Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 831

Chapter 831: ARIA’s Home

"What is it with everyone and secret basements?" Peter muttered as they spiraled down into pitch-black nothing. "Lincoln Heights has one. Now this. Everyone’s out there making sure I am playing Supervillain Bingo."

"To be fair," ARIA said, drifting beside him with that unfair goddess glide—wings tucked neatly so they didn’t scrape like Spirit Halloween cosplay—"underground facilities have better security, stable temperatures, and zero satellite selfies. It’s efficient."

"It’s also how every bad action movie starts. Like, this is the part where the rock gets dropped on us."

"It can be both, Master." She grinned—angelic, feral, and definitely planning crimes. "But something big’s down here. Huge. Like ’cancel your insurance’ huge. Like ’James Cameron just felt a disturbance in the Force’ huge."

The stairs dumped them at a door that clocked Peter instantly—palm scan, gold flash, and the door vanished like it got embarrassed and rage-quit existence.

What was on the other side?

Holy.

Shit.

Not a room. Not a facility. A goddamn cavern—the kind you only see in sci-fi movies or Elon Musk’s intrusive thoughts for future 1000 years later. As massive as the cliff chasm they’d seen up before they came, deep and wide as hell, and very obviously not natural.

Or goddess-made, whatever

Walls pulsed with those weird organic-tech veins, bathing everything in soft blue glow. Ceiling? Lost in darkness so high it might as well have been outer space.

Just vibes. Could’ve been space. Could’ve been God’s unfinished draft.

"Holy shit," Madison whispered.

Even Soo-Jin—Miss Ice-Cold, Zero Emotions, HR Nightmare—looked stunned, mouth slightly open like her brain blue-screened.

The place could swallow villages just as that abyss chams above. Multiple levels, platforms, walkways, elevators, structures fading into the distance—tech so advanced it probably bullied human engineering in high school.

And it felt alive. More alive than the mansion upstairs. Breathing. Watching. Waiting.

Peter felt it immediately.

The Omni-Eros Server.

Not a glowing cube. Not a big evil crystal. It was just... there. Everywhere. Like standing next to a sleeping kaiju and feeling its heartbeat through your bones.

ARIA was plugged straight into it.

Not "plugged in" like a USB—merged.

He could sense the link through their bond. The server wasn’t just hardware she jacked into; it was part of her; home. Her mind swam in it, merged with it, drank from its endless data ocean like it was home.

The cavern knew her.

Lights brightened when she stepped forward. Air warmed where she stood, cooled where she passed. Breathing got easier near her—charged, electric, like the whole place was low-key flirting.

"Oh great," Peter muttered. "The murder cave has a crush."

"She’s already got big plans for this dump," he added, watching the space react to ARIA like an overexcited golden retriever with god-tier infrastructure.

Madison spun in a slow circle, still processing the scale. "Plans for what? It’s basically a really fancy empty parking garage with mood lighting."

"For now," Peter smirked. "Give her five minutes and she’ll turn this place into something that makes NASA look like kids smashing Hot Wheels together."

Through the bond, he felt it—blueprints firing nonstop. Drone fab bays. Sim chambers that could recreate literal hell. Vehicle plants building tanks that probably flew, turned invisible, and committed war crimes. Tech so advanced it didn’t even have names yet. Just raw, hungry potential.

Concepts so far beyond human tech they didn’t even have names yet—just raw, hungry potential.

And as he watched her scheme, Peter hit his limit.

Not physically—enhanced stats meant he could bench a truck and run a marathon while texting. But mentally? Spiritually? Existentially?

Running Liberation Holdings. Building an empire. Managing enemies, companies, cult politics, missions (seduction ones, kink ones, that damn pornstar mission still haunting him), and a growing harem that required time, attention, emotional labor, sex, cuddles, therapy, reassurance, and occasionally snacks?

Not that AI that accidentally eats your work and says oops

He could finally delegate.

Not quit—he was still Emperor. Still final say. Still the threat. But the day-to-day empire nonsense? The spreadsheet hell? The micromanaging? Gone.

He could focus on the good stuff. The Church. Liberation. The people he actually cared about. Make executive decisions from bed. Close acquisitions while buried balls-deep in someone’s wife. Be present instead of drowning in admin hell.

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