CHAPTER 214: "THERE ARE TECHNIQUES?"

Emma immediately vanished back down with a strangled yelp.

"I’m moving out," Sarah declared to the wall. "I’m eighteen, I’ll emancipate myself, and I’m becoming a nun."

"Nuns take vows of silence," I pointed out.

"PERFECT."

Twenty minutes later we cleaned up, the kitchen sounded like a cooking show hosted by someone mid–mental breakdown. Pots clanged, knives chopped, and Mom had downgraded from Slipknot to aggressively cheerful pop music—because nothing screams "everything’s fine" like Taylor Swift at maximum volume.

"Lunch!" Mom shouted, in a voice that was definitely not three decibels away from a nervous breakdown. "Everyone come eat! Now!"

No arguments. We gathered at the island like survivors at FEMA rations, the collective vibe: we lived through something we can never speak of again.

Sarah had finally unglued herself from the wall but stared so hard at her plate I thought she might start telepathically bending the fork. Emma sat at the farthest end possible, clutching her throw pillow like a life raft. Madison? She looked like a villain queen enjoying her post-conquest feast. Relaxed. Smug.

The human embodiment of "zero regrets."

Mom set down sandwiches that could only be described as stress cuisine: turkey, avocado, cheese, and what I swear was her emotional stability stacked between focaccia.

"These look amazing, Mrs. Carter," Madison said, taking a delicate bite like she wasn’t still limping from the upstairs Olympics. "What kind of bread is this?"

"Rosemary focaccia," Mom said, voice only slightly strangled.

"It’s delicious. You have such good taste."

For a second, I thought Madison’s weaponized politeness had actually disarmed my mom. Then Madison shifted in her seat, winced, and Emma immediately started choking like God Himself had smote her with a waterboarding kink.

"Water!" Emma gasped, fumbling for her glass.

Sarah passed the pitcher without once looking up, like maybe if she never made eye contact again she’d be erased from this narrative.

"So," I said, desperate to steer this Titanic away from the iceberg, "what else did you guys buy?"

"Mixing bowls," Sarah blurted instantly, clinging to the safe topic like a drowning woman. "Stainless steel. Very... sturdy."

Madison smirked, obviously thinking about the durability of my bed frame.

"And towels," Mom added quickly. "Egyptian cotton. Very... absorbent."

Emma choked again, this time violently enough that I thought we’d need CPR training.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" Mom asked.

"Fine," Emma wheezed. "Just... absorbed too much information today."

Madison laughed. Like the chaos was a comedy special only she was enjoying. Sarah dropped her sandwich in protest.

"Madison," I muttered, "maybe tone it down a little?"

"I’m not doing anything," she said innocently, chewing like a Disney princess.

"You’re sitting there looking very satisfied," Emma snapped.

"I am satisfied," Madison agreed cheerfully. "Your brother is very... thorough."

The word detonated like a grenade in a library.

Sarah made a strangled sound and face-planted into her hands. "Why? Why did you have to say that word?"

"What word? Thorough?" Madison blinked like she was confused.

"STOP SAYING IT!" the twins screamed in unison, harmonized trauma.

Mom placed her sandwich down with the care of someone diffusing a bomb. "Madison, honey, maybe we could talk about... literally anything else?"

"Of course," Madison said sweetly. Too sweetly. "I have told Peter, about the family dinner next weekend?"

I shot her a look sharp enough to cut diamonds. She was doing this on purpose—introducing Boss Fight: Parental Dinner Arc

while everyone was still bleeding from Side Quest: Traumatize the Twins.

"Family dinner?" Mom perked up instantly, like a drowning woman spotting land. "Oh yeah, right, your mother contacted me."

"Yes," I said reluctantly. "The Torres family wants to meet you all properly. Next weekend. Very formal. Very traditional."

Mom’s face softened into actual warmth, which almost made it worse. "That sounds lovely, for both families to meet now that you two lovebirds are engaged. Quite quick, if you ask me—but hey, I got these two in my twenties." She gestured at the twins, who looked like they wanted to crawl under the table and never return.

"Though I didn’t get full details," Mom added, a little too casually. "Will it be... just our families?"

"And the Morrisons," Madison added casually.

The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.

Mom blinked. "The Morrisons?"

You could practically hear the Game of Thrones theme swelling in the background. My family’s reaction wasn’t "dinner invite" — it was full Red Wedding RSVP.

Madison’s smile was all innocence with just a hint of predator. "They’re close family friends. Dad’s business partners. Would’ve been weird not to invite them."

Sarah’s head snapped up. "Jack Morrison? He’s going to be there? With his parents?"

"Unfortunately," I said flatly.

Emma’s jaw dropped. "The very same Jack Morrison who used to stuff you in lockers. The same family that made us do a DNA test."

"The very same," I said softly, unbothered. Why would be bothered by the boy I just cucked and was about to become my stepson. "Yes, that Jack Morrison — the guy who used my face as a locker decoration. My high school years were basically a charity program for bullies." Now I was about to change his life for the better.

Emma threw her hands up like she was watching a horror movie. "Peter... you’re just okay with this? I can kill him for you, you know..."

Before I could answer, Madison leaned in, her grin sharp enough to draw blood. "Oh, I think it’s going to be very interesting. Don’t you, Peter?" She knew exactly what I had in my mind.

The way she said it made me remembered she’d already started plotting. And Madison didn’t plot small. If you gave her a chessboard, she’d set it on fire just to make sure she won.

Sarah narrowed her eyes. "Define interesting."

"The good kind," Madison said breezily. "The kind where justice gets served with dinner."

Mom frowned. "Madison, honey... what exactly are you planning?"

Madison popped a bite of sandwich like she was delivering closing arguments. "Nothing dramatic. Just a chance for everyone to see how far Peter’s come. How successful he is now. How... impressive."

Emma groaned. "Please tell me you’re not going to traumatize the Morrisons the way you just traumatized us."

"That," Madison said, dabbing her lips with a napkin, "would be telling."

I scanned the battlefield that was now my family lunch table: Mom trying to enforce normalcy with rosemary focaccia, my sisters still in recovery mode, and Madison casually plotting psychological warfare. Yep. This was the new normal.

The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. But what I noticed was how both twins immediately looked at me with something approaching awe. Emma’s eyes went from embarrassed to impressed, and Sarah actually sat up straighter.

*

"You’re going to face Jack Morrison?" Emma asked, her voice filled with something like admiration. "After... everything?"

"After becoming everything, he never could be," Madison said with predatory satisfaction.

Sarah’s blush deepened, but now it seemed to be for a different reason. She was looking at me like she was seeing me for the first time, and I realized that despite their mortification, both twins were beginning to understand that their awkward brother had become something powerful.

"Peter," Emma said hesitantly, "can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"How do you... I mean..." She gestured vaguely between Madison and me, her face cycling through shades of red. "How do you even... handle... that much... energy?"

Madison nearly choked on her sandwich laughing. Sarah buried her face in her hands with a groan.

"Practice," Madison said helpfully. "Lots and lots of practice and being insanely big."

"OH MY GOD," Sarah wailed through her fingers. "I can never unhear any of this!"

Emma was still staring at me with fascination and horror. "But seriously, Peter. Where did you even learn... any of that? Because three months ago you couldn’t even talk to girls without stuttering."

"YouTube University," I said with a straight face.

"WHAT KIND OF YOUTUBE ARE YOU WATCHING?" both twins shrieked simultaneously.

Madison was now laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes. "Oh sweethearts, YouTube doesn’t cover advanced techniques."

Emma looked like she might faint. "Advanced techniques? There are TECHNIQUES?"

"Multiple," Madison said wickedly. "Peter’s very... studious."

Sarah stood up abruptly. "I’m getting more water. And maybe some brain bleach. Do we have brain bleach?"

"Fresh out," Mom called out.

My phone buzzed against the kitchen counter, and I glanced at the screen to see Charlotte’s name.

Charlotte Thompson: "We have a problem."