My Eight Sugar Mommies Are SistersChapter 1

dating eight girls at the same time.

Someone on the Hudson University forum had posted a thread complete with over a dozen photos as evidence.

Monday: a woman in a sharp black blazer delivering pastries to me at Dining Hall Three.

Tuesday: a woman in gold-rimmed glasses sitting next to me in my elective class.

Wednesday: a woman driving a cherry-red sports car picking me up at the campus gates.

...

* * *

The thread title read: [Oliver Garrison’s Eight-Timing Timeline: Sweet-faced College Boy or Master Player?]

Overnight, it hit over ten thousand views.

"Average looks, but quite the player."

"Eight of them on rotation? How does he manage the schedule?"

Wesley was the resident golden boy of the Liberal Arts department—short hair, crisp white shirts, the kind of guy who looked like he stepped out of a classic Ralph Lauren ad.

The next day, he stood in front of my oldest sister, blushing. "Is anyone sitting here?"

The forum was updated instantly: Girl #1 seemingly charmed by our campus golden boy.

The "Girl #1" they were gossiping about was actually the youngest regional president of Garrison Properties—my oldest sister, Diana.

The rest of them? Also my sisters.

But our mother had set a strict family rule, and my lips were sealed. If they knew those eight "conquests" all shared the same last name, I wondered if they’d still be so smug.

The day after the post blew up, Diana showed up on campus. The Garrison intelligence network was infinitely more reliable than the Hudson University Wi-Fi.

At seven-thirty in the morning, while I was still playing dead under my dorm blankets, her call came through.

"Oliver."

The moment she used my first name instead of a nickname, I knew I was in trouble.

I pulled the duvet over my head and whispered, "I’m fine, Diana."

Diana paused on the other end for two seconds. "I saw the forum screenshots."

I sat up instantly, sleep completely vanishing.

"Algorithms don't just target college students."

Wonderful. Death by algorithm.

I lowered my voice. "Leave it alone. I can handle it."

"By staying silent? That’s your handling?"

"We have the family rules."

"The rule is to stop you from using the Garrison name to bully others. It’s not meant to turn you into a sitting duck."

I fell silent.

She added, "Dining Hall Three. Lunch."

I bolted upright. "What are you going to do?"

"Eat lunch."

"Diana, please don't come."

"Already on my way."

The line went dead.

I stared at the dark screen. Just one word echoed in my mind: Screwed.

My name is Oliver Garrison, a junior majoring in English at Hudson University. To my classmates, I was just an ordinary local kid. Canvas sneakers, a battered canvas tote bag, the kind of guy who would be thrilled for hours if the cafeteria server scooped an extra spoonful of potatoes onto his plate. Nobody knew what my family actually did. And none of my classmates knew that Diana wasn’t some "sugar mommy," but my biological older sister.

To prevent us from getting spoiled and entitled, my mother, Margaret Garrison, had personally laid down the law three years ago when I started college.

1. No actively revealing your family background.

2. No using family connections for personal affairs.

3. If caught violating a rule once, cards are frozen for a month.

4. For severe offenses, cars, vacations, and travel plans are confiscated.

Back then, I had asked, "What if someone bullies me?"

My mother had sipped her tea slowly. "Learn to stand on your own two feet first."

I thought she was cold-blooded. But I was also terrified of having my cards frozen. So, for three years, I kept such a low profile I was practically invisible.

Diana arrived right on time at noon, when Dining Hall Three was at its busiest. She wore a sharp black blazer, her coat draped over her arm, with no assistants in tow. But it didn't matter. Some people simply don’t look like they’ve come to fight for the last portion of sweet and sour pork. The moment she stood there, the ambient noise in the cafeteria dropped a notch.

Sitting in the corner, I wished I could bury my face in my rice. Diana set two boxes of pastries in front of me.

"Sweet yam cakes. Mom made them."

I gritted my teeth, whispering, "You knew they were taking photos of you on the forum, and you still came to deliver this?"

She sat down, her expression cool and unbothered. "Let them take photos."

"Did you do this on purpose?"

"I came to see exactly who has the audacity to paint my little brother as some cheap player."

My chopsticks froze. The quiet frustration that had been building up inside me suddenly popped like a bubble, leaving a sharp, aching sting.

But before I could speak, a soft voice drifted down beside us. "Excuse me, is anyone sitting here?"

Wesley was standing by the table, holding a tray. White shirt, dark hair, eyes bright and clear. He was looking at Diana, his cheeks slightly flushed. He didn't look at me at all.

People at the surrounding tables were already raising their phones. I realized his game instantly. He wanted to prove that even "Girl #1" on the forum would fall for his charm.

Diana didn't even look up. "Yes."

Wesley stiffened slightly, finally turning his gaze to me. He offered a sweet, gentle smile. "Oliver, do you mind if I sit next to you?"

Before I could speak, Diana set the container of yam cakes on the empty seat. "This spot is taken, too."

The cafeteria went quiet for a few seconds. The smile on Wesley’s face froze. He bit his lower lip, his eyes instantly welling with tears. "My apologies. Sorry to bother you."

He turned and walked away slowly, his retreating figure looking so pitiful, as if he had been abandoned by the entire world.

With acting skills like that, it's a crime he isn't in the drama club.

Sure enough, the forum updated that night: Girl #1 coldly rejects Wesley; Oliver seemingly marks his territory on the spot.

After the lights went out, I stared at those words on my phone. Diana knew. The rest of the family would know eventually. But before I decided to tear down this wall of anonymity, I wanted to endure it just one more time. I wanted to see exactly how far Wesley was willing to go.