Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 452

Chapter 452: Masturbation With Extra Steps

The hallways of Lincoln High felt like burial shrouds—air thin, walls closing in, and every sneaker squeak echoing like it was trying to stab my eardrums for attention. The lighting was that sickly fluorescent kind that made even the happy kids look like ghosts pretending to smile. My Taboo Aura thrummed low under my skin, not a wildfire, just a contained inferno—caged heat waiting for permission to burn the world. Even reined in, it warped the edges of reality, like walking through a photo where someone cranked the contrast up until colors bled.

Then came Lea.

I smelled her before I saw her—jasmine and desperation, the kind of mix that announces trouble before your brain even processes it. She slipped into my orbit between third and fourth period, perfume first, pretenses second. The jealousy rolling off her wasn’t emotional—it was chemical, tangible, like smog you could choke on.

Her pupils blew wide the moment our eyes met. Not romance. Not curiosity. Just her biology submitting to a predator it didn’t understand. My Eyes, the System’s HUD, painted her heat like a crime scene—rose-gold halos pulsing at her throat, wrists, thighs. Every flicker of her body screaming what her lips were too proud to say.

She wanted answers. About Madison. About the changes. About me.

Not today. I had a kingdom to build.

I pivoted before her Chanel No. 5-fueled TED Talk on heartbreak could start. The Aura recorded her heartbreak like data points: shoulders slumping, breath catching, hand half-raised before gravity—or shame—dragged it back down. Somewhere behind me, her pride cracked like porcelain.

Then came Kayla, lurking near my locker like a thirst trap in 3D. Hips cocked, tank top artfully negligent, eyes telegraphing a message written in lust and bad decisions. Three weeks ago, I’d have been all over that—hormones first, brain later. Now? The Lust Presence stirred in my chest, eager, hungry, and annoyed I wasn’t feeding it.

The Eyes saw everything: pupils dilating, pulse accelerating, her skin temperature jumping two degrees from a five-second proximity. The kind of physiological tell you can’t fake—not even with good lighting and lip gloss.

She wanted to be seen. To be consumed. To matter.

I didn’t even blink. Just detoured through the science wing, her disappointed exhale trailing me like background music.

Because today wasn’t about high school politics or dopamine distractions. Today had gravity. I wasn’t a student anymore—I was an architect watching insects fight over a breadcrumb while skyscrapers rose around them, silent and inevitable.

By final bell, I’d ghosted every problem, person, and pretty face Lincoln High could throw at me. My phone buzzed—Vice Principal alert: "Meeting. Concerning behavior patterns."

Delete.

If they knew how "concerning" I really was, they’d call the Pentagon, not a parent-teacher conference.

Instead, I texted my girls.

Me: Leaving now. To the estate.Madison: Already in the parking lot, baby. Where are you?

A second ping followed.

And the entire future crystallized—razor-sharp and diamond-clear.

Victoria: Catherine confirmed. Meridian wants you before close of business for assessment and initial procedures. Don’t be late—she doesn’t appreciate tardiness.

There it was. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

The call.

The next ascension.

I smiled—slow, dangerous, and inevitable.

Game on.

Meridian Elite Modeling Agency.A front, of course. A gilded choke-point where Miami’s wealthiest and most disillusioned women paid obscene premiums for the illusion of control. The husbands couldn’t satisfy them. The cocktails couldn’t numb them. So they came here—to be seen, to be wanted, to be wrecked by something they couldn’t buy.

A place where billion-dollar CEOs whispered "please," where politicians’ wives dropped their pearls along with their pretense.

And for me?

It was the doorway.

The next tier. The part where power stopped being a theory and started being a habit.

The Convoy: Rolling Thunder

My Lamborghini Veneno crouched in the parking lot like a chrome-scaled beast mid-pounce—every line a flex of engineered violence. When I twisted the key, the exhaust didn’t roar. It threatened. A detonation of mechanical fury that sent alarms shrieking down the rows like frightened witnesses.

Madison’s McLaren slid up beside me—papaya orange, molten and impossible to ignore. Through the tinted glass, her smirk caught the light, that same "I own the world" curve I’d tasted that morning. Confidence rolled off her like radiation.

Behind us, Sarah and Emma took the Range Rover SVR, black-on-black with chrome like knife edges. They didn’t walk anymore; they arrived. The kind of arrival that made trust-fund brats check their last names twice. New money, unbothered and unapologetic. They’d leveled up, and they knew it.

Tommy stayed behind with Mia—because sometimes even kings respect love when it’s real. He waved from his car, grin wide and knowing. He didn’t envy me. He believed in me.That’s rarer than investors.

Ashley and her Insta-parasites wanted to tag along—phones ready, eyes hungry. I told them to go live their best "almost famous" lives. Empire doesn’t wait for passengers; it only carries architects.

It was declaration.

"Baby, you didn’t have to murder him like that."

"Didn’t even try," I said. "That was mercy."

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