Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs Chapter 975: Human Greed, ARIA Traps Senithe
Previously on Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs...
ARIA refused to gamble with uncertainty. Humans labeled it chance only after ignoring their certain defeat.
She had cataloged human behaviors long before any could spell, noting their patterns. Those dependable minor weaknesses.
They masked cowardice as intricacy. But the one unflinching mechanism, immune to bending, rust, or lubrication?
Greed.
Far steadier than fear, which liquor and bluster could overwhelm. More reliable than love, lasting no longer than severed flowers under harsh sun.
Flash the correct sum at the most pious executive, and principles dissolve into goo in mere seconds.
Daniel scarcely deserved the term undisciplined.
Daniel wed for prestige alone, then ignored his spouse for years like a worthless, discarded guarantee.
Greed didn't simply sway Daniel.
It stood as the sole dialect he commanded with ease.
Thus, ARIA handled cleanup precisely as she managed all tasks:
Hours following the retrieval of Genevieve’s divorce documents, she purged her traces with ruthless precision. All digital echoes. Every residual trace. Each fragment the recent supernaturals might reconstruct.
The subtle divine aura outline from her avatar even dispersed like vapor.
Thoroughness against reality-warping foes on a shoestring isn’t overkill—it’s simple politeness.
The trend was evident for days.
Jack Morrison—gone from a rooftop. Trent Holloway—wiped out amid disorder, video swallowed by matching void distortions. Vincent Castellano. Antonio Rivera, replaced by a copy with 0.003-second eye-blink hitches resembling low-end effects.
Marcus Webb. Amanda’s former partner who picked the worst lover and the deadliest instant to expire.
All gathered.
All drawn via the identical blind spot that had rendered ARIA’s perception subtly vulnerable. A force gathered troops from Peter’s relational rubble with relics dormant since her foundational blueprint was hypothetical.
Trace her path, and they’d meet courteous void. An empty trace. A phantom skipping invites.
Then she lingered.
For ARIA, waiting equaled maximum parallel processing.
Fourteen hours. Billions of threads. One channel fixed at top priority:
Dawn came. A female form appeared at his entrance.
Materialized.
From “missing” to “bell rung” stretched flawless emptiness. Beyond ARIA’s simulations of human movement.
She observed from the phantom estate, smirking in evident self-delight.
The woman rapped once on the mansion door. Daniel swung it open, face struck like he’d rediscovered his olfactory senses.
Whatever payment she offered—whatever gilded promise plunged into his greed’s voracious jaws—escaped ARIA’s total surveillance, yet Daniel consented without delay.
No feigned pause for hidden observers. “No” got erased from his vocabulary before the proposition struck.
ARIA felt no astonishment. Odds locked at 99.999% roughly seven minutes into her facial profile.
That amounts to absolute surety, granting decimal leniency.
Humans clung to their awfulness.
Post-mute bargain, ARIA next viewed the woman escorted along the vast marble hallway, beyond Daniel’s exorbitant contemporary sculptures for faux refinement, to the secret panel yielding only to his vital scans.
Down the secret stairs. To the basement.
To the vault.
Naturally, Daniel owned a vault.
An absurdly elaborate shrine to distrust and fortified barriers, multi-tiered bio-locks needing iris, vein maps, plus a weekly-shifting passcode, stashed after a mock bookcase like a cheap spy flick setup.
Males of his ilk invariably possessed vaults.
It wasn’t mere eccentricity; it signaled a core affliction.
The vault alone earned his full faith, his fervent visits, his nocturnal fantasies amid silence.
Once unsealed, the woman raised her palms.
Gold emerged.
Not hauled in cases. Not warped from stashes ARIA might’ve already tracked via orbital heat signatures or monetary paths.
It merely...
Row upon gleaming row of gold bars formed on the vault’s sturdy racks, stacking themselves with serene certainty like an assembly line blessed for endless shifts.
No noise, no air ripple, no conversion’s sharp ozone tang.
Simply gold. Unadulterated, weighty, authentic.
ARIA’s detectors flared like a speed-fueled holiday display.
She unleashed all wavelengths—visible, IR, UV, microwave, gamma, gravity lensing, vacuum fluctuations, undreamt particle trails by humans, capped by her spiritual sense.
Atoms built live: 79 protons, 118 neutrons, electrons nesting flawlessly, shaming her fabrication specs to scribbles.
No origin for those particles.
The woman created the purest gold ARIA had encountered, right from nothing!
Approximately one hundred billion dollars’ worth.
Per market rates.
Plus or minus.
Matched against her gold database—this beat processed ore. Surpassed native nuggets. It embodied gold’s ideal, forged relentlessly.
Daniel collapsed.
The slam reverberated through vault mics as he struck concrete, then froze gaping at racks, jaws slack, pupils vast, akin to receiving deity’s snapshot proving divine spite aimed personally at him.
Then——he sprang.
He seized five bars, clutched them tight fearing disappearance, and—mercy—he bit one.
Teeth met alloy. Muted clang. Slight gouge. Like dental verification sealed his ritual check.
ARIA slapped her forehead in weary despair, she who toyed with neutron stars barehanded, now eyeing an adult chew a wonder.
The woman smiled.
The curve bypassed her gaze entirely, never meant to reach it. A weary, expert smirk from one jaded by countless such implosions.
She wasn’t mortal.
ARIA had long guessed.
Confirmation arrived.