Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 426

Chapter 426: The Hotel Acquisition

The Celestial Grand rose from downtown LA like a monument to old money and older ambitions. Fifty-two stories of glass and steel that caught the sunset and threw it back at the city in shades of gold and amber.

The architecture was that perfect blend of classic elegance and modern excess—art deco bones wrapped in contemporary skin, the kind of building that cost more to maintain than most hotels made in profit.

Which explained why it was dying.

But you wouldn’t know it from the outside. The circular driveway was pristine marble, the landscaping looked like it had its own full-time staff of twenty, and the valet stand gleamed under strategically placed lighting that made everything look like a movie set.

I pulled the AMG One into the entrance, and the engine note—that beautiful, violent purr—echoed off the building’s facade like a battle cry.

Every head turned.

The valets stopped mid-conversation. A couple getting out of their Bentley froze. Even the doorman, who probably saw supercars daily, did a double-take.

But that wasn’t what made them stare.

I’d shifted to Eros mode during the drive, letting the transformation ripple through me while Isabella slept. Now I stepped out of the car, and the Lust Presence hit the crowd like a physical wave.

Six-foot-three of supernatural perfection in all black— suit that fit like it had been painted on, crisp white shirt open at the collar, Patek Philippe catching the light on my wrist. My hair was styled in that effortlessly perfect way that said I’d either spent an hour on it or just rolled out of bed post-sex.

I walked around to Isabella’s door and opened it.

She stepped out like she was walking a red carpet, and honestly? She might as well have been.

Black lace dress that hugged every curve, slit up to mid-thigh, the kind of outfit that made straight women question things and straight men forget their wives’ names. Her dark hair cascaded over one shoulder, and she’d touched up her makeup during the drive—smoky eyes, red lips, the works.

She took my offered arm, and we stood there for a moment, letting them look.

The Lust Presence did its work. I could feel it radiating outward, that invisible field of desire and hunger that made people stupid. The women’s pupils dilated. The valet closest to us actually swayed slightly, like she’d been hit with a contact high.

"Mr.?" One of the valets finally found her voice, though it came out strangled.

"That’s..." I handed him the keys, and her hand shook when she took them. "Be careful with her. She bites."

"Y-yes sir."

Isabella’s fingers tightened on my arm as we walked toward the entrance, and I felt her smile against my shoulder. "You’re terrible."

"I’m efficient. There’s a difference."

The doorman nearly tripped opening the door for us, his eyes locked on Isabella like she was the last woman on earth. She didn’t even glance at him.

We stepped inside, and the lobby hit like a architectural orgasm.

Thirty-foot ceilings.

A chandelier that probably cost more than most houses—thousands of crystals catching and throwing light in every direction, creating this shifting constellation overhead. The floor was Italian marble in black and gold, polished so perfectly you could see your reflection.

Columns rose like ancient temples, wrapped in gold leaf that had to be real because fake gold didn’t glow like that.

To the left, a lounge area with velvet furniture the color of wine, intimate seating arrangements around a fireplace that burned real wood despite this being LA in not-winter. To the right, an art gallery wall showcasing pieces that looked suspiciously like original Lichtensteins and Warhols.

Straight ahead, the concierge desk stretched like an altar to luxury—more marble, more gold, staffed by three people in uniforms so crisp they probably had to buy new ones daily.

The space smelled like money.

Not cologne or perfume—just that indefinable scent of wealth. Fresh flowers that cost more than car payments. Wood polish that required specialists. Air that had been filtered and climate-controlled to exact specifications.

And it was all slowly dying because the heirs didn’t give a shit.

Their loss. My gain.

We walked through the lobby, and I felt every eye track us. Business executives. Wealthy tourists. Staff trying to pretend they weren’t staring. The Lust Presence made it impossible not to look, and the visual—me in all black, Isabella in that dress, moving through the space like we owned it—just sealed the deal.

A woman in a Chanel suit actually walked into a column, her eyes locked on us.

The concierge desk waited at the back of the lobby, and behind it stood a young woman who’d probably been hired for her ability to maintain professional composure under any circumstances.

That composure shattered the moment she saw us.

Her mouth literally fell open. Eyes widening. Breath catching. The pen in her hand froze mid-air like she’d been paused.

We reached the desk.

She kept staring.

"Excuse me," I said politely.

Nothing. Her gaze was locked on my face like she was trying to memorize it for later.

She gasped, jerking like she’d been electrocuted, and suddenly became very interested in the computer screen in front of her.

Also, I was the only person crazy enough to buy two penthouses.

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