Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 838

Chapter 838: The Wonders

They walked to the opposite side of the mansion.

Where the front faced the cliff and the endless cliff, the back opened onto something else entirely. Something that made Peter stop dead at the threshold and simply stare.

The grounds stretched before them like a painting come to life.

Manicured lawns rolled outward in impossible waves of emerald green—acres upon acres of perfect grass, vast as any championship golf course but dedicated to a single, ancient purpose.

Dark wooden fences bordered the land, curving with the gentle hills, disappearing into distant groves of ancient trees that looked like they’d been standing since before Columbus had sea legs.

A driveway wound through the center—tree-lined, elegant, serpentine—flanked on both sides by perfectly spaced evergreens standing like soldiers at eternal attention. The corridor they formed drew the eye inexorably toward what waited at the far end.

The stable.

No—not a stable.

A palace.

The building rose from the landscape like it had been transplanted straight from the height of European aristocracy and then upgraded by someone who hated half-measures. Warm honey-colored stone walls.

Arched windows that caught the golden light of late afternoon like stained glass. A slate roof with dormers, cupolas, and weather vanes shaped like running horses spinning lazily in the breeze.

It was easily the size of a small mansion—larger than most homes Peter had ever stepped foot in—built with the kind of architectural grandeur that belonged to kings, emperors, and men who planned to outlive empires.

"Holy shit," Madison whispered.

The approach took several minutes even at a brisk walk.

The grounds were that vast. Paddocks stretched on either side—multiple training arenas, riding rings with perfect footing, open fields where horses could gallop flat-out without hitting a fence for half a mile.

A lake glittered in the distance, ringed by willows, placed with deliberate perfection so the animals could drink and cool themselves under dappled shade.

As they drew closer, the details sharpened.

The main entrance was flanked by actual stone columns—like something pilfered from a Greek temple and then polished to modern insanity.

Above the massive double doors, carved deep into the lintel, was a symbol Peter didn’t recognize—ancient, angular, radiating quiet significance in ways that made the hair on his neck stand up.

The doors themselves were dark, heavy wood reinforced with iron bands, standing open to reveal the interior.

Inside was even more impressive.

Vaulted ceilings soared overhead.

They soared twenty feet overhead, supported by exposed wooden beams that had been carved with intricate patterns. Chandeliers—actual crystal chandeliers—hung at intervals, casting warm light across the space.

The floor was stone, worn smooth by centuries of use that hadn’t actually happened yet, covered in places by thick rugs that muffled footsteps; interlocking rubberized brick for traction and comfort. Automatic waterers.

Hay racks that seemed to have refilled themselves.

Each stall door was wrought iron with gold accents, nameplates blank and waiting.

At the far end, a central atrium opened to the sky—glass roof retractable, sunlight pouring in on a circular exercise area ringed by viewing balconies.

Tack rooms flanked the space—rows of saddles, bridles, blankets, all gleaming, all perfectly maintained, like they’d been polished yesterday even though no one had set foot here in decades.

Twelve stalls lined the walls—six on each side—but these weren’t ordinary stalls. Each one was the size of a small studio apartment, polished wooden doors gleaming under soft overhead lights, brass nameplates currently blank and waiting for names to be etched.

Automatic watering systems hummed quietly, climate control kept the air perfect—cool but never cold—and the bedding looked softer than the average five-star hotel mattress.

Peter half-expected the straw to smell like vanilla and money.

The tack room opened off to one side like a luxury boutique someone had forgotten to lock.

Custom racks held saddles of every style—English, Western, dressage, jumping—all hand-stitched, leather still supple and oiled. Bridles hung from brass hooks in perfect rows, bits polished to mirror shine.

Riding crops, whips, helmets, gloves, blankets—everything organized with museum-level precision, like the previous owner had been waiting for an inspection that never came.

But it was the horses that commanded attention.

Four of them.

They occupied the stalls at the far end of the stable, and each one was magnificent in its own right.

A black Arabian mare watched them approach with eyes like polished onyx—intelligent, assessing, ancient wisdom trapped in equine form.

A grey Andalusian stallion stamped one massive hoof and tossed his head, mane flowing like molten silver water. He was power incarnate—barely contained, muscles coiled like springs under dappled hide.

A chestnut Thoroughbred stood calm and patient, built for speed, every line of her body engineered for velocity. Long legs, deep chest, elegant neck—she had the quiet confidence of a champion who knew exactly how fast she could run and didn’t feel the need to prove it every five minutes.

And then there was the white one.

Peter’s breath caught in his throat. 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

It looked Friesian, but wasn’t. It was a unique breed, standing apart—not just in a larger stall, but in a different category of existence. She was massive—built like a legendary war-mare, powerfully muscled yet unmistakably feminine, with feathered legs that looked carved from moonlight.

This was something else.

Recognition.

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