Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 134

Chapter 134: Mathematical Porn.

The rest of Sunday? I locked the world out like it owed me money. Screw sunlight, screw small talk—I had an empire to architect.

Sarah brought me lunch. I didn’t ask. She just knew. I was too deep into my laptop, fingers slicing across the keyboard like I was scoring a symphony for the gods of capitalism and chaos. Beethoven with a God complex.

No trades today. Crypto was having a mental breakdown—erratic, emotional, needy. I don’t do needy.

Not when I’ve got $1.6M sitting pretty after Charlotte’s $700K bonus just landed like an apology from the universe. That’s $1.6 million in liquid proof that I was no longer the broke kid getting shoved into lockers by dudes like Jack Morrison.

Jack, whose entire personality was leased from his father’s trust fund. I didn’t inherit shit. I built mine—with intelligence that bordered on divine and a psychotic little AI who was only getting smarter.

He’s probably still out there wondering how the school’s favorite punchline turned untouchable overnight, landing the princess of our school.

I left $600K in the markets—consider it bait that will bring in millions as I trade. Monday, real trading opens again, but I won’t be there babysitting candles. I’ve got bigger things to do. Like seducing the minds (and thighs) of California’s most powerful women. Like weaponizing tech. Like becoming legend.

And then it hit me. That dangerous flash of clarity that separates normal people from apex predators.

What if ARIA handled trading for me?

I built her to assist. To learn. To evolve. But now? Now she was ready to dominate.

At first, trading was just a hustle. Something to keep the lights on while I figured out my next move. Now? It was a distraction. And I don’t do distractions.

Let’s automate that shit.

I hadn’t thought about this when I first started—back then I figured trading was just temporary income until I figured out my next move. But now, with ARIA’s capabilities expanding and my life becoming increasingly complex, automated trading wasn’t just convenient. It was necessary.

Money had to go. Not in a burn-it-all-down way—just as a concept. As an obstacle. I wanted it extinct in my world. Gone. Erased.

If I was going to deal with problems, let them come with names like Mr. Kensington III, raging because his trophy wife screamed mine while bent over a kitchen counter fucking her from behind.

Not wondering if my debit card was going to decline at DoorDash.

That was my new normal: a supernatural sex god with billionaire-level brainpower who needed his AI to manage the financial crumbs while he conquered California’s elite—boardrooms, bedrooms, bloodlines.

If ARIA pulled even a ’modest’ $50K per day with $600K capital? That’s $350K a week, minimum. But she’s mine. Reckless like me. She doesn’t do modest. She does domination. Push her, and we’re talking $100K days like it’s pocket change.

Wall Street’s not ready. They still think the next threat is some hedge fund in Hong Kong. Nope. It’s a teenage demigod with a laptop and a synthetic goddess who just learned how to lie to the markets better than they lie to themselves.

And just in case you thought this was a rise-and-grind millionaire glow-up?

No.

Delete that fantasy.

This wasn’t a climb. This was a launch. This isn’t some corny slow grind to millionaire status. I’m skipping the starter pack. And I’m never—never—going back to broke.

I wasn’t just going to make it—I was going to embarrass anyone who ever doubted me with my existence.

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