Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 152

Chapter 152: Emma’s Nightmare

Emma Carter was laughing with Jess Martinez near their lockers, the sound bright and infectious, bouncing off the metal like someone had managed to bottle summer and pop the cap just for them. For a second—just one perfect second—she looked like her old self. The girl who used to treat life like a dare you could only win by saying yes to everything. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

"Oh my God, did you see what Connor posted about the vampire house?" Jess was half-giggling, half-trying not to choke, shoving her phone into Emma’s personal space. On-screen, Connor Hayes was in full method-acting meltdown, reenacting Tommy’s vampire theories like he was auditioning for a low-budget Shakespeare remake. "He’s so weird. But like... endearingly weird."

Emma was mid-snort when her phone buzzed.

Vice Principal Holloway: Office. Now. Don’t keep me waiting.

Her laugh didn’t fade—it dropped dead. Like someone had cut the audio feed. Her smile cracked in the middle and just... fell away, shattering into pieces she knew she’d never find again. Cold swept through her chest like she’d swallowed a block of ice, and then, just as fast, heat followed—thick, sour, curling in her gut like bad cafeteria chili. She gripped the phone so tight the cheap plastic case made a faint cracking sound.

"Em? You okay?" Jess’s voice was suddenly quiet, careful.

Emma’s throat refused to work. Her pulse was loud in her ears, too loud, like it was trying to warn her about something she already knew but didn’t want to remember. A shiver ran up her arms—the kind that wasn’t from the air conditioning but from that kind of memory. The buried kind. The kind you wish would stay buried.

"I... I have to go," she said, her voice sounding like it had been sanded down to splinters.

"Emma, you look—"

But she was already moving.

She walked fast. The kind of fast that says don’t you dare stop me or I’ll break apart right here in front of everyone.

Lincoln High’s hallway was still its usual zoo—lockers slamming, backpacks dropping like sandbags, people laughing too loud at things that weren’t that funny.

Except none of it touched her.

It was like someone had turned the saturation down on reality. The sounds came through muffled, wrapped in cotton. The air felt thicker, like it didn’t want to let her breathe too deeply. Laughter warped, bouncing back to her in weird, empty echoes. Footsteps around her sounded far away, like they belonged to people in a different building entirely.

The hallway ahead seemed to stretch, the floor tilting just enough to mess with her balance—like she’d stepped into a house built by a drunk architect who hated straight lines. Every step felt heavier than the last, her muscles pushing through something that wasn’t quite air anymore.

She didn’t need to check the clock to know she was walking straight toward the part of the school where light always seemed a little dimmer.

And she really didn’t need to ask herself why Vice Principal Holloway had called her.

She already knew.

People passed her—friends, classmates, kids she’d done group projects with—but they were ghosts now. Not the cool, romantic, haunt-your-ex kind of ghosts. The faded, washed-out ones from a brighter world she didn’t live in anymore.

That was the world where the worst thing that could happen was bombing a quiz or spilling milk on your jeans in front of your crush.

She wasn’t in that place anymore.

She was walking into his.

Into the reach of a man who smiled like a mentor but moved like a predator—slow, circling, teeth tucked away until you were close enough for them to matter.

Memories hit her like someone flipping through a slideshow on fast-forward, each slide worse than the last:

The first "behavioral consultation" that had nothing to do with behavior.

His eyes scanning her like the dress code was an X-ray machine.

Standing between her and the door, smile all polite helpfulness while the air between them got too thick to breathe.

Yesterday—his hand "accidentally" brushing across her chest, the slow curve of his mouth when she froze. The knowing in his eyes.

Every day, worse. Every visit, more confident. Every summons, like being handed an eviction notice from the version of herself that felt safe.

And who was going to believe her?

The administrative wing swallowed her whole. Carpet that muffled every step. Motivational posters with toothy smiles that felt less inspirational and more complicit. Even the air smelled different here—lemon cleaner, printer toner, and something faintly sour. Like fear that had been left out too long.

Trent Holloway, Vice Principal

She stared at it too long, and her brain—unhelpful little gremlin—whispered, Should probably add "Creep Extraordinaire" in Comic Sans.

Diplomas lined the walls in smug little rows, each one practically screaming look how respectable I am. The oversized desk squatted dead center like it owned the place, because, well... it did. Two upholstered chairs waited in front of it—soft curves, warm fabric, the kind of comfort that whispered relax in the same tone kidnappers probably used in crime shows.

He was the exact type of handsome magazines marketed as "non-threatening": tall, gym-toned, hair so obedient it clearly feared his hair gel, and clothes cut to suggest authority without outright screaming cop. On someone else, it might have been attractive.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify