Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 255

Chapter 255: The Voss Blacksheep

Helena understood the rules: power wasn’t about being desired. Power was about being desired by people who would never touch you, never hold you, never even get close enough to leave a scratch. And Sloane? Left with fantasies that were basically unpaid internships in lust, chaos, and admiration.

"Sloane," Helena’s voice sliced through his mental worship like a katana through silk, "I can practically hear you fantasizing about my ass from across the room. Either report your intelligence or go jerk off in private... are you planning to stand there mentally fucking me, or do you have something to report?"

Crude. Precise. Lethal. Her honey-and-venom tone was basically a masterclass in humiliation. Sloane’s brain short-circuited, simultaneously craving and fearing her judgment—like watching a Ferrari speed toward a cliff and hoping it doesn’t explode.

"Apologies, ma’am," he muttered, forcing his eyes off the hypnotic rise and fall of her chest and onto her face, which somehow looked like it had been photoshopped by a bored god. "Critical communications failure at Facility C."

She pivoted, and the frontal view was catastrophic. Blue eyes locked on him like an MRI machine for his soul. Disappoint her? Not an option. Fail her? Also, not an option.

"Details."

"Total blackout five minutes ago. All frequencies jammed, satellite communications severed, even hardened military channels are dark."

Her lips pursed—tiny imperfection, massive devastation. Like she’d left a crack in perfection just to remind him who really ran the world. Sloane’s brain briefly filed it under.

"Equipment malfunction?" The words carried the weight of someone who knew that equipment only fails on its own in fairy tales and horror movies.

"No, ma’am. Active signal jamming within a five-mile radius. Coordinated electronic warfare assault."

Helena’s chest rose and fell in deeper, controlled breaths. Professional mask on, but the tension underneath was palpable. Sloane could almost see her fuming like a nuclear reactor disguised as a supermodel.

"Who has that level of capability?"

Sloane hesitated, because honestly, saying the answer aloud felt like tossing a lit match into a powder keg. "Intel and how fast an skilled, it suggests it’s your sister, ma’am. Ava Voss."

The Ice Queen’s mask shattered, if only slightly. Blue eyes flared with fury that could melt titanium, obliterate careers, or just ruin someone’s entire afternoon.

"That meddling little bitch," Helena growled, lips twisting into a snarl that somehow also looked like a smile. "Ava always did have terrible timing."

Sloane swallowed. He could feel that primal, dangerous edge in her gaze—like standing in front of a hurricane wearing flip-flops. And yes, he was still secretly noticing the way her silhouette was ridiculously perfect in the window light.

Dangerous and aesthetically criminal.

"She’s been tracking rogue operations for months," Sloane offered. "Inevitable she’d catch wind of us eventually."

Helena glided to the bulletproof window overlooking Miami. Even in silhouette, she looked like mythology had moonlighted as an assassin. Curves and posture designed to inspire worship or fear—sometimes both simultaneously.

"So, Facility C is compromised," she murmured, more to herself than him. "Dmitri’s weapons cache... now in federal hands. Maybe."

She turned, and Sloane felt blood run cold. Helena angry was dangerous. Helena calculating while angry? Apocalyptic.

"It doesn’t matter," she said, voice calm enough to make you wet yourself if you weren’t already scared. "That was Dmitri’s problem. Let him explain to buyers why their shipments won’t arrive."

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