Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 768

Chapter 768: Welcome to the Cuck City

I’d taken Madison from the dating pool—rich girls’ parents usually vetted every guy, protected their daughters like investments. Nothing. Her father didn’t even blink. Just accepted it.

I’d taken Sofia from Jack Morrison—quarterback, wealthy family, the kind of guy who should’ve come at me with everything he had. He’d tried once or twice? That was it. Then he crumbled. Fell apart.

Became a cautionary tale instead of an opponent.

I’d taken Isabella from her husband—a married woman, a teacher, risking everything. And her husband? Found out, filed for quiet divorce, slunk away like a beaten dog. No confrontation. No fight. No attempt to win her back or destroy me for ruining his marriage.

I’d taken women from the Miami elite—men with billions, with power, with resources to make me disappear. And what did they do? They negotiated? They accepted losses? They moved on to the next acquisition because fighting wasn’t worth the energy.

Where did all that manly ego go? That territorial instinct men were supposed to have?

I remembered reading about the old days. Not ancient history. Just a few generations back. When men would duel over women. Actually face each other with weapons, with fists, with honor on the line. When stealing another man’s girl meant you’d better be ready to defend yourself because he was coming for blood.

There were stories about bar fights that lasted hours because some guy disrespected another man’s woman. About fathers showing up with shotguns when boys got their daughters pregnant. About husbands challenging lovers to actual physical combat—not lawsuits, not social media campaigns, but fights.

Men who’d rather die than let another man take what was theirs without consequences.

But the so-called modern men?

They just... let it happen.

Sent passive-aggressive texts. Posted sad shit on Instagram. Maybe filed for divorce through lawyers. But actual confrontation? Actual willingness to fight, to risk something, to stand up and say "not my woman, not without going through me first"?

Nonexistent.

And yeah, maybe I should’ve been grateful. Made my life easier. Meant I could seduce whoever I wanted without worrying about getting jumped in parking lots or shot by jealous husbands.

But part of me—the part that respected strength, that understood the value of worthy opponents and the value these women.. my women represented—was fucking disappointed.

Who would let such women go without doing anything about it?

Where was the challenge? Where were the men who loved their women enough to actually fight for them instead of just rolling over and accepting defeat?

It made victory feel hollow sometimes. Like I was conquering a world that had already surrendered before I even arrived.

Anyway.

Point was: my dreams came true. So completely that the SP I’d thought would be my main income source had grown to nine hundred thousand without me even noticing.

I’d last checked when I hit seven hundred thousand. That was... weeks ago? A month? Time blurred when you were busy building empires and fucking your way through LA’s elite.

Two hundred thousand SP gained passively. In the background. While I focused on trading, on business acquisitions, on expanding Liberation Holdings into a multi-billion dollar empire.

SP had become secondary. A bonus. Supplementary income to the real wealth I generated through legitimate business.

The system that gave me powers had accidentally created a capitalist.

Ironic as fuck.

"You’re good at that," Margaret observed, watching me braid Reyna’s hair.

"I’m good at everything," I said, grinning. "Comes with the god complex."

Amanda snorted. "Humble as ever."

"Humility is for people with things to be humble about."

They laughed. Even Margaret. The sound carried across the garden like music.

We talked. About Miami. About the chaos the women used to cause down there. About Margaret missing those days a little—the freedom of causing trouble and getting away with it because money and connections made consequences optional.

And listening to them talk about it, about the wildness, the recklessness, the absolute freedom of doing whatever the fuck they wanted and facing zero repercussions—

Something clicked.

Days of causing trouble and getting away with it.

That sounded fucking fun.

"I miss those days a little," Margaret admitted, smiling at the memory. "Not the danger. Not the kidnapping or the violence. But that feeling of... invincibility? Like nothing could touch us because we were untouchable?"

Amanda nodded. "We were terrible. Absolutely terrible. But it was fun being terrible."

And thought: I have more money than they did. More power. More influence. More resources.

Why the fuck am I not causing trouble?

I could do exactly what they did in Miami. But bigger. Bolder. More systematic.

Every unsatisfied wife in Beverly Hills. Every frustrated girlfriend in Santa Monica. Every woman trapped in mediocre relationships with mediocre men who didn’t deserve them.

Time to liberate them all.

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