Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 399

Chapter 399: Timely

The walk-in closet’s climate-controlled air kissed our skin as we emerged, Emma’s fingers threaded possessively through mine. She’d raided the racks for vintage band tees and ripped jeans—my old Metallica shirt swallowed her frame, smelling faintly of cedar and me.

The scent clung as we ascended the back stairs to the main house.

Halfway down, Sarah sat perched on the polished mahogany steps, scrolling lazily through her phone. She glanced up, eyes sharp. "Mom almost walked in on your ’shower conference’," she said, voice dry as desert wind.

Emma shivered, pressing closer to my side.

Sarah shook her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Relax. I redirected her to the rose garden. Said you were... adjusting the gym’s new sound system." She met my gaze. "You owe me."

"Owe you several," I corrected, squeezing Emma’s hand. Sarah just hummed, standing to link her arm through my free one. Twin anchors flanked me—Emma buzzing with post-coital defiance, Sarah radiating quiet, watchful devotion.

Public restraint. Private ownership. The dichotomy was electric. Although Mom had been rather public with her need for me, it would be a different story if she knew I was fucking her daughter. She can’t know, not yet.

We found Mom in the kitchen, already dressed in her crisp nurse’s uniform, a light breakfast in hand. It was 10 a.m., and the plan for the day was set.

"We’re heading out for some shopping," I said, as the twins clung to my arms.

The memory of yesterday’s conversation about the canceled family meeting hung in the air, an unspoken current beneath the morning’s casual surface. Mom had initially cleared her schedule for Saturday, a rare day off dedicated to the monumental step of formally meeting the Torres family.

But with their sudden corporate crisis, she’d quietly rescinded her request and decided to work, a practical decision wrapped in a layer of unexpressed disappointment. I had reassured her then; a casual comment tossed into the conversation:

"Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll see what I can do to help them sort it out." She’d given me a look—a complex mix of maternal pride and bewildered awe at the impossible scale of my capabilities—but had simply nodded.

Now, that divergence in our paths was physically manifest in the kitchen. She stood by the counter, already in her starched nurse’s uniform, a symbol of her world of tangible, hands-on care. In her hand was a simple piece of buttered bread, a quick bite before heading out to a reality of shift work and hospital corridors.

Meanwhile, I stood with the twins and Charlotte, a stark contrast. We were dressed not for work, but for indulgence—well-tailored casual wear that spoke of leisure and luxury. We were a portrait of the new life I was building, while she was an anchor to the old.

Her eyes scanned over us, lingering on the way both Emma and Sarah were practically fused to my sides. A weary, fond smile touched her lips. "Try not to spoil them too much, Peter," she said, her voice carrying the gentle chiding of a mother who’d spent a lifetime budgeting and sacrificing.

Emma, ever the dramatic, immediately squealed and hugged my arm tighter, pressing her cheek against my bicep. "Mom, that’s not fair! You’re just jealous you have to work!" she protested, though her eyes sparkled with playful insolence.

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