Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs Chapter 958: Mask Until They Don’t

Stepping onto the third floor of Celeste’s gallery the second time around felt entirely different—like the atmosphere had been toned down to amplify every single heartbeat, making them echo twice as intensely.

Expensive dim lights cast a gentle amber glow in careful, intentional pools across the floor, while the remaining areas dissolved into shadows that seemed vibrant, almost pulsating with life.

The tunes weren't overpowering; instead, the bass vibrated softly through the wooden floors, seeping into your feet, your chest, and that subtle corner of your mind that lets go of the need to act on your best behavior this evening.

Masks adorned every face in sight. Some were adorned with feathers as if prepared for a carnival, others simple black velvet for a sleek and chilly vibe, and a few jeweled varieties that shouted wealth silently.

Over by the champagne glasses stood a woman whose mask engulfed her entire face —only her deeply painted red lips were visible. It worked well for sipping drinks but served no other purpose.

Nevertheless, she pulled it off completely. Total dedication.

Celeste had perfected every element, just like she always does. No shortcuts taken.

Just prior to entering, ARIA delivered the override. Serene, without any fuss, her silky tone slicing right in:

"That’s

I chuckled quietly to myself, shook my head, and relented. Alright. So be it.

In an instant—deactivated. The full enhanced-sensory array shut down, reverting me to standard human senses.

Truth be told? It was a smart call. If I'm honest with myself—and I make an effort to remain honest, since that's the fragile boundary preventing me from becoming the antagonist in my own tale—

Without those hacks, I had to perceive others as most do: fuzzy outlines, partial assumptions, that chaotic yet captivating

Having operated in divine-vision mode for ages, reverting to ordinary sight was downright disorienting.

I halted at the doorway for perhaps four seconds, absorbing the raw exposure of not knowing it all beforehand.

Mad respect to everyone who starts each day navigating existence without any guide or advantage.

Even without enhancements, I recognized my women instantly. No special powers required for that.

Eziel drifted from my side within the initial two minutes.

The silver edging on her mask gleamed uniquely under the lights, precise and discreet. I tracked her gaze for three seconds before allowing her to vanish amid the throng. Her departure was deliberate.

That was her way of communicating:

I've mastered interpreting Eziel's cues like others decode messages on their phones. This signal was unmistakable. Thus, I headed in the opposite direction.

I spotted Madison across the space right as the door clicked shut behind me. Emerald gown. That precise hue she aware turns me to stone. I nearly burst out laughing—had to suppress it.

She chose it intentionally.

She was certain I'd notice it from sixty feet away. She knew I'd realize it was meant for me. Yet she donned it solely to claim that subtle triumph without even glancing my way.

It hit the mark, as well. Victory hers. She claims wins every time.

I've ceased resisting; it's simpler to concede from the start.

She conversed with an unfamiliar woman—evident from the measured tilt of Madison's masked smile, reserved for courteous separation rather than genuine ease. The other was lively with gestures, pouring out conversation; Madison absorbed it with her natural tolerance, as if she could spare a moment for anyone.

While here I am, noting gown shades over a packed room like some armed with binoculars.

Indeed, that's me this evening. No denying it.

Next, my gaze settled on Charlotte by the distant wall.

She positioned herself directly beside Aurelia Royce.

Aurelia had switched from her auction-stage power outfit—now sporting something darker, more form-hugging, ideal for this precise illumination.

Her mask concealed the upper portion of her features yet exposed her lips and chin fully to express freely: curve into a gradual smile, taste champagne, plot several steps forward.

Every bit of it displayed openly.

Charlotte’s mask shimmered iridescent, altering hues with the slightest head turn. That choice wasn't impulsive; she'd selected it in advance. Implying she anticipated the masquerade motif prior to the event.

Implying Celeste had informed her early. Implying Charlotte arrived equipped, as per usual.

And heck, that readiness is precisely what captivates me repeatedly— she avoids shocks unless she's orchestrating them.

Aurelia beside her, however? That element stirred a tension in my core.

Not alarm.

Yet I sensed Aurelia's underlying vibe like an approaching tempest before rain falls—pleasant grin, pleasant tone, but a chill and keen edge lurking below.

She'd bid 6.7 million on my artwork earlier, then offhandedly deemed it underpriced in one breath. I'd noted the interaction in my mind:

She carried that rare aura I've encountered merely thrice. One’s me.One’s ARIA. The other now bends toward Charlotte, whispering something too soft to hear from afar.

Charlotte remained unaware of my arrival—she faced partially aside, her champagne flute dangling unused in her grasp.

That's her indicator when fully engaged, focusing intently rather than merely enjoying the evening.

I held my position, the mask weighing more now, heartbeat accelerating unduly. One side of me yearned to weave directly through the crowd, approach Charlotte from behind, place my chin on her shoulder, and whisper something tender and silly like "you good, baby?"

Overly attached, total cliché.

But precisely my instinct regarding her.

A brief halt.

Pride swelled in me. Yet I also assessed the subtle path to approach without drawing notice, which likely strayed from ARIA's idea of enjoyment, and ARIA recognized that, prompting her subsequent remark before my musing concluded.

I veered the alternate way. In part because ARIA was correct. In part because Charlotte would never pardon me for interrupting her chat as if she required rescue, and rightfully so.

A server emerged bearing champagne. I accepted a flute, then recalled the mask and paused, clutching a beverage I couldn't partake in.

Such is my existence nowadays. God-like ego, several partners, fortunes in assets, unable to sip champagne at an event.

Checks out.

It struck me as more humorous than expected. The evening possessed this essence— all elements subtly shifted from routine, following unique guidelines, the disguises allowing folks to amplify or tone down their true selves based on concealed aspects.

Before I located her, a woman approached me.

Roughly ten minutes after Eziel's exit, she materialized from my left—and I realized it wasn't her.

A newcomer?

Someone who'd observed me sufficiently to sync her advance to the precise instant I stood solitary with an undrinkable glass and no set destination.

Prime hunting opportunity.

Frankly, admiration earned.

Clad in a rich burgundy gown and a black mask accented with gold, her lips—the sole clear feature—formed a curve indicating she deemed the scenario entertaining and intended for me to see it.

She extended her glass toward mine.

A salute.

Utterly silent.

I clinked mine against hers. She sipped. I lifted mine and arched a brow above the edge. She grinned broader at the dilemma I posed—the elegant irony of joining a masked affair and receiving a drink.

Each lady in attendance awaiting her chance observed this interaction with the vibe of those checking messages repeatedly, finding none.

I sensed it sans glancing. The observers.