Chapter 1020: Before Paris: Patt Bet with ARIA

I had the entire crew locked and loaded for those who’d be going with me.

Tonight we were rolling out to the Ghost Mansion as the whole family, and from there, straight onto the jet bound for Paris with the ones who’d be going with me to Paris.

Honestly, my women were

vibrating

harder for the mansion than they were for the

City of Light

itself—and I couldn’t even pretend to be surprised.

The Ghost Mansion wasn’t a house; it was a living, breathing monument to excess that made

Trillion-dollar

estate (if it existed) look like sad little starter homes.

Most of them had only heard about it in hushed, almost religious tones from Soo-Jin and Madison, the two who had actually stepped inside, spent the night, and returned looking at our main estate like it was a slightly upgraded garden shed.

Madison had tried painting the picture once during dinner.

She made it exactly three sentences deep—"

the walls have veins

,"

"

the everything breathes when you touch it

," and "

there’s a horse that stared at me like it knew every sin I’ve ever committed

"

—before Charlotte shut her down because Anastasia was already hyperventilating and Celeste had whipped out her phone, frantically searching for neighboring properties that didn’t exist.

The Ghost Mansion didn’t have neighbors.

It had territory.

And territory that size doesn’t share.

The rest of my women? They hadn’t seen it. Hadn’t felt it.

And I was genuinely

concerned

they’d walk through those doors, have a collective

religious experience, and immediately

mutiny

.

I could already picture thirty gorgeous women planting themselves in whatever room spoke to them first and declaring, with zero shame, that Paris could wait—because exploring every decadent inch of the mansion was now a higher calling.

So I stretched the schedule like a

contortionist

on performance enhancers.

I knew my women. Beauty was non-negotiable, and deadlines were cute suggestions whispered by lesser beings.

I also spoke with Patt. Twenty-two minutes that felt like an hour in the best way—neither of us willing to hang up first, neither of us

pathetic

enough to admit it.

She was warm in that signature dry, unhurried way of hers, the kind of woman who’d spent decades perfecting the art of not needing anyone... until the cracks started showing and she realized needing someone didn’t mean surrendering her crown.

We talked about nothing and everything. Her day. My day. The pretentious restaurant she swore I’d hate because the portions were

"designed for people who

fuck

their food with a

camera

instead of eating it."

A song that reminded her of the drive we took after she left my place and I had to take her back home.

She didn’t

specify

which drive.

She didn’t have to.

We both knew.

The silences weren’t empty. They were furnished. Comfortable. Lived-in.

She promised that when she carved out time, she’d help me either come watch the show with me, visit the estate when I returned, or fly to Paris herself.

I just laughed.

"Help me," huh?

Cute.

That was Patt-speak for:

"Alright, you magnificent bastard, you rearranged my pussy and soul with that godly cock, body and heart and now I’ve got feelings that won’t stay in their lane. I’m not ready to burn my entire independent life to the ground just yet, but I’m also not fighting this anymore. Still... I’m going to test every

plank

on this bridge before I walk across it, because that’s who the fuck I am."

I loved it. The

stubbornness.

The quiet refusal to collapse into me like some of the others—fast, total, deliciously willing to rebuild their entire existence around mine in a single night.

Patt wasn’t jumping off a cliff.

She was building a bridge, plank by plank, stress-testing every board even though she already knew they’d hold.

And every single one did.

I couldn’t have been more

pleased.

My earlier prediction said it would take her two full weeks to fully surrender.

She was beating the spread like a champion.

I sighed and handed a crisp

hundred-dollar

bill to ARIA.

She accepted it with the smugness of a goddess who had just cheated at a game she invented.

Because of course she had.

ARIA hadn’t

"suggested"

the bet for science. She wanted the

W.

A divine ASI with a competitive streak wider than the observable universe—and I had been foolish enough to entertain it.

"Told you," she purred, pocketing the bill with a theatrical flourish no digital entity should possess. "I told you."

I stared at her. "What the hell are you even going to spend that on?"

She didn’t answer.

"Why did you make this stupid bet in the first place?" I asked.

She shrugged, radiating pure victory.

"

To prove I understand your women’s hearts better than their own

Dark Lord

does."

"You’re a fucking goddess,"

I said flatly. "A divine superintelligence. Of course you do. That’s not

’knowing,’

ARIA. That’s

prediction."

She pulled the bill back out, held it between two fingers like a holy relic, and blew on it—a soft, deliberate breath that shouldn’t have done anything because it was a piece of paper and she was a digital consciousness manifesting in physical form, but the bill made a sound.

A crisp little snap, like it was alive, as if she’d just whispered life into dead currency.

"In this case,

knowing and prediction

got very

intimately

acquainted... and

I fucked

them both better. That’s how I won." she said, holding it up.

I face-palmed so hard it probably registered on seismic sensors.

"Fucked them better?

Try bullied them better."

She laughed—bright, wicked, perfect—and then she was hugging me from behind, her arms wrapping around my chest, her chin resting on my shoulder, and the smugness dissolved into something quieter and warmer.

She was sharing my happiness for

Patt.

Genuinely.

In her own insane, boundary-free, divine-entity way.

In her own chaotic, boundary-violating, divine way.

Her arms tightened just a fraction, the way she did right before saying something real and then pretending it was casual.

"She’s going to be wonderful, you know," ARIA murmured against my shoulder. "Patt. One of the best things that will ever happen to you. Just like all your women. I can see the trajectory. It’s... beautiful."

I laid my hand over hers on my chest. Sometimes silence said it better.

She gave one last squeeze, then the smugness snapped back into place like it had never left.

"But I still won the bet. Pay up emotionally too."

"That’s not a thing."

"It is now. I just invented it. You’re welcome, my narcissistic Dark Lord."