Chapter 2

(Tina’s POV)

At lunch the next day, the Great Hall felt less like a dining room and more like a cathedral dedicated to the god of excessive wealth. I felt tiny, sitting there in a silk dress that cost more than my mother’s old trailer, my skin still humming from the electricity of Jeff’s touch the night before. Beside me, Tammy was picking at her salad with a face like a thunderstorm, and Lisa was vibrating with excitement, mesmerized by the gold-rimmed plates and the way the sunlight hit the crystal chandeliers. I tried to keep my posture straight, but my heart was hammering against my ribs; I felt like a fake, a stray cat brought into a palace, waiting for someone to notice the smell of old poverty still clinging to my soul.

Then the other women arrived. Four of them, all gliding in with the confidence of girls who knew they were entitled to the air they breathed. They were beautiful, the kind of polished, curated beauty you see in magazines, and all of them were glowing with that heavy, rounded ripeness of pregnancy. When Jeff stood up to introduce us, his voice was smooth, but his eyes were scanning the room like a general calculating a battlefield. He placed a hand on the small of my back, and for a second, the warmth of him anchored me.

“Everyone,” Jeff began, his voice echoing in the vast space, “this is Tina and her sisters. They’ll be staying with us. And Tina, these are Kelly, Sarah, Chloe, and Mia. They’re all expecting.”

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. Kelly, the one who had almost jumped off a building, stared at me with eyes that were red-rimmed and hungry. She didn’t look at me as a person; she looked at me as a competitor.

“And the arrangement,” Jeff continued, leaning back with a casualness that made my stomach flip, “is simple. I have enough room and money for all of you to live in luxury. But I’m a man with needs, and I don’t like choosing. So, we’ll figure out a schedule. You’ll take turns in my bed. As long as there’s peace in the house, all of you have a comfortable life with nearly anything you could ever want. Jewelry, expensive cars, designer clothes, amazing food, trips around the world.”

Tammy choked on her grape juice, coughing violently into her napkin. I felt the blood rush to my face, a mixture of shock and a sudden, sharp spark of something that felt like heat between my legs. I looked at the four pregnant women, then back at Jeff. He wasn’t asking; he was designing a system.

“Turns?” Sarah asked, her voice a melodic, polished chime. She rubbed her belly, her eyes narrowing as she looked me up and down. “You’re suggesting a schedule, Jeff? Like we’re ... what? factory workers?”

“I’m suggesting a harmonious household,” Jeff replied, a small, crooked smile playing on his lips. “You all get the lifestyle you want, and I get the company I want. It’s a win-win.”

“I don’t want to share,” Mia muttered, though she looked more tired than angry.

“You don’t have to share the house, just the man. Choose one of the guest houses, and it’s yours.” Jeff said, his voice dropping an octave, turning raw and commanding.

I looked at my sisters, Tammy’s wide-eyed confusion and Lisa’s innocent curiosity, and then I looked at the opulent ceiling. We’d spent years living with a man who took whatever he wanted through fear. Jeff was different. He offered a gilded cage, but the door was open if I wanted to leave. The problem was, for the first time in my life, I didn’t want to run. I wanted more of what happened when it was my turn. Lots more.

The lunch shifted into a culinary performance that felt like a dream sequence. A line of servers in crisp white jackets appeared, gliding across the marble floor like ghosts. First came the Amuse-bouche, tiny, chilled spheres of essence that tasted like the ocean and lime, followed by a sea scallop poached in butter so rich it felt like a sin. Then came the main: a Tournedos Rossini, the beef so tender it practically melted, topped with a slice of seared foie gras and a Madeira sauce that made my taste buds sing a song of pure, unadulterated luxury. I’d never tasted anything like it; in the trailer, “fancy” meant bacon bits in mac + cheese. Here, the food was an art form, each bite a reminder that my old life was a smudge of charcoal on a masterpiece.

As the dessert plates, delicate macarons and gold-leafed tartlets, were cleared, the tension shifted from the food to the furniture. Tammy and Lisa had finally hit their limit of the adult conversation. “Can we go play those games now?” Lisa begged, tugging on my sleeve. Tammy didn’t even wait for an answer; she just shot a glance at Jeff, a look that was far too knowing for a sixteen-year-old, and bolted toward the basement. “We’ll be in the game room!” she shouted back, her voice echoing.

With the children gone, the atmosphere in the Great Hall curdled into something more competitive. The four pregnant women didn’t sit; they paced. They began discussing the mansion’s layout as if they were staking claims to territory in a new colony.

“The second floor of the south wing has the best light for a nursery,” Kelly said. She glanced at me, her eyes scanning my dress and body with a clinical coldness.

I wasn’t a “fuck buddy” kind of girl, but the way Jeff was watching us, his gaze lingering on the curve of my hip and then flicking to the rounded bellies of the others, told me he enjoyed the friction. He wasn’t just building a household; he was curated a collection.