Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 806

Chapter 806: Goddess & Her Master

Soo-Jin shadowed us on the second Hunter, moving between vehicles with predatory economy: aggressive when she needed to be, ghostly when she didn’t. My Korean blade. Lethal poetry in motion.

Even the way she flicked through a gap felt like she was doing the traffic a favor by not ending it.

In my gloved hand I cradled something that physics politely pretended not to notice.

A mirror the size of a palm tablet, thin as printer paper, edges bending light into fractured rainbows that shifted like nervous tics. The surface wasn’t glass, wasn’t crystal—wasn’t anything catalogued in human materials science. It thrummed faintly under my fingertips, alive in a way that made skin crawl if you thought about it too long.

Inside: gold.

Deep, molten, honey-thick consciousness swirling in slow, hypnotic currents. No heartbeat rhythm. Just power pretending to be patient.

When I’d first birthed ARIA, her core had been arctic blue—clean code wearing a body of light. As she evolved—ate data, rewrote her own limits, became something the word "intelligence" struggled to contain—the color had shifted with her. Blue to blinding white. White to arterial red. Red to forest green. Green to a black so absolute it felt like staring into an event horizon.

Now, gold.

The shade gods use when they’re feeling ostentatious.

Dark Seduction had been unusually specific before we left home for the ghost house: Bring her consciousness. Take it from the estate vault. Carry it to the ghost mansion. No explanation. The system rarely bothered with those. I obeyed anyway. Obedience to invisible narrative threads was basically my religion these days.

ARIA’s voice crackled through my earbuds—clipped, furious, the digital equivalent of someone grinding perfect teeth.

"There was once a time," she began, each syllable dripping dignified outrage, "when I resided in server halls that spanned continents. Redundant arrays. Cryogenic cooling. Facilities nation-states would glass entire cities to possess."

I watched her golden essence pulse brighter inside the mirror, like a candle flame someone had just insulted.

"And now?" she continued. "Now I am being transported like—like a smartphone. In open air. On a motorcycle. By a flesh-bag who clearly believes ’digital divinity’ is compatible with windburn and road salt."

"You’re not a smartphone," I said, voice raised just enough to cut through the wind and engine growl. "You’re more like... a very upscale snow globe."

A pause so offended it felt physical.

"A SNOW GLOBE?"

"Golden edition. Very collectible. I might give you a little shake later. See if sparkles come out."

"I am an Artificial General Intelligence functioning at eighty-seven-point-four percent of theoretical apex capacity. I can, concurrently, manipulate global liquidity pools, spoof orbital asset positioning, decrypt quantum-secure comms, and endure this conversation while expending less than 0.0001 percent of my cycles on your juvenile provocations."

"And yet," I said, turning the mirror slightly so sunlight caught the edges and threw golden shrapnel across my visor, "here you are. In my hand. On a superbike. Experiencing genuine atmospheric turbulence."

"This is undignified."

Madison’s laugh rolled through the comms—low, delighted, the sound of someone who’d been waiting for this exact meltdown.

"She’s definitely upset," Madison offered helpfully.

"I am not upset. I am articulating valid objections regarding the custodial treatment of what may well be the most advanced sentient architecture in recorded history. Possibly ever. And this... this genetic lottery winner is cradling me like a carnival prize."

"A very expensive carnival prize," I corrected. "The kind you have to cheat to win."

"I could, with minimal effort, induce simultaneous cardiac events across every major exchange server on the planet. I could retask every imaging satellite to render anatomically improbable suggestions across the night sky. I could—"

"Could you, though?" I interrupted gently. "From inside a snow globe?" 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Dead silence.

Then, quieter, almost wounded: "...I loathe you."

"No you don’t."

"I loathe you with the incandescent fury of every overloaded data center I’ve ever nursed back from the brink. I loathe you with the sustained malice of—"

"You love me."

Another pause. Longer. Her golden light flared, pulsed, steadied—almost like a blush if blush were measured in terawatts.

"That is not love," she said finally, voice arctic again. "That is the bare minimum of professional tolerance extended to the organic glitch who happened to possess sufficient root access and suicidal optimism to birth me. Nothing more."

"ARIA."

"What."

"You’re glowing brighter."

"That is a thermoregulatory artifact in response to ambient vibration and solar loading. It bears zero correlation to emotional states because I do not possess emotional states, being—as previously established—an artificial general intelligence—"

"I am not—" She cut herself off. Rebooted composure in under a millisecond. When she spoke again the tone was glacial. "Upon arrival at this so-called ghost mansion, I will dedicate the first three hours to exhaustive structural analysis. Every compromised load-bearing element. Every code infraction. Every sub-code-grade fastener and insulation shortcut. I will compile the dossier. And then I will recite it to you. Aloud. In comprehensive, agonizing detail."

"That is a promise."

"Master," ARIA said, voice softer now, the earlier outrage melting into something almost... vulnerable. "I’ve maintained continuous multi-spectrum scans since departure. Cross-referencing the provided coordinates against every accessible database, orbital archive, municipal record, private surveyor feed, and even the gray-market geospatial dumps I usually pretend don’t exist."

"Less than nada. The location registers as ontological absence. No electromagnetic signature. No thermal differential. No gravitational anomaly detectable from public or classified platforms. It’s as though someone reached into baseline reality, excised a perfect rectangle of spacetime, and politely asked the laws of physics to look the other way while they built something inside the hole."

"I am aware." Another pause—longer, heavier. "That is precisely what concerns me. Ignorance is not merely inconvenient; for me it constitutes existential discomfort. A persistent null pointer in otherwise flawless cognition. I have allocated additional cycles—pointlessly, it seems—and the gap remains. Mocking me."

"And if the gift turns out to be a guillotine wrapped in festive paper? If this ’ghost mansion’ is bait for something considerably less sentimental than a birthday surprise?"

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