Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 471

Chapter 471: Liberate Me

Close enough to feel the Taboo Aura washing over her like summer heat. Close enough to catch his scent—something expensive but not cologne, just him, just natural pheromones amplified by supernatural presence.

Close enough to feel the subtle, insidious need to submit crawling up her spine like fingers made of want.

He towered above her despite her heels adding three inches.

When he looked down, she gulped visibly, her mind flooding with crystal-clear images from what she’d witnessed—his hands on Dominique’s throat, the arch of the evaluator’s back, the sound of screaming orgasms echoing through hidden speakers.

"See that?" He pointed to the Rolls-Royce Phantom parked in Meridian’s front lot, impossible to miss among the other luxury vehicles—matte black perfection that made every other car look like toys.

"That’s what I drive. Four hundred thousand dollars of British engineering. That’s not counting the Lamborghini Veneno I left at home. Or the McLaren. Or the Range Rovers and more."

Catherine’s eyes tracked to the Phantom, and her thoughts screamed: {Jesus Christ, he’s not lying. That’s really his car. How much money does this kid have?}

"So let me ask you something, Catherine." His voice dropped lower, carrying weight that made her breath catch. "Do you honestly think I’m here for money?"

She opened mouth, closed it, opened again. No response came—brain short-circuiting trying to reconcile teenager with supernatural abilities and multi-million-dollar car collection.

He turned to face her fully, and she had to tilt head back to maintain eye contact. The Lust Presence unfurled just slightly—not full blast, just enough to make her thighs press together involuntarily, enough to make her pulse visible in her throat.

"I’m not here for your money," Eros said, voice carrying quiet intensity that felt like physical pressure against her skin.

"I’m here because of my sacred need to satisfy women. To give them what they’re starving for. What they’ve been denied. What they deserve but can’t find anywhere else in this fucked-up world that treats female pleasure like inconvenience instead of priority."

He gestured toward the sprawling beyond the window—million lights representing million stories, million women trapped in million different prisons of expectation and disappointment.

"Out there, Catherine, there are women dying inside marriages that look perfect from outside. CEOs who built empires but can’t remember last time they felt genuinely desired. Diplomats’ wives who speak five languages but can’t translate their sexual frustration into anything their husbands understand.

"Artists and executives and doctors and lawyers and professors—brilliant, accomplished, powerful women who go home every night to beds where they’re invisible. Where their needs are inconvenience. Where their pleasure is afterthought at best, complete fantasy at worst."

His voice grew more passionate, and Catherine found herself leaning in despite herself, hypnotized by conviction that radiated from him like heat from sun.

"These women masturbate in locked bathrooms while their husbands sleep, crying because they can’t remember last time someone made them feel beautiful. They buy expensive vibrators and feel pathetic using them because technology can’t replace being genuinely desired.

"They have affairs that leave them feeling emptier because the men they’re fucking are just as selfish as the ones they married. They consider divorce but can’t because of kids, or careers, or social expectations, or religious pressure, or just fear of being alone."

He turned back to the window, and Catherine followed his gaze instinctively. "They’re everywhere, Catherine. Everywhere. Suffering in silence because admitting sexual dissatisfaction is admitting failure somehow.

"Like being brilliant and accomplished and powerful isn’t enough if you can’t keep your man interested. Like their needs are somehow unreasonable. Like wanting to feel worshipped and desired and satisfied is asking too much."

Catherine’s throat felt tight. Through Plea, her thoughts whispered: {He’s describing me. Oh god, he’s describing my twenties. My past marriage. Every woman I know.}

"My means are limited," Eros continued. "I can satisfy dozens, maybe hundreds of women over time just by myself. But there’s an audience I can’t reach alone. Women who won’t risk hiring unknown escorts or talk to some unknown boy who’d risk her job and Image.

"Women’ trapped in positions where scandals could destroy careers built over decades. Women whose wealth and status make them targets for blackmail and exposure. Women who need discretion more than they need air."

He turned back to her, and let him See her desire map igniting—pulse hammering, breathing shallow, skin flushing beneath professional mask that was crumbling like sandcastle against tide.

"That’s where you come in. That’s where Meridian comes in."

"Yes, you do." He smiled—not cruel, but absolutely certain. "Through your agency, through your client network, through your reputation and security protocols and vetting processes—I can reach thousands. Women who would never risk random escort but will trust Meridian’s recommendation. Women who need liberation but have no safe way to seek it. Women who deserve to discover what their bodies are actually capable of when touched by someone who understands desire like religion."

"I need Meridian’s seal of approval, your security infrastructure, your ability to provide discretion that protects everyone involved."

Catherine stared at him, thoughts screaming: {This is insane. This is the most insane thing I’ve ever heard. And I believe every fucking word.}

Catherine’s breathing had gone ragged. Her thoughts: {God yes, I saw it. I came watching it. Three times. Three fucking times.}

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