Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 142

Chapter 142: Nurse Luna... Hot Luna

I was mid-monologue with ARIA about the finer points of our soon-to-be software empire—IPO timelines, market annihilation, and which industry titans we’d make kneel first—when Mrs. Henderson’s shadow broke over my desk like a hawk circling a dying rabbit.

"Mr. Carter!" Her voice hit my train of thought like a brick through a Ferrari windshield. "Perhaps you’d like to rejoin us here on Earth and explain the economic implications of market consolidation?"

Translation: Stop ignoring my lesson and start performing for the plebeians.

I blinked once. Shit. Caught mid–global domination fantasy, sentenced to perform econ karaoke. Thirty sets of eyes pinned me in place, broadcasting that special cocktail of curiosity and secondhand embarrassment you only get when a teacher decides you’re the day’s entertainment.

Old me might’ve panicked, stammered, or at least sweated through the shirt. New me? The upgraded model? My mind didn’t just switch gears—it rewrote the road.

"Market consolidation reduces competition, raises barriers to entry," I said, smooth enough to sell perfume. "Companies buy up smaller ones to dominate market share, which can lead to higher consumer prices but greater efficiency through economies of scale."

I kept it entry-level genius—just enough to say, I know my shit, without tipping into I could buy this school, rename it, and sell it back to you at a markup. No reason to make the sheep panic before the shearing.

Henderson nodded, pleased. "And the regulatory concerns?"

"Antitrust laws exist to prevent monopolies, but enforcement depends on political climate and how many politicians you can fit in your pocket."

Safe. Polished. Absolutely true. And not even the tip of the iceberg of what I actually knew from running simulated black-market takeovers at 3 a.m.

From across the room, Lea Martinez delivered her daily glare—a cocktail of rage, suspicion, and the kind of misplaced moral superiority you only get from losing arguments in your head. Once upon a time, her attention mattered. Now she was just background static—like a chess beginner convinced they were about to corner the grandmaster. Cute, if you ignore the irrelevance.

Mrs. Henderson drew breath to continue, but the knock on the classroom door cut her off. The sound sent a ripple through the male half of the class—a collective inhale, followed by murmurs like they were expecting salvation itself.

Henderson’s eyes rolled, slow and weary, like she’d seen this play before.

"Come in."

The door opened.

Nurse Valentina Luna stepped in, and suddenly the room’s air pressure changed. She wasn’t beautiful. That word’s a Honda Civic. She was a Ferrari idling at a red light, knowing the speed limit is just a suggestion.

Long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail that was somehow both professional and good luck keeping your mind on your sentence. Latina features sharp enough to make traffic stop, paired with a smile that was perfectly safe on paper but came with a mental health warning in practice.

Her uniform was regulation, but her body refused to comply with regulations.

I’d seen dangerous women before. Isabella could start wars with a glance. But Nurse Luna? She was a war that started herself.

Most beauty invites. Luna challenged. You didn’t just want her—you wanted to survive her.

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