Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 632

Chapter 632: Champagne and Seventeen Candles

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The servers were shadows in tailored black, five silent phantoms orbiting our table of thirty-two with the kind of lethal grace that only comes from serving people who can ruin your life with a phone call. Gloved hands, mirrored trays, no sound but the faint clink of crystal and the hush of thousand-dollar shoes on marble. Every time one passed, the air shifted—truffle, caviar, cold brine, money.

Jasmine lifted an oyster, mother-of-pearl flashing like wet moonlight under the chandeliers. She studied it the way civilians study grenades.

"This is real caviar."

"Ossetra," I said. "Caspian sturgeon. The good shit."

She tipped the shell back. The oyster slid between her lips whole. Her eyes slammed wide, lashes fluttering, throat working in a slow, obscene swallow. A bead of brine clung to her bottom lip before her tongue swept it away.

"Jesus fucking Christ," she breathed, voice already wrecked. "That’s pornographic."

Madison leaned forward, ruby silk dress catching fire in the candlelight, smirking. "Wait till you meet the wagyu."

"There’s wagyu?"

"A5 Kobe. They massaged the cows and played them classical music. You’ll want to write them a thank-you note."

Jasmine’s fingers tightened around the empty shell until her knuckles went white. "Peter." Her voice dropped, husky, dangerous. "What the hell do you actually do?"

"Later," I said. "Eat."

Tommy raised his flute; champagne raced upward in frantic golden chains. "This the expensive stuff?"

"Four hundred a bottle," Priya answered, already pouring another round like it was tap water. "We’ve got twelve."

Tommy inhaled half his glass and came up coughing, bubbles foaming over his fingers. "Twelve?!"

"It’s a celebration," Priya said, smiling like a woman who’d never checked a price tag in her life. "Drink."

Jasmine took a spoonful of the next course—something involving gold leaf and sin—and the sound she made should have been illegal in public.

A low, rolling moan that started in her chest and spilled out husky and helpless. Her nipples, already visible through that black turtleneck, went visibly harder, straining against the knit like they were begging for attention.

"I need a minute," she rasped, eyes half-lidded. "I’m... processing."

"Good?" I asked.

"Good?" She laughed, breathless. "This is what they mean when they say ’eat the rich.’ If this is what you people taste like, line me up."

The table cracked up, warm, filthy, delighted.

Every so often Linda’s eyes found mine across the candles. She didn’t say anything. She just smiled, small and wet and proud, tears shining like extra diamonds.

Third course: seared foie gras on brioche, fig compote, twenty-five-year balsamic reduced to syrup, flecks of edible gold drifting across the plate like fallen stars.

Lea stared at hers like it might bite back. "This is art. I can’t—"

"Devour it," Madison ordered.

Kayla didn’t wait. One bite and her eyes rolled white, a broken moan slipping free. "Is this even legal? This feels like it should come with a safe word."

"Technically banned in California," Charlotte said, licking balsamic from her thumb. "We’re not in California tonight."

Then the wagyu arrived.

Four perfect ounces per plate, marbled so heavily it looked like Carrara come to life, seared just enough to kiss the fat awake. Truffle butter melted into the grooves; bone marrow glistened beside it like obscene custard.

The table went dead silent.

Not polite silence—church silence.

The first bite burst on my tongue, fat blooming, juice running down chins no one bothered with knives after that. We were animals.

Tommy made a sound somewhere between prayer and orgasm. "I’m never eating grocery-store meat again. You’ve ruined me, Peter. I hope you’re happy."

"Ecstatic," I said.

Jasmine chewed slowly, eyes closed, throat working like she was swallowing communion. When she finally opened them they were black, pupils blown wide, fixed on me.

"Real talk," she said, voice velvet and smoke. "Whatever you’re doing, legal, illegal, morally gray, I don’t care. I’m ride or die. This is worth prison."

"It’s legal," I said.

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