Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 395

Chapter 395: With Great Power

By 6:30 AM, my run wrapped—lungs burning sweet fire, veins electric with endorphins, mind a laser-etched blade. Cooling down by our gates, sweat-slick and invincible, a mechanical death-rattle shattered the dawn hush. The fortress across the street—that hulking mansion with gates sealed tighter than a nun’s chastity belt—groaned alive, jaws parting like some billionaire’s grumpy awakening.

Then boom: a sapphire streak detonated onto the asphalt. No mere car—this was a carbon-fiber hypersonic dick-swing, Bugatti Chiron mid-orgasm, vanishing in a heartbeat with an engine snarl that could’ve cracked mountains. Power? The kind peasants drool over but never tame. I tracked its taillights winking around the bend, that feral itch clawing my gut.

Soon. I will have mine. My Chiron—and a fleet to make gods jealous—would roar louder.

I grinned, wolfish. Shopping? Cute sideshow. Today was empire chess—BioLa solution and Madison’s grin will be my checkmate.

Twins stirring soon, Charlotte likely caffeinated and crunching in the living room like a sexy spreadsheet sorceress. Later? Isabella, Luna, Victoria—the Lincoln Heights pack—rolling in for "retail therapy." Blissfully clueless. Cars? Check—hyperspeed toys to armor my queens.

But the penthouse blueprint burned hotter: thirty stories of armored opulence in LA’s prickliest spire, a fuck-off to prying eyes. Garages groaning with bespoke beasts—each whip tailored to her: Emma’s feral Lambo for joyrides, Sarah’s sleek Tesla for her shy escapes, Madison’s armored Maybach to queen the board. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

Wardrobe blitz to torch their pasts, draping them in threads screaming "untouchable"—silks for Vivienne’s venom, leather for Ortega’s edge.

They’d think it’s splurge day. Fools. It’s coronation. My constellation, rising. And me? The sun with a hard-on for conquest. Game on.

And tonight... tonight was consecration fire. The full harem converging—no more stolen solos, no pussyfooting schedules. Acknowledged. Celebrated. Fused in sweat-slick purpose and ecstasy. Madison had purred it last call, that razor-edged thrill slicing through: "Time to properly introduce the queens to the new order." Her voice? Pure venom-laced honey, promising orgy-level unification where egos clashed and cunts crowned.

With great power comes great responsibility.

The Spider-Man cliché ricocheted in my skull as I pounded the pavement through the neighborhood’s half-awake opulence—Lincoln Heights flexing even pre-dawn: flawless sidewalks like surgical scars, lights sculpting hedges into nocturnal wet dreams, estates oozing old-money whispers through iron filigree and hedge-trimmed hubris.

The mantra thrummed as I pounded through the neighborhood’s stirring luxury—Lincoln Heights flaunting its pedigree even pre-dawn: sidewalks like polished marble, lights carving landscapes into shadowed masterpieces, estates murmuring legacy through ornate gates and flawless topiary.

Earlier, in the living room’s hush, Charlotte had been at it already—laptop aglow, fingers a storm resurrecting Quantum Tech from its grave. We’d exchanged nods, the air crackling with unspoken charge, before she laid out the unexpected: Deploy the four billion clawed from the vultures straight into Quantum Tech. Personal investment.

The numbers sang seduction. We’d burned $2.5 billion of the original seven on five companies acquisitions the CIA sold us. After Mom’s mansion and the bleed of sundries, $4.9 billion idled—stagnant, inflation’s quiet thief at work.

Her plan was simple: four billion infusion into her company, catapulting valuation from $8.9 billion to twelve

That didn’t even count the hidden billions she’d mentioned—reserves that would become our initial investment fund when I started commercializing my inventions.

That untapped reserves would seed our invention pipeline.

It was an excellent deal by any objective measure. She was offering me equity in a company positioned to reach eighty billion in valuation within years. Most investors would have signed immediately, grateful for access to such opportunity.

But I’d refused.

I turned it down.

Surprise hit her like a slap—eyes widening, concern etching lines—until I broke it down.

And the reasoning was everything—the difference between personal enrichment and generational infrastructure, between hoarding wealth and deploying it strategically for those who mattered.

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