Chapter 330: Update on the Mission I watched the maternal takeover unfold with growing amusement—and yeah, maybe a little jealousy. "Uh, hello? I’m the one who just got back from saving the day. Where’s my parade of excessive maternal concern?" Mom hit me with that patented ’you’re a moron’ look. "Peter, you’re almost seventeen, apparently worth millions, and you can charter private jets like they’re Ubers. These girls need taking care of. You? You need a reality check." "Wow," I muttered. "Charlotte’s been part of the family for like—what, two weeks? —and you’re already treating her better than your actual son. I feel so seen right now." "That’s because Charlotte doesn’t vanish to Miami and give me panic attacks," Mom said, laughing. "Besides, she bought me this gorgeous car. What have you done for me lately?" "Funny you should ask," I said, unable to stop the grin crawling up my face. "Actually, Mom, I finished paying off that mansion today. It’s officially yours. Deed’s in Linda Carter’s name, completely paid off. No strings attached." "Peter... what?" I shrugged like it was no big deal, even though my heart was hammering. "The mansion. It’s yours. No mortgage. No conditions. You own it." "You’re kidding, right?" "No. The mansion. Your dream house. It’s yours. No mortgage, no conditions, no strings attached." I couldn’t keep the grin off my face. "So maybe now you can give me a little more love than these two freeloaders who’ve only been family for two weeks?" Her hands were shaking so badly she had to pull over, throw the car in park, and turn to stare at me like I’d just confessed to murder. "Peter Carter. What did you do?" "I bought my mom a house. Is that a crime now?" Her voice cracked. "A mansion. You bought me a mansion." "Correction," I said, milking the moment, "a multi-million-dollar mansion. With a pool. And that kitchen you couldn’t stop drooling over while muttering about how we’d be paying it off until the apocalypse." Silence. Then her face crumpled, and she broke into full-on ugly sobs—like, shoulder-shaking, mascara-melting, ’someone call a therapist’ level crying. "Shit," I muttered, instantly regretting my dramatic flair. "Mom, don’t cry. It’s supposed to be, you know, good news." Too late. She was already out of the driver’s seat, yanking my door open and crushing me in a hug right there on the side of the road. "You impossible, ridiculous, wonderful boy," she sobbed into my shoulder. "How am I supposed to process this? My seventeen-year-old son just bought me a mansion. A mansion." "Easy," I said into her hair. "Say thank you and admit I’m your favorite child." She laughed through her tears, pulling back just enough to glare at me. "You’re my only son, you brat." "Details," I shot back. Behind us, Charlotte was wiping her eyes. "That was beautiful and terrifying at the same time." "That’s Peter in a nutshell," Madison added dryly. "Dramatic gesture with a side of emotional manipulation." "Excuse you," I said. "I prefer strategic emotional timing." Mom was still smiling through the tears, shaking her head. "You know I can’t actually accept a mansion, right?" "Too late," I said, stooping to scoop up her dropped keys. "It’s already a done deal. ARIA handled the paperwork." "Peter, that’s not how real estate works—" "That’s exactly how real estate works when you have enough money and a really good AI," I said, grinning. "Besides, you deserve it. You sacrificed everything for me and the twins. Time to get something back." I gave her a mock-serious look. "So maybe now you can give me a little more love than these two freeloaders who’ve only been family for two weeks?" Charlotte actually laughed, even though she looked dead on her feet. "Freeloaders? I bought your mother a Mercedes!" "And I help with the twins’ homework and keep Peter from being completely insufferable," Madison chimed in. "What exactly do you contribute to this household, Peter?" "Multi-million dollar mansions, apparently," Mom said thickly, her voice doing that wobbly thing it does right before the waterworks. She yanked me into another crushing hug. "You impossible, wonderful, ridiculous boy." "So I win? I get more love than the newcomers?" "You all get all my love, you jealous brat," Mom said, ruffling my hair. "But yes, mansion-buying sons get bonus points." She stared at me for another long second, then shook her head and slid back into the driver’s seat. "I don’t know what I’m going to do with you." "Love me unconditionally and admit I’m better than Charlotte at gift-giving?" "Don’t push it," she said, but she was smiling as she pulled back onto the road. "Though yes... mansion definitely beats car." "I heard that," Charlotte said from the back. "You were supposed to." I leaned back, soaking in the noise of them. This was what I’d been missing in Miami—the chaos, the easy jabs, the feeling of being loved for me instead of just for what I could do. Even if "me" had become infinitely more complicated. ARIA, I thought, how’s that California research coming? "Penthouses: three excellent options in the Bay Area, all available for immediate purchase under your alias. OnlyCeleb Bar appears to be an exclusive establishment catering to entertainment industry professionals—membership costs approximately $500,000 annually. As for vehicles, I recommend the Aston Martin DB12 or perhaps a more understated Porsche Taycan." "Send me the details later, for the penthouse mostly," I thought. "Right now, I just want to go home." "Of course, Master. Though I should mention—your family dynamic analysis shows significant improvement in emotional intelligence. Well done." "Thanks. I think." Yeah. This was going to be interesting. "So, apart from saving Charlotte’s company," Mom said as she started the engine, "what exactly did you three accomplish in Miami?" "It’s complicated, Mom," I said—the understatement of the century. "Complicated how? Please tell me you didn’t do anything illegal." "Define illegal," I said, which made Charlotte snort. "Peter Carter—" "I’m kidding! Mostly legal. Some creative interpretation of securities law, but nothing the FBI will care about." Mom shook her head as we left the airport lot. "I swear, I don’t know what I’m going to do with you. Flying to Miami, saving billion-dollar companies, buying mansions... what’s next?" "Actually, Mom," I said aloud, "I’m thinking about getting a car. Something nice but not too flashy." "Finally! I was wondering when you’d stop bumming rides from your girlfriend." "Hey," Madison protested. "I like driving him around. It’s like having a really expensive pet." "I’m sitting right here," I said. "We know," Charlotte mumbled, half-asleep. "That’s what makes it fun." This was family. Not the beaches, not the skyscraper offices, not even the adrenaline of pulling off the impossible. No, it was this: the dumb chaos of family, the constant roasting, the feeling of being loved not for what I could pull off, but for who I was. Even if who I was had gotten... infinitely more complicated. "ARIA," I thought, "send me the details, for the mansion after Mom finishes adopting my girlfriend and business partner." "Perfect. Sending details after your mother’s unofficial adoption ceremony is complete." Yeah. This was going to be interesting.