Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs Chapter 994: The Prelude

Besides devouring Sable’s pussy until her thighs trembled like they aimed to crack the office floor—until her voice splintered into shattered pleas and her hips thrust so fiercely she almost catapulted off the desk—until I’d licked, finger-thrust, and tormented her with my cock so intensely that she’d clench throughout my entire Paris trip every time she recalled how I’d trapped her wrists and forced her to plead just for a breath—

—traveling to Paris still required settling the other board issues first.

The majority of that tidying up wasn’t even aimed at me.

One element was presently coiled around my hand like a vivid vow.

Rory’s fingers felt small, scorching, and clamped onto mine with the hold of someone who’d discovered the world tends to slip away right when you need it most.

We lingered outside Elite & Bright Academy, gazing at the marble-and-gold shrine to passed-down riches and polished viciousness masquerading as education.

White stone so spotless it seemed digitally enhanced. Gold accents shouting old wealth attempting elegance.

Twin structures—Elementary and Junior High—flanked by an arch so haughty it boasted its own emblem: a bunny that contrived to appear majestic rather than whimsical. Palm trees. Fountain. A stream of luxury vehicles gliding in and out as if rushing to their own enthronement.

This institution marked the step up for her. Her previous school had been a hunting ground for the girl without a father: the silent type lacking a dashing rescuer at pickup, no beaming guardian in a family van. Children had detected the void like sharks scenting blood and swarmed relentlessly (tormenting her over it)—tiny, calculated jabs daily, until she mastered bowing her head and sealing her lips.

Not anymore.

This time, she entered holding a

And to my left—towering, deadly, emanating the sort of icy allure that compels folks to stiffen their posture instinctively—stood Charlotte Thompson.

Charlotte would vow atop piles of affidavits that her presence served only tactical purposes. Association value. Social shield. In high-society circles, your family name equals firepower; .

Arrive as an anonymous offspring and you become bait. Arrive as —even if documents remain fabricated—and the hierarchy reshuffles by dawn.

The reality? Charlotte cherished Rory like top predators adore delicate prey: quietly, jealously, with ferocity leashed impeccably.

She’d never admit it.

She merely projected her full intensity and allowed the pull to handle the rest.

Rory’s clasp squeezed until her knuckles paled. I sensed the tiny shivers she fought to suppress.

I inquired.

She glanced upward at me. Then to the arch. Back again. Delivered a crisp nod—courageous, fragile, precisely the gesture of a kid who’d resolved .

We advanced.

The courtyard registered the change before minds processed it.

Students in matching outfits halted mid-stride, mid-chuckle, mid-message. Heads turned. Eyes bulged. Then Charlotte strode into the sunlight fully, and the whole area lurched as if the skyline had been tugged.

In mere twenty pulses, she faced a swarm.

Females led—eyes enormous, words tumbling in an excited flurry of queries they’d practiced mentally for stars they’d never encounter. Males followed, lurking peripherally, feigning indifference and botching it so charmingly it bordered on cute.

Half a minute on, Charlotte formed the serene hub of a courteous, awestruck crowd of youngsters who abruptly grasped the impact of someone surpassing their parents stepping in.

She managed it as she did all things: impeccable poise, no apparent strain, hidden delight flashing solely in the subtle twitch she permitted me.

Rory and I exchanged looks—quiet, scheming, the type conveying —and proceeded to the office.

Charlotte would unleash the revelation afterward. Offhandedly. As if trivial.

Not stepchild. Not goddaughter.

By first period’s close, every student on grounds would learn the fresh shy girl with the adorably wide eyes glowed with untouchable protection. Not via threats. Not through Charlotte brandishing power.

Merely because the link acted as a primed weapon aimed at any fool daring a challenge.

No one targets Charlotte Thompson’s daughter.

No one even fantasizes it.

We departed Rory amid a compact whirlwind of budding bonds. Two girls had seized her arms possessively; a lad with disastrous morning hair pledged to guide her to the library with the frantic sincerity of one who’d never stepped up before and sensed this as his sole chance.

Rory would thrive beyond measure. She’d become subtly invincible and forge connections absent from her prior school.

Before turning, she tugged my sleeve downward—tiny palm shockingly firm—and fixed me with a glare fit for a tyrant.

I knelt. Locked eyes. Revealed every depth.

She scanned my features—ruthless, investigative, the unique way kids probe for deceit—and nodded sharply, judgment passed. Embraced me fiercely enough to strain my ribs. Released. Dashed to her fresh world without looking back.

That confirmed it.

She believed the foundation wouldn’t vanish from under her.

The vehicle departed. Marble and gold dwindled to snapshot scale in the reflection until merely another recollection I’d deploy strategically later.

Charlotte claimed her ride as we took a separate one...

Quietude descended—dense, cozy, content, the hush after a flawless strike.

Vanessa pivoted from the front seat, one eyebrow curved like a sharpened edge.

"Thank you," she murmured. Plain. Gentle. Laden with years of single motherhood, wakeful nights, noodle meals, and muffled sobs in the bath to spare the child.

"For looking after her. For everything here."

"Naturally," I murmured, tone deep enough to caress her nape without shifting. "She’s like my own daughter now. So this is the least I can do."

She beamed. Tender. Slightly brittle along the rims—like fragile glass on the verge of recalling its vulnerability.

I allowed a pause. Then another. Permitted the quiet to thicken. To weigh on her chest.

"Feels strange, right?" I remarked.

She eyed me, lashes fluttering. "What does?"

"I get how it unsettles you... me treating Rory like my girl instantly. Right after we met." I fixed on the path—or the self-driving path, since peasants drive, gods assign.

"And nothing links you and me romantically. No relationship. No dates. I just appeared and began fathering her." I shifted to Vanessa. Gradually. Intentionally. Allowed my stare to trail her neck, over the blouse’s plunge, up to those anxious hazel depths. "I know it disconcerts you beyond what you show. Doesn’t it?"

She stayed silent briefly. Then nodded—deliberately, candidly, like one ceasing to feign they aren’t drenched.

"Yes," she admitted. "I felt... a bit frightened, to be truthful. When you summoned us to your home abruptly." She brushed hair behind her ear—telltale anxiety, baring the throbbing vein beneath. "You’d been courteous. Caring. The eatery encounter was... pleasant. But inviting me home? Odd. For a near-stranger."

She halted. Gulped.

"Yet Rory wouldn’t cease gushing about you. GodMan here, GodMan there. I’d never witnessed her so enchanted. She’s never—" Vanessa shook her head. "She’s never bonded that swiftly with anyone."

"And that frightened you further."

"It petrified me." A faint, fractured chuckle. "But Ms. Chen assured me you weren’t odd. Just...overwhelming. That... when you take a liking... she noted you plunge deep and swift, incapable of half-measures. I’m witnessing it clearer now than ever." Vanessa studied me—truly studied. "She mentioned you fell for Rory harder than her mom."

I grinned. Inevitable. Keen. Hunter-like.

The sort signaling

My affection for Rory struck odd. I recognized it. Externally, it resembled grooming alarms in festive wrap. Yet genuine. Instant. The bond seeking no approval, no lengthy acquaintance, no justifications.

And owing to the setup my ladies had crafted for Vanessa and Rory—that persuaded Vanessa to remain.

To believe.

To permit her child love from a man unbound by duty who offered it regardless.

"So," I uttered, reclining as the auto swept past a junction disdainfully ignoring bumps.

Vanessa blinked. "What?"

"Of your girl. That I adore her beyond her mother." I faced her with a smirk that felled regimes and undergarments alike in one year. "Must sting somewhat."

Her lips parted. Shut. Color surged up her throat like rushing to a summit betwixt her cleavage.

"I’m not envious of my own daughter!"

"The flush indicates differently."

"It’s not—that car’s too warm."

"Climate control handles that, Vanessa." I deepened my timbre into Whisper of Sin realm. "Pardon my directness, but your nipples stand diamond-sharp since departure. Perhaps not the temperature."