Surprise Visit

I stumbled downstairs for breakfast wearing my new outfit—a crisp navy button-down that actually fit my enhanced physique, dark jeans that didn't look like hand-me-downs, and clean white sneakers that didn't scream "clearance rack special"—and fuck, I could feel the difference in how the fabric moved across my shoulders, how the waistband sat against my stomach without that baggy desperation of clothes bought three sizes too big because that's what we could afford...

'Funny how fabric can rewrite your entire existence. Last week's Peter wore clothes like a scarecrow draped in whatever didn't fall off.'

Today's Peter? Today's Peter looked like someone who belonged in the same zip code as Madison Torres, someone who could walk into a room and not immediately scan for the nearest exit...

Mom was at the stove making scrambled eggs, steam rising from the pan while bacon popped and sizzled, and I could smell that particular combination of morning grease and coffee that meant home—real home, not the sterile perfection of Madison's mansion where breakfast probably involved imported organic eggs prepared by someone whose name they didn't know.

Sarah and Emma were already at the table, both scrolling through their phones like the world would end if they missed a single notification, and I watched them for a second—really watched them—these two girls who didn't share my shitty genetics but my shitty circumstances but somehow managed to find joy in TikTok videos and group chat drama while I was out here planning to seduce teachers and overthrow corporate empires...

"Morning, Mom," I said, sitting down at our beat-up kitchen table where the wood was scratched from years of homework and arguments and family dinners that tasted like love even when they came from a can. "There's something I want to talk to you about later. Business stuff."

'...Translation: Your son is about to become disgustingly rich through methods you'll never understand, but hey, at least they're legal—well, the Peter Carter methods are legal, anyway. The Dark Lord stuff? That guy's operating in moral gray areas that would make your head spin...'

Mom turned around with that curious expression that meant she was both interested and slightly worried, the same look she got when I stayed up too late on the computer or when teachers called about my "potential" not being fully realized.

"Business stuff? What kind of business stuff?"

"The legitimate kind," I said with a grin that felt strange on my face because when was the last time I smiled at Mom without hiding something massive underneath it? "The kind that makes money without breaking any of your rules."

'...Or at least, the kind that makes money through Peter Carter, while Dark Peter handles the morally questionable shit in complete secrecy. Two identities, two bank accounts, two completely different relationships with the concept of right and wrong...'

"We'll talk after school," she said, but I could see the hope flickering in her eyes like a candle that had been blown out too many times and was afraid to burn bright again. "I'm curious about what my tech genius son has been planning."

Tech genius. If only she knew her "genius son" was now operating on a level that made MIT professors look like kindergarteners finger-painting with crayons, that the system had downloaded knowledge into my brain that could reshape digital reality itself...

I heard the familiar purr of Madison's Range Rover pulling into our driveway—that expensive engine sound that didn't belong in our neighborhood of broken mufflers and cars held together with prayer—and through the kitchen window, I watched her get out wearing a designer outfit that probably cost more than our monthly expenses but somehow she made it look casual instead of pretentious, like wealth was just something that happened to follow her around rather than something she flaunted.

'...Madison Torres stepping into our poverty palace. This should be interesting. Rich girl meets real family dynamics, where people actually talk to each other instead of communicating through hired help and passive-aggressive charity donations.'

She knocked on the front door instead of texting, which was somehow both respectful and completely foreign—rich kids usually announced their presence through notifications rather than knuckles on wood—and Mom went to answer it while I prepared myself for the culture shock of my rich girlfriend experiencing our breakfast up close.

"Good morning, Mrs. Carter," Madison said with that perfect smile, the one that had probably been refined through years of charity galas and family photos for magazine spreads. "I hope it's okay that I came early."

"Of course, dear," Mom replied, and I could see her taking inventory of Madison's expensive everything—the designer handbag, the jewelry that caught morning light like it was made of compressed starlight, the shoes that probably cost more than Mom made in a week of double shifts. "Peter mentioned you two were... dating."

'Mom's trying to figure out if Madison's slumming it for charity work or if her son actually has game. Little does she know, it's option three: supernatural dick magic combined with the kind of emotional connection that makes rich girls forget about their trust funds.'

"Yes ma'am," Madison said respectfully, and there was something in her voice that went beyond politeness—genuine warmth, like she actually wanted to be here instead of tolerating it. "Peter's really special to me."

Mom's expression softened completely, that defensive armor she wore when dealing with people who had money melting away because Madison had just said the magic words—not that Peter was smart or useful or convenient, but that he was special. "Would you like to join us for breakfast? I made extra."

"I'd love that," Madison said, and surprisingly, she actually sounded like she meant it, like eating scrambled eggs off chipped plates in our falling-apart kitchen was somehow more appealing than whatever gourmet shit her family's chef prepared in their marble palace.

"If it's not too much trouble."

Many times, in movies this is either genuine affection or usually the girl's method acting for some twisted social experiment. Though honestly, at this point I don't care which one it is as long as she keeps looking at me like I hung the fucking moon...

Madison sat down next to me at our table, and I immediately took her hand under the tablecloth—that skin-to-skin contact that sent electricity up my arm in regular Peter mode—her fingers intertwining with mine perfectly while her thumb traced small circles against my knuckles like she was mapping the geography of my hand.

***

A/N: A humble request guys, if you have time, please vote the characters and add popularity as well as liking the CHARACTER PERSONALITY. I hope I am not asking for too much.