Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 225

Chapter 225: Margret: Eros Rules the Night

The suite had gone full war room mode. Charlotte vanished into her room with the focus of someone preparing to negotiate with me over the price of oxygen. Madison, meanwhile, turned our king-size bed into a battlefield of silk and sequins, three dresses laid out like weapons of mass distraction.

"Which one screams ’mysterious European heiress’ without saying ’trying too hard’?" she asked, holding up a black silk number that probably cost more than a mid-tier Tesla.

"Baby, all of them scream ’goddess.’ The real question is which one makes the other wives reconsider their prenups."

I was already in full Eros mode—six-foot-three of supernatural perfection wrapped in a custom Tom Ford tuxedo that fit like it had been sewn directly onto my enhanced frame. The transformation had become so natural that shifting between Peter and Eros felt like changing clothes.

Supernatural arrogance poured into a Tom Ford tux that fit like God Himself had measured me. The Eros mask was active—digitally scrambling me invisible to cameras and facial recognition. I was the kind of problem no billionaire security system could patch.

Madison slipped into the black silk, adding her system veil—suddenly European royalty en route to a funeral. Elegant. Mysterious. Untouchable. The perfect disguise for a queen about to help me hunt Miami’s neglected wives like we were casting for The Real Housewives of Trauma Recovery.

"Charlotte," I called, tightening my cufflinks. "Ready to introduce your business partner to some new clients?"

Her voice floated back, muffled but sharp. "I’m ready to watch you work. Consider this my field trip in seduction economics."

*

The Maybach slid through Miami Beach like we’d bought naming rights to the city. The Setai rose in front of us, all glass and steel flexing like it was auditioning for a Kanye West Instagram post.

Valets moved like ballerinas who happened to juggle Lamborghinis for tips. Our Maybach joined the lineup of Ferraris, Rolls-Royces, and other overpriced toys, each parked like trophies in a competition to see who could scream "divorce settlement" the loudest.

"Jesus Christ," Charlotte muttered, staring out the tinted windows. "I forgot how over-the-top Miami wealth gets."

"This?" Madison smirked under her veil. "This is foreplay. Wait until you see the actual party."

The elevator ride to the rooftop was pure mythology—smooth, silent, glass walls turning the Miami skyline into a glowing circuit board beneath us. Olympus for the vain. Heaven for the insecure.

When the doors slid open, I understood why Amanda chose this venue for her engagement party.

The rooftop glowed like a movie set designed by someone who thought subtlety was a disease. Crystal chandeliers dangling in open air. Champagne towers glimmering under moonlight. Women draped in couture like living art pieces. Men dressed in suits they clearly didn’t deserve.

And me?

I wasn’t a guest. I was the main event.

The Setai rooftop wasn’t just a party—it was a feeding ground.

Infinity pools mirrored the Miami skyline so perfectly it looked like we were floating above the city on a magic carpet woven from cocaine money. String lights and candles set the mood somewhere between romantic proposal and cult initiation.

And the women... Jesus Christ.

It wasn’t a guest list—it was a reunion special of Desperate Housewives: Miami Edition. Designer dresses clung to bodies that were ninety percent personal trainers, ten percent top-shelf plastic surgery, and zero percent satisfied. You could smell the hunger in the air. The kind of hunger that Pilates and green juice couldn’t fix.

"ARIA," I thought, sending the ping through our link, "what’s the damage report tonight?"

Men noticed too, but their reactions were hilariously primal: stiffening shoulders, subtle shifts closer to their wives, the kind of territorial flexing that said, Honey, don’t leave me for that guy, but with all the authority of a broken pool noodle.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify