Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 167

Chapter 167: How Charm Luna

"Did you think I wouldn’t?" I asked, trying to sound casual while my brain performed Olympic-level gymnastics.

"Well, considering you’re apparently internet famous for assaulting a vice principal today, I thought you might have other priorities." Her tone wasn’t judgmental. It was like she was amused by the idea that I could survive the world without a seatbelt.

"That’s... complicated," I muttered, sliding into the chair across from her.

Close enough to smell her now. Subtle perfume. Expensive. Vanilla, but with a hint of "maybe I’ll make a terrible decision tonight." Gold flecks in her brown eyes caught the light and mocked me gently. And her lipstick—slightly smudged from chewing her bottom lip while studying—made me think I’d get distracted if I stared too hard.

"I’m sure it is." She pushed a coffee toward me. Our fingers brushed. One second. One electrical second that made me seriously consider thanking the universe for small, cruel miracles. "Medium roast. No sugar. Figured anyone who reads medical journals for fun takes their coffee seriously."

"Good guess."

"Not a guess. Deduction." That grin, crooked and playful, should have been illegal. Christ, when she smiled like that, she looked younger. Softer. Human. Approachable. Should be out of my league, but still... possible? Well, I was your normal teenager, not anymore.

"So," she leaned forward, sweater dipping just enough to break the laws of physics without calling OSHA, "ready to blow my mind with your understanding of beta-blocker pharmacokinetics?"

’She’s not asking about the arrest. Not judging. Just... rolling with it like it’s part of the package. Like maybe I’m not a disaster, just... interesting.’

"Always," I said, trying not to stare. Tried being the operative word. The universe had made her sweater a weapon of mass distraction but in my heart before my pants. "But first, what’s giving you the most trouble?"

She flipped her textbook around like it was some kind of cryptic puzzle. The diagram inside looked like someone had attempted to map the Tokyo subway system while drunk. "Selective versus non-selective beta blockade in emergency situations. When to use what and why."

’Great. She’s asking about medicine. And I’m supposed to be sixteen who can barely figure out what I’m supposed to wear to avoid being assassinated by Ray’s monologues. I have really outran my age and expectations. I’m... so divine for my age.’

As she explained her confusion, she shifted closer, turning the textbook so we could both see it. Close enough that my personal space filed a formal complaint. Warmth radiated off her like a subtle weapon. Her knee pressed against mine under the table.

She either didn’t notice—or noticed and decided to file her own complaint.

"My professor explains it in pure chemistry terms," she said, frustration painting her voice in bright, angry colors. "All receptor binding affinity and molecular structure, but nothing about real-world applications."

’Right, because nothing says fun like translating molecular tantrums into human consequences by a teenager.’

"Okay, forget the chemistry for a second," I said, forcing focus on the actual subject instead of how her hair smelled like coconut shampoo and a very bad decision. "Think about what you’re trying to achieve. Non-selective blocks both beta-1 and beta-2, so you get cardiac effects plus bronchospasm risk."

Without thinking, I grabbed her pen, leaned across the table, and sketched a diagram on her notepad.

That meant my arm brushed hers. She didn’t recoil. She didn’t even twitch. The faint freckles across her nose appeared almost deliberately, like some cruel angel had placed them there to ruin my ability to think straight.

"Selective focuses on beta-1," I continued, mentally trying not to melt, "so you get—"

"Cardiac specific without the respiratory complications," she finished, her voice softer now, curving around the edges like warm chocolate. "So in asthma patients—"

"Selective only. Atenolol, metoprolol." I looked up from the diagram. She was staring at me, and I couldn’t read her expression. Maybe approval. Maybe amusement. Maybe ’I-know-you’re-dying-inside-but-I’m-going-to-watch.’ She knew the way she was dressed was making my mind imagine five or more positions I am going to fuck her in after here.

"Non-selective, like propranolol, could trigger fatal bronchospasm."

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