Because no matter how many women had already joined my harem, no matter how many times this exact scene had played out, no matter how routine the pattern might look to some pathetic outsider watching from the cheap seats — the moment one more accepted me exactly as I was and my whole harem, or even began seriously considering it, hit with the same raw, chest-crushing weight as the very first time.
It never diminished. It never became routine.
Each one landed like the first time when Madison accepted me and the system and said she'll take the front seat, because every woman was her own sovereign universe deciding, of her own free will, to orbit mine.
And that decision was never, ever small.
I was just shit at showing it to the woman in question. Not like with Eziel, Genevieve, or Vanessa, where the emotion bled openly across my face and actions in real time.
But inside? I was stupidly, quietly, chest-achingly happy every single time.
