chasing actual terrorists.

That wouldn’t last long. I’d replace them with something better soon enough. Something that actually understood the threats we faced.

But that wasn’t why I was here. Wasn’t heading downtown to check on Quantum Tech or meet with Charlotte about expansion plans.

I was heading to my first official Meridian Agency appointment.

Catherine and Dominique had finally decided—after they couldn’t walk from their sore pussies because I’d fucked them so hard they needed days to recover—that I was ready. Cleared for clients.

I’d left Priya gasping for breath and fast asleep after three hours of sex since two nights ago. We’d been going on actual dates. Dinners. Movies. Getting to know each other beyond the bedroom.

She’d agreed to meet some of my women. Madison first—that went well. Then Celeste, who’d immediately put Priya in the Appreciation Society with Patricia, Catherine, and Dominique.

The rule held: no joining "

My Harem

" group chat until they decided to fully commit. That’s why Madison kept the Appreciation Society active—to keep the uncertain women connected. Let them adjust. Process.

Smart.

The jam released suddenly. Traffic burst forward like a dam breaking.

I pressed the accelerator. The

Chiron

roared—that beautiful sound of 1,500 horsepower waking up, the kind of noise that makes your dick hard and your neighbors hate you. The car shot forward like it had been caged and finally broke free, like unleashing a goddamn dragon on the 110.

LA skyscrapers towered on both sides. Glass and steel reaching for smoggy sky. Wealth and power stacked vertical, like a game of Jenga where every block costs a million dollars.

I weaved through traffic. Not reckless. Just confident. The Chiron handled like a dream—responsive, precise, absolute control, like the car could read my fucking mind.

My first real client. Catherine had called this morning with details, but she’d been careful. Professional. This wasn’t about giving me a target—it was about trusting me with someone fragile.

"She needs you to be gentle," Catherine had said. "But she also needs you to make her feel wanted. Really wanted. Not performative. Real."

"I can do that."

"I know. That’s why I’m giving her to you."

Pause.

"Eros—she’s

hurting.

Badly. This took everything for her to even call me."

I’d understood. Some women came to Meridian because they were bored. Some because they were curious. Some because they wanted the fantasy.

This woman was coming because she was broken and didn’t know how else to feel whole again.

The Chiron purred through downtown. Past corporate towers and luxury hotels. Past restaurants where one meal cost more than some people’s rent, where the valet probably made more in tips than I used to make in a month.

Meridian Agency headquarters came into view—sleek building, unmarked entrance, valet parking. Discreet. Expensive. Exactly what it needed to be.

I pulled up. Valet opened my door. Young kid, maybe 20. Eyes went wide seeing the Chiron like it was a spaceship that had just landed.

"Take care of her," I said, handing him the keys.

"Yes sir. Absolutely sir."

I walked inside. Marble floors. Subtle lighting. No obvious signage. Could be a law firm or investment bank from the lobby aesthetic.

Catherine was waiting by the elevator. Designer suit. Hair perfect. That smile that said she knew exactly how good the other night had been.

"Eros." She kissed my cheek. Professional. But her hand lingered on my arm.

"Catherine."

"Suite 7. She’s been here forty minutes."

Forty minutes. Sitting alone. Waiting. Probably second-guessing everything, having that internal argument where one side says

this is a mistake

and the other side says

but I need this so fucking bad

.

"Tell me about her."