CHAPTER 183: THAT SMALL VELVET BOX

"Bro," Tommy cut in, leaning forward with that half-grin he’d stolen from me, "after everything that’s happened between us since we were kids until now, you think I’d judge? You went from virgin to viral to... whatever the hell you are now. I’m just impressed by the character development."

’This is why Tommy’s the ride-or-die. No judgment. No lectures. Just front row tickets to my villain arc.’

"It’s actually two interviews," Madison said, because she lives to narrate my resume. "Wellness center and escort agency. Our boy’s diversifying his portfolio."

Mia tilted her head, then quoted: "From each according to their ability, to each according to their needs."

The table went quiet.

"What?" she shrugged. "I took political theory too. Sex work is work."

"Marry her," I told Tommy instantly. "Like, skip dessert, do it right here."

"Already in the business plan," Tommy said, deadly serious. "Slide forty-seven of the relationship roadmap."

"There’s more slides?" Mia gawked.

"So many more," Tommy said, unflinching. "But dessert first. And possibly shots."

The conversation flowed from there like it always does when we’re running on adrenaline and expensive wine. Tommy talking about his upcoming demo. Mia flexing coding skills like she was auditioning for Silicon Valley. Madison casually plotting out her summer empire.

And me? I was clocking Lea. Queen Lea. Former valedictorian, reigning judgment dispenser. She kept sneaking glances at us, every laugh we shared carving deeper lines into her perfect little expression.

’Good. Let her look. Let her see the man-whore she labeled me turn into the man everyone wants. From insults to invitations. From shame to champagne.’

Then Madison, because she’s chaos personified, dropped her fork and leaned in. "So, should we talk about the elephant in the room?"

"Which one?" I asked. "Pretty sure I’ve got a whole damn zoo by now."

"The fact that after this dinner," she said, voice dripping mischief, "we’re all going back to my place, and things are probably going to get interesting."

Mia nearly choked on her risotto. "Madison!"

"What? We’re legal adults. Well... legally, at least. Apart from, of course Pete and Tommy," She smirked. "Parents are in Cabo. House is empty. Hot tub fits eight. Just saying."

"We couldn’t impose—" Mia started.

"Please," Madison cut her off. "Peter basically has a toothbrush drawer at my place. What’s two more?"

Tommy looked at me like is this actually happening?

I shrugged. With Madison, the answer was always yes.

’From PowerPoint confessions to hot tub sins with his girl. My boy’s life just went IMAX.’

Mia sipped her wine, slowly. Calculating. "I mean... I did bring a swimsuit. Just in case."

Tommy snapped his head toward her. "Just in case? You planned this?"

"I planned for possibilities," she corrected, smirking. "Your PowerPoint taught me the value of preparation."

Tommy groaned. "I’ve created a monster."

"The best kind," Mia said sweetly. Then, to Madison: "Your place it is. But fair warning—Tommy gets handsy in hot tubs."

"I do not!" Tommy barked, scandalized.

"You’re a gentleman until the jets turn on," Mia shot back. "Then suddenly it’s all octopus energy."

’Tommy, the hot tub menace. This night just keeps giving.’

Madison raised her glass. "To new experiences—and comfortable boundaries."

"And PowerPoint presentations," I added.

"And pie charts of attraction," Mia smirked.

"And friends who enable terrible decisions," Tommy finished.

Glasses clinked. Sparkling laughter. Lea’s glare sharp enough to slice glass.

’From would’ve-been queen bee to spectator. From dream life to dream thief. The irony writes itself.’

"Good night?" Madsion asked.

"Getting better by the second."

"Wait until you see my presentation later," she teased. "Tommy’s not the only one with slides prepared."

’This woman. Brilliant. Devious. My perfect co-conspirator in sin.’

"You will lead the way as I conquer the world, Torres."

"Always, Carter. Always."

But we were halfway through dessert when Madison’s whole vibe shifted. One second she was sipping her espresso, legs crossed like she owned the damn restaurant, the next she leaned back with that look—the trouble look—the one that meant trouble was coming and I’d better have answers ready.

The look I’d seen across all my women. That "I’m about to make your life hell, smile while I do it" look.

"I happen to have something I am really not happy with, huh, hon?" she said, voice sweet as crème brûlée, venom tucked just beneath the sugar. To outsiders, it sounded romantic. To me, it sounded like a loaded gun with the safety off.

’Shit. Checklist. Did I forget flowers? Double-book? Accidentally call her the wrong name in bed?’

She tilted her head, lashes batting like she was on a perfume ad. "Can you explain the fuck how you went on two dates in one week with Luna before you ever took me on one, Pete?"

’Oh. Oh. She’s jealous. Great. Add "domestic landmine" to tonight’s menu.’

The whole table froze. Tommy’s fork hovered in midair like time itself paused. Mia’s mouth fell open. Even the waiter, brave soldier that he was, took one look at Madison’s face and noped right back to the kitchen.

"Well, that’s—" I started.

"It is?

" Madison’s voice jumped an octave, sweet poison sharpening. "Yeah, Pete, explain how you skip your Main Wife and go gallivanting with Luna like she’s got seniority."

Tommy choked. Mia nearly spit out her wine.

"Wait, did you just say wife?" I asked.

"Yes I did," Madison shot back, leaning forward, nails drumming the table like warning shots. "I am your wife, right? Or are you under some delusional impression otherwise?"

"Fuck no!" The words flew out of my mouth before my brain even submitted a vote.

And just like that, I was on my knees beside her chair. Whole restaurant staring. Phones out. Half of New York society suddenly tuned in like we were live-streaming the season finale.

"Pete..." Madison whispered, covering her mouth, eyes wide with genuine shock.

’Oh, we’re really doing this. We’re turning jealousy into a public engagement. Peak Carter move.’

My hand slid into my blazer pocket. Felt the small velvet box I’d been carrying for a days with zero game plan. The original idea? Something private, something cinematic, something that screamed "romance."

What I got instead? A jealousy-driven improv proposal under Michelin star lighting.

’Fuck it. Nothing about us has ever been conventional.’

I pulled out the box, let the black velvet catch the chandeliers. Madison gasped. Mia grabbed Tommy’s arm like it was a soap opera. Tommy muttered, "No way..."

"I know it’s fast, maybe reckless," I said, voice carrying because the whole damn restaurant was silent now. "But with everything we’ve been through—"

"You met her like six days ago!" someone in the back shouted.

"Shut up, Lea," Madison snapped without looking away from me.

I grinned. "—Okay, it’s not a lot, but I don’t need to slay dragons or cure cancer or figure out how to fold fitted sheets—"

"Fitted sheets are impossible!" some old guy chimed in, earning laughter.

"—to know you’re the one," I pressed on, heat building in my chest. "You’ve been my anchor, my chaos, my partner-in-crime. I don’t need to survive Black Friday or suffer through your dad’s golf weekends or even master salad forks to know this—"

I flipped the box open.

"—you’re it, Madison Torres. My wife. My empire. My always."

The room exploded. Gasps, applause, phones flashing, drunk sorority girls crying. Somewhere, Lea probably fainted into her cocktail.

And Madison? Madison had her hand over her mouth, mascara threatening to run, eyes blazing like fire and diamonds all at once.