Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 1023

Chapter 1023: The Devil Knocks

I directed my arrogant ass straight to Maria’s designated room in the guest mansion while, back at the main house, my women were still locked in what had apparently escalated into a full-blown democratic circus about transportation.

No one but Maria was here.

The guest mansion was deliciously quiet, empty, all that pristine marble silence pressing in from every direction like it was waiting for something sinful to happen.

My women were still voting on whether we’d roll up to the Ghost Mansion in a single vehicle or each drive their own.

Some were saying that ARIA’s new so-called Harem Van was too flashy, too conspicuous — basically a rolling neon billboard screaming "Look at us, peasants, we belong to a Dark Lord" before you even registered what the hell it was.

Others argued that a long convoy of supercars would be even worse — twenty-something luxury vehicles cruising through LA in perfect formation like a billionaire’s funeral procession where nobody had the decency to actually die.

Charlotte had proposed a compromise: three vehicles, staggered departures, different routes.

Helena shot it down on security grounds.

Madison immediately rejected Helena’s rejection on pure aesthetic grounds.

Amanda had pulled up a goddamn spreadsheet like we were launching a Fortune 500 company.

Celeste suggested they all just walk because "the journey is the art." Vivienne told Celeste to shut the fuck up, but with love.

The conversation was now on its forty-fifth excruciating minute and showed zero signs of resolution.

I let them vote.

Since I was dragging every last one of them to the Ghost Mansion tonight anyway, they could bicker about how they got there. I’d learned a long time ago that inserting my opinion into group logistics decided by thirty women was a one-way ticket to being wrong no matter which side I picked.

Fuck that suicide.

I knocked on Maria’s door after reaching.

Her voice floated through — warm, casual, the voice of a woman who had settled into a room that wasn’t hers and made it feel like home.

"It’s open. You can come in."

"It’s me," I said. "Peter. You sure it’s fine?"

She laughed — and fuck, the sound was different.

She sounded relaxed and off-guard. The genuine laugh of a woman who wasn’t performing disapproval, wasn’t fighting her own attraction, and wasn’t building a legal case against herself in front of a bathroom mirror.

"What’s this?" she called through the door, teasing. "Are you suddenly a gentleman instead of the attempted devil you are?"

"Not even a little bit, Ma’am," I replied, my hand already on the handle, grinning at the wood like the smug bastard I am. I still very much enjoy playing the devil. In fact, I’m fucking excellent at it.

I opened the door.

Mmm~

Well. That’s quite the fucking sight, isn’t it?

Maria was standing by the window in nothing but a black lace robe.

Just that. Nothing else.

A black lace robe tied so loosely at the waist it looked like it was one deep breath away from surrender.

The lace was sheer — not teasing, not hinting, straight-up sheer — and the late afternoon golden light sliced through the window in perfect slats, bathing her like a spotlight she hadn’t asked for and wasn’t even pretending to avoid.

One was slowly sliding down between her breasts, tracing the inner curve visible through the delicate lace, disappearing into the shadowed valley where the robe’s neckline dipped low enough to sin.

Completely bare underneath.

She was barefoot, toes curling slightly against the cool marble. Her nipples were clearly visible through the sheer pattern — dark, prominent, hardened from the cool air, the lingering shower, or the way my eyes were devouring her.

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