Jasmine's head snapped back to me, eyebrows rising like they'd just received revelations from the heavens. Her gaze dipped—just a flicker—to my crotch, then snapped back up, cheeks warming. "Yeah, we're going to have a very long conversation about… several things. Including how you suddenly have money. Linda's been giving me cliff-notes and none of them answer anything."

"Later," I said. "Right now, just… be here."

Linda stepped into the cluster, and Jasmine reeled her in without hesitation. For a moment, it was just us: the four-person nucleus that had survived everything, with Linda as the quiet gravitational pull keeping us from unraveling.

Scents curled together—vanilla, floral softness, milk-warmth, a hint of tension that felt almost electric.

"Thank you for coming," Linda whispered. "I know you're busy. But I needed you here tonight."

"Wouldn't have missed it." Jasmine wiped her eyes, the corners crinkling, her smile blooming full and familiar. "Seventeen. My nephew is seventeen. When did that happen?"

"Time," I said. "It's got terrible time management skills."

She let out a laugh—bright, unrestrained, so unmistakably her that my chest tightened as if someone tugged strings there. She glanced back at the table, where twenty women heroically pretended they weren't eavesdropping at maximum volume.

"So," she said, "are you going to introduce me to your… friends? Girlfriends? Collective? I'm picking up a very specific vibe and I require context."

I inhaled. "Jazz, what I'm about to say is going to sound insane—"

"Try me."

"—but those twenty women are my harem."

She blinked. Once. Twice. Then her laugh exploded like fireworks."Okay, good one. You almost sold it. Seriously though, who are they? Investors? Sponsors? Backup dancers?"

"No, I'm serious. They're my women. All of them."

Jasmine laughed harder. Her chest bounced under the turtleneck, nipples stiff enough to pose a threat to passing air molecules. "Peter, come on. I was gone for a few months, not cryogenically frozen. I'm not that gullible."

She turned to Linda. "He's joking. Please tell me he's joking."

"He's not joking," Linda said, smiling like she was unveiling a surprise exhibit. "It's real. All of it." Only she wouldn't even as a mother herself is my woman too.

Gods, who wouldn't love my life!

"Real."

Jasmine's laughter faltered into a stunned half-smile. Her eyes traced back to me, lingering briefly on my lips, throat, the line of my chest. "Like… what. You're dating all of them? At once? And they're all aware?"

"Yes."

"And they're all… okay with it?"

"More than okay," Madison called from the table, raising her glass. "We call ourselves his harem."

Jasmine turned slowly, like she was in a horror movie and the ghost had politely tapped her shoulder. She looked at Madison, looked at me, and dissolved into another fit of laughter, hand splayed over her chest.

"Oh my god, you're all committed to this bit. This is actually incredible. Is this a birthday prank? Are there hidden cameras? Is this for TikTok? Because this is some high-budget chaos."

"Jazz—"

"No, no, I love it. This is hilarious." She wiped at her eyes, fingers trembling just slightly, cheeks flushed a brilliant crimson from laughter, lips parting like she couldn't decide whether to speak or keep gasping.

"So, what's the real story? Did they help you make money? Are they part of some startup? Because something clearly happened here that explains the sudden wealth, and I'm guessing it involves these lovely women, but the harem thing—"

She dissolved into more giggles, shaking her head like she couldn't even process the absurdity. "I'm sorry, I just… I can't take it seriously. You're seventeen."

"Today, yeah."

"And you expect me to believe you have twenty girlfriends?"

"Twenty‑three, actually, but three of them are secret."

She pressed her hands to her face, shoulders shaking with laughter, fingers trailing down to her collarbone as if she was physically trying to absorb the absurdity. "Oh my god. You're doubling down. I love this. Okay, fine. Let's say it's real. How does that even work? Logistically? Emotionally? Do you have a schedule? A spreadsheet?"

Emma snorted.

"See? Even Emma thinks this is ridiculous."

Jasmine's eyes found mine again, still sparkling, pupils blown with disbelief, scanning me like she was measuring a physics anomaly. "Come on, Peter. What's the real story? These are colleagues, right? Friends who invested in whatever business made you rich? Because that makes sense. The harem thing is—" she waved her hands as if shooing invisible nonsense. "—fantasy. Internet fantasy. Not real life."

I looked at Linda, who shrugged with the kind of calm smile that said this is actually happening. Madison tried not to laugh across the table.

"I'm serious," I said. "They're my women. All of them."

"Your women," Jasmine repeated, shaking her head, laughing again, arching back like she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Okay, okay, I'll play along. So you're telling me these twenty beautiful, intelligent, successful-looking women all decided to share my nephew? My nephew who four months ago was getting stuffed in trash cans?"

"Yes."

"And they're all happy about it?"

"Very," Sofia called out.

Jasmine shook her head, grinning, blonde waves bouncing, eyes rolling. "This is the best birthday surprise ever. Everyone's in on it. Even Linda's keeping a straight face." She glanced at her sister. "You're good, Lin. Really good."

Linda just smiled. "Believe what you want, Jazz."

"I want to believe my nephew has a harem," Jasmine said, still laughing, hands on her hips, shaking her head. "That would be amazing. But I'm also a functioning adult who understands reality, so…"

She shrugged, eyes flicking back to me, hungry, confused, sparkling with disbelief. "Nice try though. Really committed performance from everyone."

I couldn't help but smile—it was actually kind of cute, her complete inability to believe it. Cheeks glowing, lips wet from laughing too much, jaw sore from disbelief.

I couldn't blame her—if someone had told me four months ago that I'd have a harem, I would've laughed in their face too.

Everyone else who wasn't part of the harem—Tommy, Lea, Charlotte, Margaret—they'd all seen it unfold in real time, watched the evidence pile up week by week. Denial wasn't an option anymore.

Jasmine had been gone for three months—she'd missed the whole transformation.

To her, I was still the kid who got bullied. One girlfriend would have been improbable. Twenty? That was pure fantasy.

Her reaction was honest, completely human—laughing, shaking her head, rolling her eyes, trying to make sense of chaos she couldn't quite process. And I wasn't going to push. She'd figure it out eventually, or she wouldn't. Just having her here, laughing and free of stress, was enough.

"Okay," I said. "You don't have to believe it. Just come meet everyone. They're good people. You'll like them."

"Oh, I'm sure they're lovely," Jasmine said, still grinning, taking my hand. Fingers intertwined, a small spark of energy in the touch, just enough to make me grin. "Your business partners usually are."

I laughed, leading her toward the table, guiding her through the chaos. "Everyone," I announced, voice carrying over the buzz. "This is Jasmine Carter. My aunt. Linda's sister. The person who kept us alive when no one else gave a shit."

Jasmine waved, looking slightly overwhelmed but still smiling that unmistakable, luminous grin. Eyes darting around, curiosity burning, laughter simmering. "Hi. I'm still not convinced this isn't an elaborate prank, but you all seem… extremely dedicated. Also, I need names. Because there are a lot of you."

Madison rose first, extending her hand with effortless poise. "Jasmine. It's an honor. I'm Madison Torres. Peter's queen."

"Queen of the harem," Jasmine said, still clearly thinking it was a joke. "Got it. Love the commitment to the bit."

Madison's smile didn't falter. "Something like that."

"Queen. Right. Because of course there's a queen," Jasmine muttered, eyebrows climbing like they were auditioning for a horror movie.

The introductions began, and I watched her work her way through the room like a detective at a crime scene.

Sofia first, warm and deliberate. Isabella, eyes bright with polite amusement. Janet, Victoria, Anya, Ortega—all the professional types projecting effortless competence. Luna and Valentina, mischievous energy practically bouncing off them. Amanda, dripping Monaco charm.

The beauties—Vivienne, Celeste, Anastasia, Gabrielle, Ashby, Sophia Chen—each greeting her like she was a foreign diplomat. Rebecca, Dominique, Catherine, Patricia, Reyna, Priya—every handshake, every hug, every laugh measured yet relaxed, welcoming.

Her scent shifted with every interaction, mingling with theirs—vanilla, faint perfume, the subtle spice of a woman who hadn't quite given up on chaos.

With every introduction, I could see her brain running in overdrive. Business partners? Networking group? Friends? A very elaborate social experiment? Fingers lingered on their skin in that careful, polite way humans do when they're trying to map a complex social puzzle.

Lips pursed, eyes narrowing, a smile plastered over confusion that flickered to real wonder every few seconds.

And every time she drifted back to me, gaze cutting through the polite chatter like a searchlight, that single question burned brighter than the skyline: What the hell is actually happening?

I just smiled. That was my only contribution to her mental disassembly. She'd figure it out eventually—or not.

Either way, the mix of disbelief, denial, and reluctant admiration made her pulse faster, her energy sharper, and, quietly, I had to admit, hotter. The subtle neediness she didn't even realize she was projecting—it was intoxicating, mine, and completely hers to process.

This was going to be… interesting.

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