Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 244

Chapter 244: The Absurdity of Heroes

Let me take a moment to address the sheer fucking absurdity of what I’d just done. Here I was—plummeting forty stories toward certain death—all because I decided to play hero for a woman I’d known for exactly three hours. Three hours. That’s not even enough time for Amazon Prime same-day delivery, but apparently it was enough for me to risk splattering my enhanced ass across Collins Avenue.

What kind of brain-dead, testosterone-poisoned logic was that?

I could’ve walked away. Could’ve grabbed Amanda, tucked her in with Madison, whispered a quick "you’ll be fine, babe" like some bargain-bin James Bond, and then drafted a smarter rescue plan for Charlotte’s mom—because let’s face it, kidnappers don’t kill their bargaining chip early.

Basic logic. Common sense.

But no. Instead of common sense, I decided to channel Tom Cruise’s Scientology-fueled insanity and BASE jump without a parachute.

I could’ve checked the group chat blowing up with Miami’s elite—horny heiresses, neglected trophy wives, power-hungry socialites—all ready to throw themselves at the new god on their block. I could’ve built a rotation that would make Hugh Hefner crawl out of his grave, salute, and then cry into his silk pajamas.

Instead, I chose to fucking skydive without equipment because... what? I thought I was Captain America after one too many Marvel trailers?

The wind didn’t just whip me—it shredded me. My body was a ragdoll caught in a hurricane made of frozen knives. Jesus Christ, it hurt worse than Jack Morrison’s sucker punch back in Computer Science class. And that asshole had put his whole angry, small dick anger and jealous soul into that punch.

Who knew one cheap shot in a dingy classroom would butterfly-effect me into freefalling through Miami’s skyline like some discount superhero mid-nervous breakdown?

My eyes watered from the wind, but even through the blur of neon and moonlight, the system’s sense of irony was crystal clear. Of course it would all come full circle now. Not with Jack’s fist—nah, that was just the trigger.

The real ignition point was me standing up in front of that class and declaring my dick energy to the entire room like it was a TED Talk.

That was the spark. The punch was just the drumroll before curtain rise.

Bam—fist to the skull, system awakened, life permanently hijacked.

And speaking of poetic justice, let’s not forget the cherry on top: I’d just fucked his girlfriend. Sofia didn’t just surrender in my old house—she begged me to brand her, begged me to rewrite her entire identity around mine.

Oh, my Little Ghost. My freshly broken-in devotee. I was actually going to miss her. Why the fuck hadn’t I added her to the official harem roster call?

That was a rookie mistake.

Her face blurred in my head, softer now, glowing with post-sex satisfaction. Amanda safe with Madison—that part was handled. Harold? Broken beyond repair. That box was checked too. But Charlotte Thompson losing her mother? My adoptive mom at home? My twin sisters who thought I walked on water? My women who hadn’t even tasted half of what I had in store for them?

Those stakes cut sharper than the wind tearing my skin open.

"Master, can you stop the internal monologue and just buy the fucking jacket?" ARIA’s voice cut through my death spiral like a Verizon ad in the middle of your favorite song.

"You fun-killing AI," I snarled into the hurricane screaming past me. "If this were a movie, you just blue-balled the entire audience. This is supposed to be my reflective-before-death scene! The part where readers cry, maybe touch themselves a little, before I get reincarnated into some fantasy hentai world!"

ARIA, as always, didn’t give a single calculated fuck.

I blinked. "Wait—stupidity tax? Oh, fuck you. Did my system just develop a snarky personality?"

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