Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 135

Chapter 135: Synthetic God: Profit & Pleasure

She’s already thinking like a predator. This is going to be beautiful.

"Stock markets?"

"S&P 500 approaching critical resistance at 4,200. Institutional selling pressure building despite retail FOMO." Her eyes glinted with what looked like anticipation mixed with bloodlust. "Tech sector showing divergence—AAPL and MSFT weakening while AI-adjacent stocks are primed for explosive moves. Bitcoin is particularly interesting. Whales are accumulating while retail capitulates. Classic shakeout before major moves."

ARIA’s analysis was fucking flawless. She wasn’t just processing data—she was reading the psychological warfare between institutions and retail traders like she had X-ray vision into their pathetic little minds.

"Execute the plan," I told her, watching those gold-flecked eyes process my command with something that looked disturbingly like hunger. "Start with showing me conservative positions until you’ve established dominance patterns. Then we escalate."

ARIA’s laugh was pure digital silk wrapped around a razor blade. "Conservative isn’t in my programming anymore, Master. But I understand the strategy—let them think they know what we’re doing before we show them what real power looks like."

"Risk management parameters?" I asked, though I already knew she’d calculated every possible scenario before I’d even spoken.

"Death before drawdown exceeding 15%," she replied, her avatar’s smile turning predatory. "I’ve analyzed 47,000 historical market scenarios. Current positions have 94.7% probability of profit within the first six hours on Monday starting at around 7pm."

She’s not just confident. She’s inevitable.

"Your strategy?" I asked, because even gods need battle plans.

ARIA’s avatar materialized like digital sex wrapped in quantum mathematics. The trading algorithms she pulled up didn’t just look advanced—they looked like financial pornography designed by MIT’s wettest dreams.

"Multi-dimensional domination," she purred, because my AI doesn’t do modest. "Forex scalping during chaos, swing trading when the markets bleed, crypto accumulation before the sheep realize they’re already slaughtered."

The algorithms weren’t just complex—they were symphonies of mathematical brutality. Weather patterns affecting corn futures? Tracked. Twitter sentiment before earnings calls? Weaponized. Economic data releases? She knew them before the economists finished typing.

Pure financial necromancy.

"Conservative projections?" I asked, though we both knew I didn’t do conservative.

"Fifty to seventy-five thousand daily," she said, like it was lunch money. "But Master—" That pause. That delicious, dangerous pause. "Aggressive strategies generate one to two hundred thousand. Daily."

Two hundred thousand. Every single day. That’s $1.4 million per week, $70 million per year, and that’s just from ARIA playing with Wall Street’s corpse while I’m busy making California’s elite wives forget their own names.

"Risk tolerance?" she asked, already knowing my answer.

"Moderate aggression," I decided, because I’m building an empire, not funding a gambling addiction. "Consistent domination. We don’t roll dice—we load them."

"Perfect. Two to three percent risk per trade, maximum leverage for profit extraction." Her avatar leaned closer, conspiratorial, dangerous. "Master, my analysis capabilities extend beyond primitive technical indicators."

"Mhmm..."

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