Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs Chapter 945: The Montclair Meeting
The gallery buzzed with the refined chatter of affluent folks feigning interest in abstract expressionism—they nodded at meaningless brushstrokes while mentally tallying potential resale profits—Amanda suddenly materialized beside me, wearing that telltale look signaling trouble.
Her form-fitting navy gown clung to her body as if defying physics outright—silk so sheer and unforgiving, it seemed almost sprayed on, molding to her deadly contours with ruthless determination.
The halter-style neckline dived low enough to turn breaths into a rare gift she might deny at whim, showcasing generous breasts that heaved with each deliberate breath, as if taunting the entire gathering for failing to measure up.
The material pulled tight over them, subtly tracing their shape under the silk, suggesting they stiffened merely from the gaze upon them. The slit climbed scandalously up hips designed for temptation, then wrapped her backside so plump and solid it appeared crafted to shatter emotions and break tables alike.
With every stride, the edge teased catastrophe, revealing glimpses of thighs that were plush yet sculpted, powerful enough to crush a lover yet tender enough to inspire desperate pleas for more.
Dark translucent stockings ascended those limbs like rising mist, vanishing beneath the skirt like forbidden mysteries, terminating in heels pointed enough to wound simply by their presence.
Madison had arrived beforehand; her arm entwined with Amanda’s in the manner females employ to signal unity without separation. They clutched one another like siblings who’d endured identical battles and emerged victorious, bearing identical wounds and superior footwear.
Amanda bent near, her tone lowered exclusively for me.
I trailed her discreet indication and noticed them right away—the siblings were conspicuous amid LA’s upper crust, akin to predators infiltrating a school of minnows and attempting camouflage.
Elise Montclair embodied precisely her role: a high-ranking financier who’d likely overlooked more financial knowledge than most could grasp in lifetimes.
In her mid-thirties, clad in luxury labels from head to toe, she exuded the poised grace born from decades maneuvering corporate realms ruled by men, all while privately tallying every fool who’d misjudged her.
Her brother
Theo positioned himself next to her, a bit younger, radiating that oil-bro vibe polished by inherited wealth—as if petroleum fortunes coursed through his blood from birth, delivered via a foundation endowment.
"So," Amanda went on, her palm claiming my arm while Madison’s grip firmed on her opposite side, "are you meeting them now or later?"
As a key figure in Liberation Funds, Amanda had led the filtering and vetting efforts for prospective hedge fund investors.
She’d delayed sessions with eager prospects for weeks, forcing them to bide their time as we refined our setup—like offering tantalizing bait to felines unfamiliar with chasing lights.
Yet the postponement ended there.
During my three-month stint in Paris, Liberation Funds would formally welcome external investors.
The holdup stemmed from necessity: ensuring T.AGI was fully primed and functioning at maximum capacity, converting market turmoil into gains with the ruthless precision of an automaton ignorant of compassion or holidays.
And from the horde of applicants seeking entry, I’d insisted on personally encountering Elise Montclair.
For certain motives.
Amanda had stalled Elise’s appointments with me for weeks, citing my packed schedule. Yet Elise prepared to invest hundreds of millions into Liberation Funds, and Amanda had cleverly sustained her enthusiasm amid the holdups.
How? Through granting Elise entry to Liberation Funds’ active holdings.
She could access the system whenever, monitoring our investments, witnessing transactions unfold, tracking earnings build steadily by the hour.
And although ARIA remained in initial configuration, once she transferred complete authority to T.AGI, the investment intelligence surged ahead—like a hunter unchained after prolonged restraint, catching the scent of prey at last.
Elise likely perched in her executive suite—or perhaps her private quarters, one never knows—observing millions pour through swiftly opening and closing trades.
Observing liquidity pools get ravaged.
Observing returns multiply at velocities defying fiscal logic, seemingly violating natural principles and moral codes alike.
Touching herself amid those figures, no doubt?
Elise served as a top executive banker at one of LA’s premier institutions. She’d handled substantial sums previously. Simply not magnitudes this vast managed with such accuracy over spans counted in moments rather than spans.
Such precision must have been exhilarating for a mind grasping the sheer improbability—like witnessing a rigged contest and discovering the divine architect had penned the guidelines.
I turned to Amanda, temporarily shelving Montclair musings.
"How are you holding up? Managing Liberation Funds alongside your role as Charlotte’s executive assistant has to be draining."
Amanda’s composed facade shattered at once. She nested nearer, nearly molding against my torso in a manner that might scandalize, save for our secluded spot in the gallery’s low light where onlookers feigned disinterest.
"It is," she confessed, her words hushed against my shoulder as if unburdening to a confessor who’d preemptively pardoned all sins. "But I’m thrilled regardless. I’d labor until collapse if it propelled your triumphs—I’d even excavate my own resting place and shovel the soil upon myself to advance you further."
I encircled her with my arm, drawing her near. "You won’t need to exhaust yourself much longer. ARIA informed me she’s assuming your assistant duties with Charlotte. You’ll dedicate fully to Liberation Funds as executive director."
Amanda eased back a touch, gazing upward with eyes glistening oddly—like one informed the conflict had ceased and she could cease combat. "She mentioned that to you?"
"Yes. She noted you’ve been overburdened, and with her embodied presence and complete superintelligence, she aims to collaborate straight with Charlotte and Tommy on technology. Quantum Tech is set to become wildly fascinating."
Amanda’s grin shone brightly—unfiltered, open, the sort that tugged at my heart for its unadulterated essence. "Excellent. I adore Charlotte, yet juggling her assistance with a multi-billion-dollar hedge fund drove me to thoughts of violence. Curse whoever coined 'work-life balance' as if it’s real beyond cheesy slogans in failing ventures."
I chuckled, pressing a kiss to her brow. "I’m proud of you, you realize? All you’ve contributed to Liberation Funds, the client management frameworks and initiatives you’ve established, the screening procedures—it’s remarkable. You’re remarkable."
"I absorbed from the finest," she replied, mirroring Madison’s prior sentiment with equal subdued intensity. "You instilled that excellence isn’t elective—it’s the standard. And that facing underestimation provides endless leverage."
"You both have outdone the mentor," I echoed the phrase sincerely. "I’m proud of you ladies."
We lingered as a trio, observing Celeste engage while Madison and Amanda linked arms like kin who’d weathered identical storms and arrived bearing similar marks and enhanced style.