Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 230

Chapter 230: The Altar of Desires

As the evening deepened, our conversation shifted from polite rebellion to something that felt more like treason. What began as laughter over unmet desires had evolved into a clandestine marketplace of whispered promises and discreet invitations. The rooftop wasn’t an engagement party anymore; it was Versailles on the eve of collapse, every woman here a queen ready to gamble her crown.

The proof came in the form of business cards. They appeared not with desperation, but with the careful choreography of high-stakes diplomacy.

Vivienne struck first, her gallery card sliding into my hand as smoothly as a bribe. On the back: For private viewings of my personal collection—call anytime, day or night. Her smile made it clear this wasn’t about landscapes or sculpture.

Celeste followed, her handwriting looping like the brushstrokes she claimed to curate: I specialize in discovering hidden treasures that need the right touch to reveal their true value. She placed it in my palm like she was entrusting me with something sacred—or dangerous.

Anastasia, predictably, wrapped her proposition in pharmaceutical language. Some formulas require very discrete testing with the right subject. The private number beneath it was more dangerous than any controlled substance.

Ashby’s script was elegant enough to disguise the indecency of her offer. I have connections in France that could prove... mutually beneficial for the right partner. Every curve of her handwriting felt like a caress.

Sophia, though newest to the circle, had already abandoned restraint. Her card promised private exhibitions showcasing pieces usually kept in storage. I didn’t need to be an art critic to know the exhibit wasn’t the only thing she intended to unveil.

But Amanda... Amanda shattered what little boundaries remained. The bride-to-be, at her own engagement party, managed to slip me her card in the middle of a conversation about Miami real estate.

Her note was short, devastating, and dripping with betrayal: In case you ever need anything in Miami. Anything at all.

Her fiancé stood a dozen feet away, nursing his wounded pride with bourbon and denial, oblivious to the fact that his marriage vows were already dissolving under my smile.

Margaret, of course, was watching. Always watching. Not with outrage, but with satisfaction. The way a general surveys a battlefield after her troops have carried out the strategy exactly as planned.

When she finally approached me, it wasn’t the gesture of a woman flustered by impropriety. It was the walk of someone who had saved her pièce de résistance for last.

The circle had become a cult, and I was both prophet and executioner.

"Eros," Margaret said softly, as though the whole rooftop existed just to funnel her voice to me. "I hope you’ll consider extending your Miami visit. I’d love to show you some investment opportunities that might interest someone with your particular... talents."

I smiled, the kind of smile that promised everything while revealing nothing. "I’d be very interested in hearing more."

She handed me her card. Unlike the others—cluttered with logos, titles, and veiled innuendo—Margaret’s was utterly blank, save for a single number written in elegant script. Nothing but her direct line. No shields. No distractions. Just her and me.

"Excellent." Her smile was pure velvet hiding a blade. "I’ll call you tomorrow to arrange something private. Very private."

I might have basked in the intoxicating orbit of these women a moment longer—if ARIA hadn’t pierced my thoughts like a needle through silk.

"Master," her voice whispered into the sanctum of my mind, urgent and precise, "we have a significant security concern. Three operatives with military-grade equipment have been surveilling Margaret Thompson throughout the evening."

I didn’t so much as blink. Isabelle was describing French pharmaceutical regulations, and I was nodding along like it was foreplay. Inside, though, my focus shifted razor-sharp.

"Former CIA?" I asked silently.

"Confirmed. Enhanced thermal imaging, directional microphones, tactical positioning. They’re here for Margaret... but their chatter spiked the moment Charlotte arrived. They’re surprised she’s here."

Charlotte. Of course. Leave it to her to draw more heat than a nuclear reactor.

"What’s their angle?"

"Still analyzing. But body language suggests imminent action. Coordinated. And someone off-site is directing them through encrypted channels."

Vivienne was mid-story about her ex-husband’s tragic Tinder phase, and I laughed on cue, even as my mind ran calculations ARIA fed me in real time.

And then, clear as a whisper pressed against my ear, a female voice cut through—smooth, professional, utterly lethal: "Get her when you have an opening."

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify