Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs Chapter 955: Aurelia’s Flirting

I stood up from my position between Charlotte and Madison—methodically, intentionally, allowing the dark wool of my suit to drape smoothly over shoulders burdened by burdens far greater than anything this gathering could imagine.

I straightened my cuffs with a single motion.

I approached the stage as if every bit of flooring under my feet belonged to me completely.

Aurelia Royce stood there already—positioned like a black widow who had just deemed the fly intriguing enough to seduce before devouring.

The black velvet gown adhered to her form as if crafted from the darkness of extinct stars, embracing each dangerous contour, each intentional curve, each trace of strength and allure.

From nearby, those eyes weren't merely chilly—they possessed the power to instantly freeze passion in its peak, transforming yearning into something fragile, exquisite, and destined to break at the faintest touch.

We converged at the exact middle under the spotlight's unforgiving bright glare. Posed like for the society-page photographers: artist and collector, maker and consumer, deity and the female who had just dropped seven figures to test if she could draw blood from the deity.

Aurelia offered her hand ahead.

Digits long enough to encircle a neck or a wealth with the same effortless grace. Nails painted the hue of newly spilled blood from arteries. I accepted it.

Her clasp felt like steel sheathed in satin—solid, assured, the kind of grip from one who had authorized executions, business deals, and lovers' submissions with identical refined force.

Concealed from all cameras, all watchful gazes, protected by the exact positioning of our forms and the fold of her garment—her thumb shifted.

A single, unhurried glide along the inner side of my wrist, directly above the pulse spot, applying sufficient pressure to sense my heartbeat surge against her touch as if it sensed a hunter.

Then a second one.

Her wine-colored lips arched—just sufficiently for my view alone, not for the audience.

"Extraordinary," she murmured, tone so hushed it resonated against my inner ear like a concealed vice. "Not merely the artwork. You."

Her gaze dropped briefly—boldly—to the spot where our hands stayed linked, then rose to hold mine. Pupils dilated wide under that frosty exterior.

She went on, thumb drawing a third languid, provocative loop over my quickening pulse, "the emptiness lurking under the craving... it’s nearly indecent in its raw truth. Most males hide their voids beneath swagger or riches or arrogance. You weaponize it. You depict it. You render it beautiful."

Her tone lowered further—scarcely hearable, personal as a lick on flesh.

"I ponder what it might be like... to join with one who has savored every delight the world provides... and still awakens ravenous."

Translation:

I allowed my own grin to reply—subtle, shadowy, hinting at sharpness.

Spoken, for the mics and the snapping flashes:

"Thank you," I replied, voice smooth as velvet and utterly polished. "Yet I must add, it’s due to collectors like you who grasp art deeper than its outer layer—who perceive the depths below the skill—that creations such as this gain their real value and promise."

Translation: appreciation for investing millions in my painted therapy. Aurelia’s wine-red lips formed a smile blending amusement and insight.

"No," she responded with a gentle laugh that somehow amplified her threat level. "A few million doesn’t justify the true worth of this creation. I’d have bid far higher had my rivals shown more spirit."

She hesitated, a hint of disappointment crossing her face.

"Sadly, they lacked it."

She’s offhandedly admitting she would’ve exceeded 6.7 million for my piece. This lady is either mad or discerns something in it transcending mere artistic merit.

I laughed softly in spite of it, spotting the tactic she employed—the understated dominance of implying the immense sum still shortchanged the value.

The wealthy are unpredictable.

That’s a boast I’ve never faced before.

Her pupils expanded once more—noticeable only by me. Her thumb bore down again—firmer—on my pulse, detecting its leap.

Our hands parted with torturous leisure. Her fingers skimmed the full span of my palm—delicately light, scandalous in their purity—nails brushing the tender flesh enough to ignite unseen flames before she let go at last.

I offered her a brief nod of recognition prior to retreating from the platform, returning to my place between Charlotte and Madison.

That interaction was at once the costliest and most uncomfortable of my life.

My partner’s old business foe just acquired my artwork for almost seven million bucks. Nothing odd there.

Charlotte’s features remained flawlessly composed, yet her gaze followed Aurelia like a marksman relocking on a key threat that had just marked her domain.

Madison, conversely, was nearly quivering—cheeks rosy, eyes sparkling with the wild delight of seeing your partner draw all attention like a force bending the world around him.

At least one of my companions is relishing this bizarre night fully.

"She just you before the whole crowd," Madison hissed, pressing near so her lips grazed my ear.

"She went beyond that," I whispered in return.

Charlotte’s palm settled on my leg beneath the table—resolute, claiming, nails pressing just right to recall me of her prior ownership.

"She purchased your essence for seven digits," Charlotte murmured softly, tone deep and deadly, "and then attempted to seduce it away right in plain sight."

Madison’s digits laced with mine once more, gripping tightly.

"She didn’t succeed," Madison replied sweetly, nearly melodic.

"She didn’t try to succeed," I amended. "She probed the depths. And I suspect she savored the sample."

Celeste came back to the stage’s heart, radiant as if she had just orchestrated the biggest deal of her professional life and likely had her cut transferred to a hidden fund already.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she declared, voice rich with sweetened command, "what an unforgettable, unprecedented night. Before we end, please join us on the third floor for our spectacular conclusion—a masquerade to honor this evening’s stunning purchases. Masks await at the door.

"Champagne will pour endlessly like temptation. And I urge you all to revel in these impressive works... however you desire most."

The assembly murmured—deep, eager consent. The elite love any reason to conceal identities while displaying their fortunes, forms, vices.

Madison inched nearer, her warm breath playful on my neck.

"Prepared for the next phase?"

Next phase of the night? The interactions? The ever-complicating mesh of influence, desire, envy, and downfall?

I glanced over the sparkling ruins of fortune and drive to where Aurelia Royce lingered—solo, glass of champagne held, pale blue eyes seeking mine anew through the throng like guided seekers.

Next phase.

The masquerade.

The masks.

The covert caresses.

The unveiled mysteries.

The conflict that had mastered courteous grins.

I grinned—gradual, ominous, unavoidable.

"Always."

Let the damned masks come. This evening’s already a delirium of riches, intimacy, and dominance. Best to dive fully and discover the true depth of the void.