Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 74

Chapter 74: The Wet Sinful Beauty~

Inside the House

Isabella Rodriguez moved through her kitchen like she was performing for an audience that never showed up.

Every flick of her wrist, every quiet sip from her overpriced coffee mug screamed routine—well-polished, painfully efficient, and just shy of desperate. Steam curled off the surface like it was the only heat in her life she could count on.

She was thirty-four and still hot enough to make strangers look twice and their wives pretend not to notice. But in her own house? She might as well have been a damn lamp.

Her dark hair was tied up in a messy bun that looked accidental but took two mirror checks, and her yoga pants fit like sin sculpted her hips. That gray tank top hugged her curves like it knew exactly how underappreciated they were.

She cleaned a counter that didn’t need cleaning. Reorganized a drawer that hadn’t seen chaos since 2019.

The truth? She wasn’t organizing—she was spiraling in soft silence. Loneliness didn’t whisper anymore. It shouted. And she’d learned how to smile through it, like some kind of suburban martyr.

She wasn’t just lonely. She was starved. For something raw. For a gaze that burned. For fingers that knew how to pull her apart in all the right ways—and the wrong ones. She wanted to be looked at like she was dangerous again.

Like she was worth sinning for.

Her gaze caught on her reflection in the kitchen window, and for a moment, the woman staring back looked like she belonged in someone else’s fantasy. That body? Men used to lose sleep over it. Smooth skin. Tight curves. Breasts that filled out clothes like they had a grudge against subtlety. She worked for that body.

Maintained it. And for what? So her husband could scroll Instagram models while she scrubbed countertops that already shined?

Isabella blinked. Still her. Still invisible. And maybe that was the cruelest part—she hadn’t faded. The world just stopped seeing.

Her friends always made it sound so casual—how their husbands couldn’t keep their hands off them. How they had to sneak away just to get a moment of peace, how their men still looked at them like they were the prize after all these years.

Isabella would laugh along, sip her wine, throw in a little joke. But inside, she was cracking.

They had no idea what it was like to be completely untouched for months. No fingers brushing over your skin. No mouth whispering need into your neck. No grip on your waist, pulling you in like you were the reason someone breathed.

She didn’t even remember the last time Roberto kissed her with hunger. It had become mechanical—like checking a box. His hands were cold when they touched her, and his eyes were always somewhere else.

On his phone. On his work.

On everything but her!

It hadn’t always been like this. She remembered the man who used to chase her around the house like she was some irresistible secret. Who used to press her against the wall in the hallway just because he couldn’t wait until they got to the bedroom.

But somewhere along the way, he’d stopped seeing her as a woman. Somewhere, she’d faded into a title. Wife. Mother. Placeholder.

The change had been slow, like watching color drain from a photo. The kisses got shorter. The glances colder.

The sex, if it happened, felt like a task being crossed off a list. She tried. God, she tried. She bought new lingerie—black lace, red silk, even a sheer set that made her blush just looking at herself in the mirror. She lit candles. Cooked. Talked. Cried.

Nothing worked.

So she stopped trying.

She ordered her first toy one night after another empty anniversary dinner. It arrived in a plain box, and she opened it like it was a secret affair.

The first time she used it, she cried. Not from shame—but from the brutal realization that a machine had made her feel more alive than the man she shared a bed with.

Now, it was just another part of her routine. A ghost lover that waited patiently in the dark. Always ready. Always silent. Yet it too could only do so much.

And lately... she’d started watching. Not just regular porn, either—no, the kind with slow hands and deep kisses.

Where the man looked at the woman like she was made of divine fire. Where every moan was worship, not just noise. She watched and wondered what it felt like to be wanted like that. Not quick. Not rough. Not out of pity. But desired. Ravished like something sacred.

How long could someone go without being seen before they disappeared completely?

She didn’t know. But she was starting to fade.

And she had no idea that someone was watching.

Peter’s gaze sharpened. His eyes didn’t just see her—they read her. Every twitch. Every breath. Every tell. The way her shoulders carried weight she never voiced.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify