CHAPTER 178: SEX DEITY

I would become Eros Velmior Desiderion: King of California, master of flesh and power, architect of taboo.

Every scream, every whispered name, every luxurious gasp wouldn’t just be indulgence—it would be information. Influence disguised as intimacy, conquest dressed as ecstasy. By morning, alliances would have formed, reputations subtly bent, and the city would shift another degree in my favor.

I wouldn’t just throw parties. I would orchestrate orgies of ambition and lust, each one a rehearsal for the empire I would rule—a kingdom where every heart would beat at my command, and every body in the room would be a capital investment in pleasure, politics, and power.

And somewhere in the background, Tommy would mutter, "Dude... I think you just invented a new form of capitalism."

I would smile. "Kid, I am not inventing anything. I am it! I am an embodiment of everything I represent!"

But all this came with enough planning and work and the first one was;

The plan with Tommy was elegant in its simplicity—which meant Charlotte had probably conceived it in three seconds while simultaneously balancing a martini, a conference call, and some cruel, genius thought about the downfall of her board members.

"So let me get this straight," Tommy said during our strategy session in his room, which smelled like a mix of expired energy drinks and whatever prehistoric pizza fossilized in the corner. "I’m going to be the face of a $30 million software project I don’t understand?"

"You understand it," I corrected. "You just don’t understand that you understand it. It’s the Peter Carter paradox: appear clueless, actually wield absolute power."

"That makes no sense. You explained this but I want more details."

"The API Translation Layer is basically Google Translate for corporate software," I explained for the fifth time, trying to keep my patience beneath a veneer of amusement. "Company A runs Oracle, Company B runs SAP. Without us, they pay consultants millions just to whisper sweet nothings to each other. Our software makes them kiss and make up—and saves them enough to make a CFO cry tears of joy. Imagine it how you "

"And I invented this?"

"Nope. You ’developed’ it under Charlotte’s guidance. She saw your latent genius, molded it, and now you’re her golden boy—the board will assume she’s incompetent, and you get 90% of the profits. Welcome to the club of accidentally being a billionaire."

Tommy stared at the ceiling like it was some cosmic joke that might answer all of life’s questions. "She’s really okay with looking that stupid?"

"She’s counting on it," I said. "Every board member who thinks she’s a ditzy heiress is one less board member watching what she’s actually doing."

"And that is...?"

"Taking over the fucking tech world, probably. Also, probably using board meetings as her personal clown show."

*

Charlotte’s renovation plans for the estate were insane. The Vampire aesthetic stayed, because obviously, but the basement? Sci-fi fantasy meets evil lair. Quantum-encrypted servers. Holographic displays. A sensory deprivation tank for ’enhanced cognitive processing’—which basically meant I could drown in the silence of my genius while plotting citywide domination.

"Are building me a lair or prepping for the apocalypse?" I asked.

"Why can’t it be both," she’d asked, deadpan. "The apocalypse is just another market if you’re properly positioned."

The gym alone could’ve been an episode of Black Mirror. Smart equipment that tracked every muscle fiber, recovery pods that looked like alien cocoons, a nutrition lab that could analyze your DNA and tell you which cereal would maximize your power output.

"This is some Batman-level shit," Madison had said when she saw the plans.

"Batman was a trust fund kid in a cape," I countered. "I’m actually going to change things. By building a literal empire while simultaneously fucking my way to the top. Key distinction."

"Dude. That’s... insane."

"Insane is exactly what we need," I said, smirking. "Edward Sterling, the board, the city itself—they all think they’re playing chess. Meanwhile, we’re inventing a new game entirely. And yes... the women will be moving like rooks and bishops too. Consider it market research with benefits."

"Holy shit. We’re actually doing this."

"We’re not just doing it," I corrected, eyes gleaming. "We’re rewriting the rulebook—and everyone else is going to be too busy moaning or crying to notice."

****

Today...

Le Bernardin wasn’t the kind of place teenage boys took their girlfriends. It was where CEOs ordered their third martini before lying to Congress, and where senators promised clean energy while cashing oil lobby checks under the table. But Madison Torres didn’t do anything halfway, and apparently neither did I anymore.

She sat across from me like she owned the place—which, given her family, she probably could have bought twice before dessert.

The silver necklace I’d bought her caught the light every time she moved. It was nothing compared to the Cartier graveyard in her jewelry box, but she smiled like I’d just handed her the Hope Diamond. The matching earrings? Total afterthought. But when she’d lit up, I realized that was the trick with rich girls—it’s never the price tag.

It’s knowing someone thought instead of just Venmo-ing Tiffany & Co.

’Paris Hilton’s dogs had custom mansions, but Madison Torres got excited over earrings from a mall jeweler. That’s how you know you’re winning.’

"So," she said, slicing into her Chilean sea bass with surgical precision, "ready for your big interview tomorrow?"

The Voyeur Wellness Center. Professional sugar-coated escorting. Their client list probably had NDAs thicker than the Bible. I’d applied; got a callback in minutes after they saw my video as required in application directorate. Apparently, being young, hot, and suspiciously a son of a god was exactly what their clientele liked—basically Tinder, if Tinder came with a corporate benefits package.

"As ready as anyone can be for a job where your résumé is being a Sex God, big cock, abs and stamina," I said. "What’s the dress code? ’I’m here to satisfy your wife while you’re at a Senate subcommittee hearing’?"

Madison laughed—real, unfiltered, head-tilt laugh. It made half the restaurant glance over like they’d just spotted paparazzi. "Probably not the school uniform you’ve been using to seduce teachers."

’Somewhere out there, Olivia Rodrigo is writing another heartbreak ballad, and here I am auditioning to be the main character as young Sex Deity in someone’s midlife crisis.’