Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 161

Chapter 161: End

As Logan led me toward the conference room, I caught a glimpse of the waiting area. Madison was there, anxiety radiating off her like she was about to take the SATs drunk. Tommy had shown up, probably ditching class, looking miserable but loyal. Even Connor was there, no doubt live-streaming this shitshow for clout.

’The disaster squad assembled. How touching. Somebody get us matching t-shirts.’

"Your attorney is Nathaniel Sterling," Logan informed me. "He’s... intense." (Not related to the Sterlings, the old money family)

That was underselling it. When I walked in, I was met with the human embodiment of a cease-and-desist letter. Nathan Sterling looked like what happens when you crossbreed a shark with Harvard Law.

Mid-forties, silver fox hair, eyes sharp enough to cut a 1099 form, and wearing a suit that probably came with its own security clearance.

"Mr. Carter." He stood, extending a hand that had probably ended more careers than drugs and Twitter combined. "The Torres family retained my services—though I understand your mother and Madison, who by the way called me without informing her parents, will be co-strategizing."

I know exactly who you are. You got Senator Daniels off that insider trading charge using a loophole I literally wrote a paper on. Your win rate’s 94.7%. The other 5.3% were probably people dumb enough to ignore your advice.

I kept my mouth shut. Let him think I was just another dumb teenager who solved problems with fists instead of case law. No need to mention I could dismantle five of him before my coffee cooled.

"Master," ARIA chimed in my head, "Mr. Sterling’s nickname ’The Teflon Maker’ comes from his ability to make charges slide off clients like they’re coated in non-stick spray."

’Yeah, thanks, Wikipedia with sass. I’ve studied half his cases. Guy’s basically a legal war crime in Armani.’

"Let’s discuss reality." Sterling opened a leather folder that probably cost more than my mom’s monthly paycheck. "The charges are serious—assault, battery, aggravated assault if the prosecutor gets cute. They want you tried as an adult."

I bit my tongue to stop myself from explaining exactly why that wouldn’t fly under State v. Morrison and the juvenile rehabilitation act amendments. Instead, I just asked, "And?"

His smile went full apex predator. "And they’ll fail. Because Trent Holloway is about to be the defendant in a much larger case—sexual misconduct, blackmail, exploitation of minors. By the time I’m done, the city will beg to drop your charges just to make this go away."

Well, shit. There goes my plan to slow-burn him into a paranoid wreck. Mom, Madison, and Sterling are going for the instant kill.

I’d made a quiet deal with Trent—mutual silence while we handled the assault mess, then I’d pick him apart piece by piece. Make him scared to check his own mail. But now? With my mother, Madison, and Mr. Teflon Maker in the mix, my sadistic long game had just been replaced with a televised execution.

’Fine. If they want to nuke him from orbit instead of letting me torture him slowly, I’ll adapt.’

"You mentioned my mother coordinating?" I asked, tilting my head like I didn’t already know she was about to go full warlord.

"Linda Carter." Respect flickered in Sterling’s eyes. "She’s already laid out a comprehensive strategy—medical records showing Emma’s anxiety diagnosis, documented complaints against Holloway that were ignored, a clear pattern of administrative negligence. Your mother missed her calling—she should’ve been a prosecutor."

Or a mob boss. Either way, she’d make Scarface look like a preschool art project.

"She suggested you might have additional evidence? Hypothetically."

I smiled, keeping my legal knowledge locked down like nuclear codes. "Hypothetically, someone might have recordings. Witness statements. Enough to bury not just Holloway but half the administration."

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