Chapter 944: The Smell of Torres Hereditary Wars

"Don’t forget how talented all your women are," Madison continued, a slight edge of challenge in her voice—

oblivious of what was going on in my mind

—like she was daring me to underestimate them, knowing I’d never make that mistake twice.

"After all, apart from their natural gifts, you’ve been relentless about their education. ARIA and those Learning Eyelens have been working overtime making sure we’re not just beautiful faces in your harem."

I pulled her closer, one arm wrapping around her waist possessively, feeling the warmth of her body press against mine like a promise fulfilled.

"I know exactly how talented my women are. After all, I’m standing right next to my queen. The

heiress to a $500 billion real estate empire

who just became the lead architect for BioLa’s new Washington branch."

Madison’s smile was pure satisfaction—the kind that comes from grinding doubters into dust and building empires on the remains.

"Good. As long as you remember that."

She was trying to play cool like her

accomplishments

were just another Tuesday.

But I could see the pride in her eyes. The genuine, earned pride that came from winning something on her own merit rather than her family name or her boyfriend’s supernatural assistance—like she’d just checkmated a board full of kings who thought queens were only for decoration.

After designing the plans for BioLa’s new LA headquarters—a project still underway that was already generating industry buzz and jealous whispers—Madison’s trip had been for this exact moment.

Torres Developments had secured another deal with BioLa for their Washington branch expansion, and Madison had been chosen as the

lead architect

.

She’d given her pitch. Competed against architects with decades of experience. And won—like a shark in a pool of goldfish, leaving them gasping in wonder.

I know when most of them saw her pitch the LA branch for BioLa, the one we’d designed, they hadn’t believed in her that it was her work. Even some said it was her father, so Madison had proven them wrong in a sit down of

designing.

And I could proudly say I wasn’t involved in helping with the designs or drawings.

Neither was ARIA.

This was Madison’s work, start to finish. Her vision, her technical skill, her presentation prowess—like she’d taken every lesson from our shared empire and turned it into a weapon only she could wield.

This was Madison proving she wasn’t just a trust fund princess or a brilliant teenager coasting on potential. This was her wiping the floor with industry veterans who’d underestimated her because of her age and gender, leaving them to wonder if their résumés were suddenly obsolete.

Madison had learnt a lot.

In the learning curve of all women, she was the third;

Charlotte, Anastasia and then her.

And from that subtle smile playing at her lips, I could tell the board had approved everything. Her designs, her timeline, her budget projections—like they’d been

hypnotized,

but without any of my or ARIA’s tricks; just pure, unadulterated competence.

One of Torres Developments’ ongoing complications was how

hereditary

the company’s leadership position appeared. When her father had taken over from his father, it had been a smooth transition—no one better qualified existed at the time, so nepotism wasn’t even a question.

But Madison was a woman. And a

teenager.

And you know exactly how large corporations react to that combination, especially when billions of dollars and generational legacy are involved—like it’s a threat to their fragile egos, wrapped in boardroom bullshit.

They’d been watching her. Testing her. Waiting for her to fail so they could justify passing leadership to someone "more appropriate"—probably some gray-haired suit with a golf handicap and a mistress younger than Madison.

Even her own family, some uncles and cousins.

Madison had shown them what

"appropriate"

really meant—like redefining the word with blueprints and a smile that said

"checkmate, assholes."

They probably weren’t fully convinced yet. Old men with old ideas didn’t change overnight, not without a heart attack or a

scandal.

But we’d get there.

Step by step, project by project, Madison was building an undeniable resume that would make opposing her leadership position look like pure sexism rather than legitimate concern—like trying to argue the sky isn’t blue while staring at it.

This was exactly why I hated having

board members

who were outsiders with their own agendas.

Liberation Holdings’ and Empire’s board was composed entirely of my women—people whose success was directly tied to the empire’s success, who trusted each other

implicitly,

who didn’t waste time on power plays and territorial bullshit, and who occasionally settled disputes with pillow fights that turned into something far more interesting like how rode me better.

And in that battle, Isabella always won.

The judge was always the queen.

But Madison didn’t have that luxury with Torres Developments. Not yet. That company had been built over generations with external investors and board members who had their own stakes to protect—like

leeches

who’d forgotten they were parasites.

And some of them worked for her family members who were against her stepping on the throne.

So, she was playing the long game. Proving herself. Building credibility.

And she was fucking winning—like a queen claiming her throne one decapitated doubt at a time.

I pulled her even closer and kissed the top of her head, breathing in her familiar scent—expensive perfume mixed with something uniquely her, like ambition distilled into essence.

"I’m so proud of you,"

I said quietly. "You’ve come so far, Maddie. My first woman. My queen. Watching you dominate these old bastards who thought you’d be easy to dismiss... it’s better than any system reward, better than any conquest."

Madison melted slightly against me, letting herself be vulnerable for a moment in a way she rarely allowed in public—like armor parting just enough to show the heart beneath. "I learned from the best. You taught me that power isn’t given—

it’s taken

. And that being underestimated is an advantage if you’re smart enough to use it like a knife in the dark."

"You’ve surpassed the teacher," I said honestly. "What you’re building with Torres Developments, the reputation you’re creating in the industry—that’s all you. I’m just enjoying the view, front row to the empire you deserve."

"Liar,"

she said affectionately. "You’ve been supporting every step. The education, the confidence, the belief that I could actually do this. That matters more than you know—like the foundation under a skyscraper nobody sees but everything stands on."

We stood there together, watching Celeste work the gallery crowd with professional grace, surrounded by the beautiful chaos of art and wealth and people pretending they understood either—

faking sophistication

like it was an Olympic sport.

In three days, I’d be on a plane to Paris. Three months of European conquest, fashion domination, and systematically destroying the marriages of wealthy French women who’d never encountered anything like me—like exporting the American dream, one shattered vow at a time.

But tonight, I was here. With Madison. Watching one of my women succeed on her own terms.

And honestly? This felt pretty fucking good too—like the quiet victory before the storm, the kind that makes the chaos worth it.