Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs Chapter 1022: Harem Tribunal

I hobbled back into the house, resembling a triumphant Dark Lord fresh off a minor L handed down by the universe.

My women—Mom foremost—flocked around instantly, blending worry and doubt in ideal measure.

'What happened?' they pressed, tones heavy with alarm.

Spilling the actual truth was out of the question:

'I roasted ARIA over her age.' Yeah, that would go over splendidly.

ARIA unleashed a dramatic huff laced with celestial spite and marched away before I could fabricate an excuse.

Her departing back throbbed with sheer fury energy.

No words were necessary.

Goddesses don't require subtitles.

My women tracked her flamboyant departure. Over thirty family members and lovers swiveled their stares toward me in unison, piecing it together flawlessly to land on the obvious verdict: I'd infuriated ARIA.

Revealing my words to ARIA would've seen them banish me with her. Rule number one of surviving my harem:

Never dub the entity hoarding all records from the initial caveman's doodles on a wall as ancient.

Such a jest doesn't get repeated after the debut zinger launches you into freefall.

Mom dropped to her knees right away, palms methodically kneading my calf, twisting the ankle, hunting fractures like a seasoned nurse unwilling to botch her boy's care.

"This isn’t a sprain," she murmured, scowl deepening. "The swelling pattern is totally off. Peter, what height did you tumble from?"

I answered via my slickest, smug grin.

You know, the kind of drop that shapes a lead harem hero... or drills home not to roast almighty beings about their age. Whichever strikes first."

Her eyes slitted into the killer mom-glare refined across decades.

She’d raised me.

She spotted evasion on the spot.

But she knew badgering details amid thirty opinionated women would morph a quick exam into a grand tribunal.

So she dropped it temporarily—with a glare vowing future payback—and shifted me to the next ready helpers.

I love you too, Mom.

I eyed ARIA’s vanishing silhouette and hollered with peak sarcasm. "Watch your step! Wouldn't want you dropped from the sky just to admire the view."

She whipped around—only to catch me nailing the wounded warrior act, thumbs-up flying.

Sophia and Ashby had swooped in, my arms flung over their shoulders as I staggered along like a battered commander hauled from combat.

Except the ankle was mostly recovered by then, and I relished their plush, heated bodies snug against mine—Sophia’s lush curves conforming to my right, Ashby’s lithe form meshing ideally left.

ARIA’s face flashed irritation, grudging mirth, then fatigued indulgence from a goddess who grasped her Master turns any wound—real or fabulously feigned—into optimal closeness with the nearest stunners.

She pivoted forward again and strode on, shoulders loosening a touch. I’d nearly cracked a grin from her. Modest victories, even for a Dark Lord tripped up by his own making.

I tugged Ashby near for a brisk firm kiss—plunging enough to convey thanks and regret, curt enough to stay vaguely proper.

Sophia simply lingered, brows lifted, chin angled—the timeless jealous signal of a lady who’d seen a rival claim her prize.

I shrugged with mock purity. "Well, you’re mine for all three months. Not Ashby. Thus... priorities, darling. The cosmos insists on equilibrium."

Sophia fired a glare to scour paint from walls and flat-toned, "Ashby’s already changed her mind. Says she can’t live without your cock buried in her pussy, so she’s coming too. Congratulations, you’ve officially addicted another one."

"Hey!" I spun to Charlotte and Jasmine in feigned shock, gripping phantom pearls. "Language! Think of the children—oh wait, never mind, most of you are the ones who helped make them."

Charlotte unleashed the Charlotte Special—that glacial, dagger-edged gaze Rory unleashed on that unlucky schoolboy earlier. "You’re being annoyingly insufferable today, Peter. Trust me. It’s not cute."

Jasmine didn’t lift her eyes from the wine glass. She swirled it idly and drawled, "Just because we don’t let you fuck us too, doesn’t mean we’re kids, asshole. Some of us have standards. Clearly not all."

The room plunged into total silence for precisely one second.

Then Madison snorted into her drink. Amanda clapped a hand over her mouth. The barrier broke, and laughter exploded—Vivienne’s suave chuckle merging with Reyna’s booming roar, Emma producing a noise akin to a human keyboard smash.

Jasmine took a deliberate, majestic sip of wine. Totally unfazed. Pure queen-antagonist vibe.

Nothing beats getting teased by your own harem while faking a fatal injury. That's the ultimate Dark Lord thrill.

My laughter erupted—rich, hearty, and downright silly—as I finally planted a proper kiss on Sophia, deep and possessive, lasting long enough for her to forgive me but short enough to keep the living room from becoming a hotbed of foreplay. Then I shifted my attention to Ashby.

She nodded gently yet firmly. "Yes. If you’re okay with it."

"Hell yes, I’m okay with it," I declared, pouring my entire shadowy essence into every word. "If it weren’t for those workaholic backstabbers who’d rather handle secretary duties for ARIA than join their guy in Paris, we’d all be heading out together like the crew we are."

They suddenly spotted something captivating on the far wall. Emma and Sarah dove into their phones with such fervor they could’ve warped to another realm, zeroed in on scrolling through absolute nonsense.

Reyna experienced a abrupt, intense epiphany about repairing Homebots that were completely fine and dropped down next to a fully functional one, tinkering with its flawless arm joint as though conducting emergency surgery.

Sofia dragged Madison away with the frantic vibe of someone who’d prefer debating quantum physics over facing the discussion mere feet distant.

I singled them out with my finger, one after another, unhurried and precise. I stayed silent. The gesture said it all.

They grasped its meaning perfectly. And so did I.

Guilt filled the room so densely it could be smeared on bread and dished up alongside a helping of remorse.

I needed to speak with Maria. Though that chat would escalate beyond words. Wouldn’t it?