Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 767

Chapter 767: A Fulfilled Dream

But in here, in this estate, missions could wait.

The estate at night glowed like something out of a sci-fi movie.

Every shadow intentional, every angle designed to make you feel like you’d stepped into the future and it was beautiful.

I walked out of the living room, leaving the warmth and conversation behind, needing air. Needing space to think.

Outside, the November night was cold enough to see my breath. LH didn’t get truly cold—not like real winter—but this was close enough.

Above me, drones hummed. Invisible to the naked eye unless you knew where to look. Dozens of them, patrolling the estate perimeter, scanning for threats, recording everything. Below them, hidden in strategic positions around the property, Militarybots waited.

Silent. Patient.

Ready to turn this beautiful estate into the most dangerous place in Los Angeles if anyone was stupid enough to try breaking in.

The entire estate border was covered in scanners. Quantum-level tech that didn’t just detect physical intrusion—it read intent. Could tell if someone approaching had hostile thoughts, violent plans, anything that qualified as a threat.

Which meant my women could sleep easy. Could walk around at three in the morning if they wanted. Could exist without fear because I’d built them a fortress disguised as a simple espensve home.

And speaking of walking around at three AM—

I spotted them near the garden. Margaret and Amanda, sitting on one of the benches, talking... they’d known each other for decades. Their voices carried on the night air, soft and comfortable, the kind of conversation that didn’t need to be loud to matter.

I leaned against a pillar, far enough they wouldn’t notice me immediately, and just... watched.

Margaret Thompson. Mother of Charlotte. Former hostage. Survivor of kidnapping and violence. The woman who’d once owned this estate with her late husband and hated every second of it because money couldn’t fix a broken marriage.

She wore a white lace teddy—crotchless, shameless, the fabric cut high on her hips, framing the curve of her ass like a gift. The cups barely contained her breasts, the lace stretching over her nipples, the underwire pushing them up and together, creating a valley that begged for a tongue.

The straps were thin, delicate, crossing over her shoulders and down her back, leaving most of her skin bare to the night air.

Now she lived here by choice. With her daughter. With my harem. In a place that now represented as her sanctuary.

She was healing. Slowly. But visibly.

Amanda sat beside her, leaning in close, laughing at something Margaret said. Her white lace robe was nothing but a cruel tease: sheer enough to show every inch of her golden skin, the fabric clinging to the heavy swell of her tits like it was painted on, nipples dark and thick, poking through the lace like they were begging to be sucked raw.

The robe tied loose at her waist, parting with every breath to flash the smooth plane of her stomach and the tiny white thong underneath—the lace molded to her fat, swollen pussy lips, the outline of her clit a hard little pearl straining against the fabric only for my godly eyes to enjoy.

Her thighs were thick and slick, the kind you’d spread and bury your face between until you drowned.

Amanda—the runaway bride who’d escaped a toxic arranged marriage thanks to my intervention. Who’d met me through Margaret. Who’d found freedom because Margaret gave a shit about her daughter’s partner... a stranger she’d invited with Charlotte.

Margaret never took credit for any of it. Never acted like she’d saved anyone. Just existed quietly, kindly, healing alongside the women she’d helped. If she hadn’t invited us (Charlotte, me and Madison, I wouldn’t have met Amanda and the other six.

She wasn’t mine. Not yet.

But she didn’t feel any less part of this family than the women who were.

The only thing holding her back were the memories. This place. Her dead husband. The life she’d tried to escape and the things she’d went though lately.

But she was getting there. Day by day. Surrounded by safety and love and—

"Peter?"

I turned.

Priya and Reyna approached from the house, arms linked, smiling like they’d been looking for me.

Her black lace babydoll was the killing blow: short enough to flash the bottom curve of her ass every time she moved, the hem brushing the tops of her thick thighs like a promise. The cups were sheer, her dark nipples leaking faintly through the lace, stiff and aching, begging for teeth.

The matching thong was nothing but a string, the lace front soaked and clinging to her swollen clit, the fabric pulled so tight it outlined every fold of her pussy, every pulse of her need.

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