She flushed deeper. "I had the best teacher." She tapped her Quantum Watch with a sly smile. "ARIA doesn't believe in sleep or excuses."
"Damn right I don't," ARIA's voice rang out, projecting loud enough for all three of us to hear, dry and amused. "You have potential, Madison. I'm making damn sure you don't waste it on mediocrity."
I turned back to the plans, studying Madison's work with fresh hunger.
Complete renovations stared back at me—structural reinforcements engineered to bear ten stories of luxury weight, interior flows that felt intuitive yet maximized every square foot, aesthetics that screamed Liberation Holdings: sleek, modern, expensive as sin without ever tipping into gaudy.
This wasn't talented-amateur scribbling. This was professional-grade architecture from an eighteen-year-old who'd decided empires weren't inherited—they were designed.
My queen wasn't just ruling beside me. She was drafting the blueprints.
