Chapter 8: Madison’s World

When I arrived at Madison’s place, it was just past midnight.

Streetlights flickered on the quiet street, the sidewalk empty except for a stray cat. I climbed the narrow stairs, my heart pounding, half-expecting someone to call me out.

The apartment was tiny—maybe 150 square feet, the kitchenette pressed against the bed, a hot plate and battered coffee maker in the corner. The bathroom was barely separated by a shower curtain. I tried not to stare at the deep-dish pizza boxes stacked on her counter, the hum of the vent fan.

I’d grown up in the suburbs, never imagining living like this. I’d always thought Madison’s polish at work meant she lived differently. Now I realized how little I knew about her real life.

Madison knelt down to help unbuckle my belt, looking up at me, eyes tired but determined. “Rough night, huh?”

She teased, “Is it tough for you to stay here? You never lived like this, have you?”

I shook my head. “Not at all. When I first graduated, Emily and I also lived…” I caught myself, realizing Emily was the last thing she wanted to hear about.

Surprisingly, Madison pressed. “Your uncle’s the boss—how’d you ever have to struggle?”

I lied, “I wanted to make it on my own for a while.” It wasn’t all false—I remembered splitting ramen with Emily, scraping by in a noisy apartment before I gave in and took her uncle’s help.

Madison didn’t press. She pulled me toward the bed, her hands steady. For a little while, I let myself forget everything else.

That night, after we were done, I made Madison a promise.

Lying together, I offered to rent her a bigger apartment, give her $3,000 a month, and buy her designer bags and makeup. My voice was steady, like I was closing a business deal.

I told myself this would keep her from looking elsewhere. If she relied on me, maybe she’d stop seeing other guys. It was selfish, but I didn’t care.

Madison’s eyes flashed, then quickly cooled. She propped herself up, looking at me. “You said you’d leave your family for me. Were you lying?”

I’d practiced my answer. “I’ll get a divorce, just not now. She’s due in less than three months. If I leave now, I’d lose everything.”

She exhaled, some tension leaving her. My excuse worked.

She asked, “So after she gives birth, you’ll really divorce her?”

I pinched her nose, teasing, “That depends on you. If you keep going on blind dates, maybe not.”

She blushed, looking away, letting her guard drop for the first time. For a moment, it felt like I’d finally gotten through to her.

The sense of satisfaction was overwhelming—a mix of power and relief. It felt like I’d finally gained some control.