CHAPTER 402: LA CHERRY MALL - HAREM DYNAMICS AND SHOPPING

The VIP lounge hummed with fractured energy, tension settling like visible atmosphere. Charlotte kept her eyes fixed on her phone, ARIA’s silent replies a thin shield against the vibrant intimacy swirling around her. Every other woman here was mine—openly, shamelessly expressing their affection.

Charlotte existed outsid that circle, watching but not participating, observer rather than member.

Left out. The word hung heavy, pulling her shoulders inward.

Sarah felt it too—the in-between. She’d positioned herself awkwardly between Emma’s territory and neutral ground, not quite part of her twin’s easy camaraderie with Luna and Sofia, nor wholly comfortable claiming her own space. She shifted, a silent plea in her posture.

I saw it. Needed to fix it now, before insecurities took root and forced her into rushing intimacy just to feel adequate within the harem structure.

"Sarah." My voice cut through the chatter. I reached out, pulling her firmly against my side. She came without resistance, melting into the curve of my arm, her head finding my shoulder.

A shuddering sigh escaped her.

Home.

The tension evaporated like mist under sunlight, replaced by quiet contentment. She felt incomplete that we hadn’t done it unlike the other women here and she felt like she was not mine yet, completely at least.

This feeling; might even lead her attempt to have sex with me in rush to feel like the other women felt, to feel completely mine.

Not yet, I willed silently. Don’t rush to feel whole.

Across the lounge, divisions etched themselves in sharp relief:

Emma/Luna/Sofia: New-gen energy, easy laughter, shared memories unfolding in real-time. Emma, surprisingly, took charge—the one spoiling them with playful dominance and infectious enthusiasm.

Isabella/Victoria/Anya/Ortega: The Professional Quartet. Close in age, bound by shared workplace rhythms. Isabella led their chat, dissecting wellness center case studies while Victoria offered quiet observations, Anya brought fiery debates, and Ortega provided calm summations.

Charlotte: Alone. An island of unfinished business and uncomfortable detachment.

Madison: Curled against my other side, a silent queen observing her fractious court. The only one who could tether them all together, though Vivienne’s absence left a gap only she truly noticed.

The divisions were natural—experience, profession, familiarity creating clusters that could either strengthen the foundation or fragment it into competing factions.

The Lincoln Heights girls met regularly without me, their group chat constantly building genuine connections. But collective cohesion was different from individual friendships. In the long run, these fault lines could become problematic.

I was more than capable of orchestrating unity myself, but for now I preferred the role of silent watcher. Let the natural dynamics play out, identify the social architecture, understand what needed reshaping.

Janet swept back in, tablets stacked in her arms like digital sacraments. "Alright, goddesses! Our Man’s treat—don’t hold back! iPads out!" She distributed the devices with practiced efficiency. "Hold back, you pay for your own scraps."

As someone who still worked here, still as Charlotte’s attendant in name, she’d put it upon herself to fetch the shopping tabs.

The threat earned a chorus of theatrical pouts, led by Madison whose mind was clearly galaxies away, weighed down by corporate concerns.

"Cars come later," I announced, watching eyes widen. "All of you. New rides. Doesn’t matter what you currently drive." I glanced at Janet, Victoria, Ortega, and Anya—those four already owned vehicles, the latter three driving supercars.

Sofia’s hand flew to her mouth. "We... we’re getting cars?" Her old one felt like an embarrassment now, functional transportation she rarely chose over riding with others.

"The more the merrier!" Anya declared, already swiping through luxury brands with predatory focus.

We settled into the ritual. iPad screens became portals into private desires and shared confessions. I wove between groups, a connecting thread binding disparate energies:

Asking Victoria about her work and profession, making her beam with recognition. Complimenting Ortega’s work, earning a rare genuine smile. Laughing with Anya over a ridiculous shit involved in their work. Guiding Sarah’s attention toward a sleek coupe she’d been eyeing nervously.

Slowly, barriers crumbled. Luna showed Isabella her nursing sketches with tentative pride. Victoria asked Emma’s opinion on wellness center aesthetics as if the latter could offer that much, but hey, Emma was as creative, so maybe?

They shared interests emerged organically—bridges between women who’d seemed incompatible minutes earlier.

The harem was synchronizing, finding its collective rhythm. Maybe sixty percent cohesion now—not complete unity, but foundational alignment that could be built upon.

Laughter mingled with the rustle of high-end shopping bags piling like monuments to excess. Janet handled payments with ruthless efficiency, items blinking into transit toward the Carter estate via the mall’s delivery fleet.

Hours bled into one another. Three became four. The promised surprise remained elusive—Amanda and Soo-jin were ghosts, unreachable. ARIA’s silence was its own answer, which meant they were preparing whatever awaited me.

A surprise they promised me, maybe?

At the four-hour mark, restlessness flickered through the group. Perfect timing.

I rose, extending a hand to Madison. "Walk with me?"

Her eyes, clouded with corporate warfare, cleared marginally. We slipped into a quiet alcove overlooking the city, glass walls framing Los Angeles sprawling below like a circuit board of dreams and complications.

"The Torres deal," she said instantly, unable to contain the crisis consuming her thoughts. "They’ll finalize with Darlus within hours. My father’s scrambling, but we don’t have leverage."

I’d already given her the information—ARIA’s analysis revealing Darlus Constructions’ vulnerabilities, the leverage points that could flip the entire situation. But information wasn’t enough. She needed positioning. So I gave her more of what ARIA had found for her family to leverage on.

After that, I proposed her something she did not expect.

"After this, talk to your father," I urged, voice low but firm. "Get him to show you the architectural plans, the construction blueprints. Insert yourself into the core negotiations, not just as observer but as co-architect of the solution."

Madison stared, processing implications. "He’d never... not on a deal this size."

"Make him," I said simply. "It’s time they stopped treating you like fragile inheritance waiting to mature. You’re not just the heiress, Madison. Strive to become the foundation now like your father is. You know how your family is like, they look down on you just because you’re a woman, no, a girl actually."

I leaned closer, holding her gaze. "What to you think, let’s say hypothetically your father passed? Thye’ll do anything in thier power to make sure you do not seat on that throne, because they feel like you’re not ready, not enough to run something this being. And you know it too. Right now? You’re not enough, not ready yet." Ut was after all a hundreds of Billion Empire.

"Let me help you build that throne. This deal won’t just save Torres Developments—it’ll establish you as indispensable."

A tremor ran through her. Not fear. Resolve crystallizing into determination.

"Okay," she breathed, the word heavy with consequence. "Okay, Peter. I’ll make him see it." She hugged me and we kissed several minutes.

When we returned, the lounge buzzed differently. Anticipation crackled through the air like electricity before a storm. Janet reappeared, clapping her hands with theatrical flourish.

"Delivery complete, maestro!" She grinned, wolfish and excited. "Now... time for your surprise. Follow me, ladies. And bring his wallet!"

The group stirred, energy shifting from languid shopping fatigue to sudden alertness. Whatever they’d coordinated through their cryptic group chat messages was finally happening.

The roar of engines awaited beyond the mall’s gleaming doors.

Car shopping wasn’t just beginning. It was a coronation.