CHAPTER 184: FIANCÉ

Clicks of cameras started echoing through the restaurant. Through my earbuds, ARIA’s voice was urgent:

"Master, you’re being recorded by approximately thirty-seven devices. Social media posts are already being composed. Master, posts are live. Trending tags: #MadisonTorresEngaged, #RestaurantProposal, #WhoIsPeterCarter. News outlets have begun aggregation."

’Make sure you delete everything when this is done. Right away, lean into the performance.’ I thought back.

"Will you be my..." I paused for dramatic effect, opening the box to reveal the ring I’d chosen—a simple band with a modest diamond that somehow cost more than most cars. "My wife?"

The restaurant erupted.

"Say yes!" someone shouted.

"Say yes!" another voice joined.

Soon the entire place was chanting, "Say yes! Say yes! Say yes!"

I heard someone gasp from across the room. "Holy shit, that’s Madison Torres! The Torres Development heiress!"

"The billion-dollar Torres family?"

"She’s like, eighteen!"

"He looks younger!"

"Young love is so beautiful," an older woman sighed.

"Gold digger," someone else muttered, loud enough to be heard. "Obviously after her money."

"Smart kid," another voice added with approval. "Locked that down quick."

But I only had eyes for Madison, who was staring at me with an expression I’d never seen before—vulnerable, surprised, and utterly delighted.

"Put it on me, idiot!" she demanded, thrust her left hand at me.

My hands were surprisingly steady as I slipped the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly, because of course it did. I’d had ARIA calculate the exact size based on surveillance footage.

’Creepy? Yes. Effective? Also yes.’

Mia was still typing furiously, phone glued to her hand. "Emma’s screaming in all caps. Ashley’s demanding live video. Oh my god, the group chat is feral."

Tommy was staring at us like we’d grown extra heads. "Dude," he managed. "You went on dates with Luna? And you’re proposing? What the fuck is happening?"

Mia had her phone out, fingers flying. "I’m calling Emma and Ashley! They’re going to die! THEY’RE GOING TO DIE!"

But Madison wasn’t done. She launched herself at me, nearly knocking me backward as she wrapped her arms around my neck. The kiss she planted on me was definitely not restaurant-appropriate, earning whistles and applause from our audience.

Her smile was a weapon, dazzling and feral all at once. "You realize, Carter," she whispered, loud enough for the room to catch, "you just made me your wife in front of thirty-seven cameras and half the internet."

"Correction," I murmured, brushing a crumb of dessert off her lip, "I just made you mine."

The crowd lost it again. Glasses clinked.

Someone yelled, "Goals!"

A drunk guy shouted, "Prenup!" Madison flipped him off without breaking eye contact with me.

"Yes," she whispered against my lips. "Yes, you impossible, infuriating, perfect asshole. Yes. I was waiting for you, you idiot"

More cheers. More photos. Someone started clapping slowly, building into full applause. A champagne bottle popped somewhere, and suddenly flutes were appearing at our table.

"On the house!" the manager announced, looking thrilled to have his restaurant become the site of billionaire romance. "Congratulations to the young couple!"

Lea, I noticed, had gone completely pale at her table. Her finance bro boyfriend was trying to get her attention, but she was staring at us like she’d seen a ghost. Or maybe like she’d seen her alternate future flash before her eyes.

If she didn’t turn me down this would’ve been her. Funny how the universe works. FATE is a bitch indeed. Or was it karma?

Tommy was practically pulling his own hair out. "Peter, you don’t accidentally propose in a five-star restaurant!"

Mia was still typing furiously, phone glued to her hand. "Emma’s screaming in all caps. Ashley’s demanding live video. Oh my god, the group chat is feral."

Meanwhile, Lea looked like she’d swallowed cyanide. Her boyfriend leaned in, whispering something that was supposed to calm her down. Didn’t work. Her knuckles were white around her wine glass, and her eyes never left the ring glittering on Madison’s finger.

’Enjoy the view. This is the part where you realize you were a Chapter. She’s the book.’

Madison held her hand up, admiring the sparkle like she’d just won the championship ring. "Perfect fit," she declared to no one and everyone.

Then, to me: "You planned this."

"Improvised," I corrected.

"Liar," she said, kissing me again.

ARIA’s voice cut in, clinical as ever: "Master, TMZ has just pushed a notification. Gossip Girl reboot fan accounts are speculating about Madison Torres’ mysterious fiancé. Would you like me to flood fake backstories now?"

’What? Make me untouchable? Give me a résumé so golden even God can’t check references? Nah.

The champagne kept flowing. The chanting died down, replaced by the hum of whispered speculation and the glow of phone screens. Madison never let go of my hand, like she knew this moment wasn’t just ours—it was a declaration, a flex.

And Lea? Poor Lea sat frozen in her chair, staring at us like she was witnessing her own obituary being written.

From rejecting me to watching me put a ring on Madison Torres. Life comes at you fast, Lea.

"This is insane," Tommy muttered once we were seated again, champagne flowing like it was tap water. "You just got engaged in front of a hundred strangers. By tomorrow this’ll be on every gossip blog in existence."

"Let them talk," Madison said, studying her new ring as if it were a crown jewel. "I’ve got what I want."

"A teenage fiancé who apparently moonlights with nurses?" Mia teased.

"A man who kneels when I’m displeased," Madison corrected smoothly. "The nurse thing we’ll discuss later. At length. Possibly with diagrams."

She isn’t mad about Luna. She’s staking her claim. And doing it publicly. With a diamond.

"For the record," I said, taking her hand, "those weren’t dates. More like... advanced study sessions."

Madison smirked. "Oh, I know. Isabella gives me the full reports during biology tutorials."

Tommy nearly spit his drink. "Your WHAT?"

"Did we forget to mention?" Madison’s voice was sugar and knives. "Ms. Isabella’s been helping us both with our education. Very hands-on approach."

"Very," I echoed.

"I need so much more information," Mia groaned. "But first—selfie with the engaged couple!"

What followed was twenty minutes of photos, congratulations from strangers, and multiple failed attempts by the staff to comp our meal. Madison moved through it like she’d been born for the spotlight—radiant, gracious, and flashing my ring like it was a weapon.

"Master," ARIA murmured in my ear, "I’ve deleted all social media posts and scrubbed phones as ordered. However, three users managed cloud uploads before I could intercept. Shall I pursue escalation?"

’Leave it. Let the world see Madison Torres is taken.’

"Understood. Also—your mother has called six times."

Perfect. News cycles faster than Wi-Fi.

"We should go," I said, noticing more phones lifting. "Before this turns into a press conference."

"Agreed," Madison rose, making sure the diamond caught every light in the room. "My place. We have celebrating to do."

On the way out, my gaze snagged on Lea. Her fork was clenched so tight her knuckles had gone white. Her boyfriend still droned about crypto, oblivious to the fact she was watching her alternate life play out three tables away.

Should’ve said yes when you had the chance, Lea. Now you get to choke down blockchain small talk while I walk out with your dream ring on her finger.

Outside, Madison’s white BMW idled like a waiting chariot. We somehow crammed all four of us inside—an act of physics denial in what was clearly a two-person sports car. Madison shot me a look as she shifted into gear.

"You know this doesn’t change anything, right? I still expect the full play-by-play with Luna. In detail. While you’re showing me exactly what you did."

"Deal," I said. And I meant it.

"And we’re having a wedding. Big. Ridiculous. So over the top it makes the Met Gala look like a backyard barbecue."

"Whatever you want."

"And you’ll wear a collar under your tux that says Property of Madison Torres."

"That’s... actually kind of hot." I joked back.

"I know." Her grin was wicked. "Been planning it for weeks."

Of course she has. I propose once, she’s already five moves ahead.

"So just to clarify," Tommy said from the world’s most tragic middle seat, "you’re now engaged, you’re dating our school nurse, you’re having threesomes with Madison and Isabella, and tomorrow you’ve got interviews to become a sex worker?"

"Professional satisfaction provider," I corrected.

"Right. That." He shook his head. "Remember when our biggest problem was whether Naruto could beat Goku?"

"Simpler times," I said.

"Boring times," Madison shot back, flooring the gas. "Now shut up and hold on. We’ve got celebrating to do."

Mia’s phone started blowing up with notifications. "Emma’s freaking out. Sarah’s demanding receipts. Your mom wants to know if she should start planning the wedding. And—wait—?"

"Thursday’s problem," Madison said, cheerful as a queen after conquest. "Tonight we celebrate. Tomorrow Peter starts his career. Everything else can wait."

From public proposal to private celebration. From zero to engaged in under a minute. From everyone’s punching bag to Madison Torres’ fiancé.

"Hey Pete?" Tommy shouted over the engine.

"Yeah?"

"Your life is fucking insane."

"I know, buddy. I know."

But then Madison’s hand slid into mine, her ring flashing in the city lights as we tore through traffic, and for once, I didn’t want to change a single thing.

Tomorrow: wellness center, escort agency, Sofia.

Tonight: celebrate with my fiancée and try to process what the hell I just did.

The empire wasn’t just growing—it was detonating. And everyone was strapped in for the ride.