Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 652

Chapter 652: Shadows and Apex Predators

The foyer’s slaughter clung like a second skin, blood crust flaking off my suit in brittle shards, warm droplets still seeping from splatter, soaking collar with sticky heat, reeking raw iron and piss-soaked fear.

Ava hovered close, chest rising and falling in jagged bursts, sweat-beaded skin glistening under flickering lights, gore-matted hair clinging to her forehead, eyes locked on mine—pupils blown wide, feral hunger mirrored back.

Her fingers twitched, knuckles cracked white, breath hot and panting against my neck.

"Split up and search," I ordered.

My whole being screamed alert—tenfold nerves firing electric, every shadow pulsing threat, distant heartbeats hammering in my ears like war drums, scents assaulting: lingering cordite burn, fresh entrails steam, hidden sweat-sour terror.

"You take the east wing. Clear every room. Keep comms hot on."

"Got it," she rasped, voice husky and low, lips curling into a blood-smeared grin, tongue darting out to taste the lingering copper. "Just don’t go dying on me without backup, Eros. I wanna hear their screams... or yours when I fuck you later, so stay alive until then okay?"

She scooped up a fallen vibro-knife—blade whining high-pitched ultrasonic—and strapped it tight against her thigh with a sharp leather slap against skin.

"Happy hunting." She melted into the east corridor, hips swaying with predatory grace, footfalls ghost-silent on gore-slick marble, shadows devouring her curves whole.

Weaponed for war—HUD blazing across my retinas, arsenal nano-birthing in flashes: dual plasma pistols materializing in holsters, grips scalding my palms with charged heat, coils throbbing ozone pulse that tingled fingertips.

The west hall swallowed me whole—corridors narrowing oppressive, marble floors veined gold but cracked in spiderwebs from blasts, drips from shattered chandeliers plinking rhythmic into puddles, crystal shards crunching teeth-gritting under boots.

Pistols raised, muzzles sweeping slow, deliberate arcs, fingers curled just off triggers, pulse thudding steady kill rhythm.

Paintings loomed judgmentally—dark oils bleeding scenes of predators ripping throats open, eyes glinting wet mockery. Cold clawed down my spine, breath fogging inside the visor, scent thickening to cigar ash and vodka bite, underlying something rotten.

The grand hall yawned open sudden—cavernous void, ceiling vaulting fifty feet high, frescoes peeling flaking gods devouring mortals in eternal agony, moonbeams slashing through skylights like silver knives, dust motes swarming frantic in the beams. Columns flanked the sides, shadows pooling deep black, echoes amplifying my own heart’s roar.

Center dais raised, throne-like chair empty but beckoning.

I froze mid-stride, pistols locked up, tenfold ears catching faint rustles high above, breaths of dozens shallow and panicked.

A voice slithered down from the darkness—balcony overhang, thick Russian accent scraping like rusty blades on bone, amplified through hidden speakers, vibrating deep in my chest cavity:

"Impressive work out there, kid. You smell like my men’s guts—still steaming on your boots, huh? But here in my hall? We talk first. Or you can join the piles of meat downstairs."

I whirled slow, muzzles probing the void, grin splitting my lips wide, tasting lingering blood residue on my teeth. "Dmitri Volkov. Hiding up there like a rat in the rafters? I was expecting a big bad bear roar... not this rat squeak."

He laughed back, deep and phlegm-choked, wet hack cutting through every guffaw, echoing off the walls like a madhouse chorus.

"Months ago, you sneak in and help that Quantum Tech girl, Charlotte. You take down the three experienced men circling her company—Vincent, Antonio, and me. I slip out of the prison you nearly threw me in, yeah? While the others rot away. You clean us out—18.5 billion right there in the open, another 7 billion buried so deep I almost forgot where, and 800 million in cold gold bars.

"My fucking gold, my money! Billions you arsehole!" His anger could be felt.

"Smart little thief. You pit me against Vincent with those whispers, spin your web until everything cracks. My empire? It’s falling apart piece by piece—raids hitting Moscow hard, assets locked up in Dubai, allies disappearing in New York. All ’cause you hand the CIA my whole playbook."

"Come on, Dmitri. I did more, sing the praises!" I laughed. Thought that would anger him yet instead he laughed!"

"You grabbed my blackmail files, my insurance—the only hold I had on those big shots. Flip ’em on me, cut me off. No one’s coming to save my ass."

He paced up there, boots thudding heavy on the wooden balcony, creaks groaning under his weight, shadow stretching long across the frescoes.

"I started digging. I knew something was off. Who’s this ghost? Not just Charlotte—no, someone. Yeah! After weeks of following her, I realized who it was! A teenager pulling strings from the shadows with her."

"Weird, right? Why’s she always crashing with that one family, the Carters? Picture-perfect very ordinary Americans. And the helper? Masked up, gone in a flash. I’ve seen shit around the world, kid—stuff no one would believe. Extraordinary things the government does not want the public to know. Warlords vanishing into thin air, relics that curse you in your sleep, guys walking through walls.

"I was going for two birds: figure out the puzzle and wipe out those happy Thompsons. But what happens? You and that Korean girl zip around faster than the bullets, grabbing the women, scooping up all 32 guests or whatever, getting ’em safe... unfortunately for me..."

I chuckled, low and dark, rumbling up from my gut, air crackling tighter: "Gotta hand it to you—that was sharp. But that info? It’s the kind that gets people killed. Oh wait, I’m already here to kill you, so... yeah, no change there."

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