Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 559

Chapter 559: Lea and Kayla

I pulled up to the location—upscale restaurant, valet parking, outdoor seating with heat lamps and privacy screens. Classy. Expensive. The kind of place where you could have a screaming fight and the staff would just bring more wine.

Valet practically ran over when he saw the Chiron. Kid was maybe nineteen. Eyes like dinner plates.

"Take care of her," I said, handing him the keys.

"Yes sir! Absolutely sir!"

I walked toward the restaurant. Could see them through the glass. Sitting at a table. Far apart. Body language screaming hostility.

Yeah.

This was gonna be fun.

I pushed open the door.

Lumière was a cage of hushed money and gilded silence. From my velvet-lined alcove, I watched the air shimmer with truffle falseness and the lies whispered by crystal. I nursed a glass of Burgundy that tasted like blood and velvet, the thick menu propped up like a shield, making me invisible.

Across a table the size of a small country, Lea and Kayla sat like two opposing ideologies about to go to war.

Lea leaned forward, a deliberate counterpoint to the dark-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. The black halter top she wore was a quiet announcement, clinging to a body of restrained curves she hid from a world that couldn’t handle the math behind her beauty.

Behind those lenses, her eyes weren’t just cool; they were scalpels, dissecting every micro-expression on Kayla’s face.

A single, escaped strand of dark hair curled against her cheek—not an accident, I was sure, but a thread she’d purposefully left dangling to see who would dare to pull it. She was the scholar, the quiet storm, and she blushed when you complimented her mind, but her eyes held the promise of a wildfire.

Then there was Kayla. She didn’t sit in chairs; she conquered them. She was draped over hers like it was her personal throne, a white scrap of a crop top revealing a waist so defined it looked airbrushed, and rust-red shorts that were a flag of conquest over hips that didn’t need to announce themselves.

Her dark hair was twisted into a complicated knot that looked careless but was probably a fortress of pins and product costing more than my monthly rent.

She smiled with the lazy certainty of a Roman empress, her gaze sliding over Lea like a flicker of polished contempt, as if she were a fascinating but ultimately irrelevant bug.

The silence between them wasn’t empty; it was a loaded gun with the safety off.

Lea’s fingers brushed the stem of her water glass, a slow, deliberate movement, calibrating. In response, Kayla’s knee nudged forward under the table, a casual invasion of airspace, a claim on the neutral ground.

A live wire of pure animus snapped between them.

Lea’s eyebrow lifted a fraction—the only crack in her armor, a quiet dare. Kayla answered by touching her tongue to her lip, a slow, deliberate, wet fuck you.

A maître d’ in a suit started toward them, took one look at the atmospheric pressure at the table, and made a wise, strategic retreat.

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