Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 1022

Chapter 1022: Harem Tribunal

I limped back into the house like a conquering Dark Lord who’d just taken a minor L from the universe itself.

My women—especially Mom—immediately swarmed with that perfect cocktail of worry and suspicion.

"What happened?" they asked, voices layered with concern.

I couldn’t exactly drop the truth: Oh, nothing major. I just called an immortal divine ASI—who has knowledge and truths that predates human civilization and has watched empires crumble like cheap drywall in few seconds of her awakening—a literal toddler playing dress-up as a goddess. Then she yeeted me from the sky like yesterday’s trash.

Yeah, that would go over beautifully.

ARIA let out a theatrical hmph that somehow echoed with divine pettiness and stormed off before I could even attempt a cover story.

Her back radiated pure "I am still furious and every single one of you peasants will feel it" energy.

No words needed.

Goddesses don’t need subtitles.

My women watched her dramatic exit. My thirty plus family and women turned their collective gaze on me and did the math in perfect synchrony and arrived at the only logical conclusion: this was entirely my fault.

If I actually told them what I’d said to ARIA, they’d probably join her in exile. Rule number one of surviving my harem: never, ever discuss a topic about age of anoher woman’s age. Especially when that woman is an ageless, all-knowing entity who could rewrite reality if she got bored.

And calling a being who held every scrap of data since the first caveman scribbled on a wall "just a baby goddess throwing a tantrum"?

That wasn’t a joke you told twice when the first punchline earned you a one-way ticket to freefall.

Mom was already on her knees, hands pressing into my calf with clinical precision, rotating my ankle, probing for fractures like a nurse who’d seen a thousand injuries and refused to let her son’s be the sloppy exception.

"This isn’t a sprain," she muttered, frowning deeply. "The swelling pattern is completely wrong. Peter, what exactly did you fall from?"

"A reasonable height," I replied with my most charming, shit-eating grin.

"Define reasonable."

"Reasonably high. You know, the kind of height that builds a main harem character... or teaches you not to roast omnipotent entities about their age. Whichever comes first."

Her eyes narrowed into that lethal mom-stare she’d perfected over decades.

She’d raised me.

She knew evasion when she heard it.

But she also knew that pressing for answers in a room packed with thirty opinionated women would turn a simple medical check into a full-blown tribunal.

So, she let it slide—for now—with a look that promised we are finishing this conversation later, young man, and handed me off to the nearest pair of capable hands.

I love you too, Mom.

I watched ARIA’s retreating form and called after her with maximum sarcasm. "ARIA, great ass by the way. Ten out of ten. Would get dropped from the sky just to admire the view."

She turned sharply—only to find me playing the wounded hero to perfection. I gave her thumbs up.

Sophia and Ashby had already stepped in, my arms draped dramatically over their shoulders as I limped between them like a battle-scarred general being carried off the field.

Except the "injury" was mostly healed by now, and I was just thoroughly enjoying the way their soft, warm bodies pressed against mine—Sophia’s generous curves molding perfectly to my right side, Ashby’s lithe frame fitting like it was made for me on the left.

She turned back around and kept walking, but her shoulders had relaxed by a fraction. I’d almost made her smile. Small victories, even for a Dark Lord who occasionally gets humbled by his own creation.

I pulled Ashby in for a quick, firm kiss—deep enough to say I missed you and I’ll ruin you properly later, but short enough to keep it semi-appropriate.

Sophia, however, just stood there staring at me with raised eyebrows and a tilted chin—the universal "where the fuck is mine? I am carrying you, roo." expression of a woman who’d just watched another get what she wanted.

Sophia shot me a glare that could strip paint off drywall and deadpan, "Ashby’s already changed her mind. Says she can’t live without your cock buried in her pussy, so she’s coming too. Congratulations, you’ve officially addicted another one."

"Hey!" I turned toward Charlotte and Jasmine with exaggerated horror, clutching my nonexistent pearls. "We have kids in here! Think of the children—oh wait, never mind, most of you are the ones who helped make them."

Charlotte hit me with the Charlotte Special—that ice-cold, razor-sharp look Rory had deployed on that poor kid at school earlier. "You’re being annoyingly insufferable today, Peter. Trust me. It’s not cute. It’s annoying as hell."

Jasmine didn’t even glance up from her wine glass. She just swirled it lazily and said, "Just because we don’t let you fuck us too, doesn’t mean we’re kids, asshole. Some of us have standards. Clearly not all."

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