Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 845

Chapter 845: The Princess Becomes King

The lobby of Kingsley Private Equity wasn’t just big—it was cathedral-sized money.

Marble floors so polished they looked wet enough to drown in. Gold-veined columns stretching up into a skylight that poured arrogant daylight like even the sun had to clock in and kiss the ring. Screens on the walls flashed stocks, acquisitions, headlines about fallen companies being resurrected under the Kingsley brand—each one screaming legacy, power, danger.

And then the temperature just... dropped.

People felt her before they saw her.

A small ripple went through the employees closest to the main entrance—like an invisible chord tightening around their throats. Conversations died mid-syllable. Coffee cups paused mid-lift. The ambient hum of productivity went silent, replaced by something thicker.

Heavier.

Dread.

Aurelia Royce stepped inside.

Tall. Razor-slim. Black heels hitting the marble like executions—each click a guillotine dropping one more second off someone’s career.

Her charcoal coat swung around her legs in sharp lines, tailored so perfectly it might’ve been stitched directly onto her skeleton. The fabric hugged every lethal curve—narrow waist cinched like a corset from hell, hips that moved with predatory grace, breasts high and firm beneath the severe cut of her blouse, nipples faintly outlined when the light hit just right.

No smile. No warmth.

Just that cold, surgical beauty that made people look—then instantly look away because holding eye contact felt like signing your own termination letter in blood.

Her eyes didn’t wander; they dissected.

Her walk didn’t sway; it sentenced. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

Her presence wasn’t loud; it made everything else irrelevant.

Behind her, her entourage followed in tight formation—executives in thousand-dollar suits, legal sharks with briefcases that probably contained more threats than contracts, two assistants tapping on tablets with the frantic energy of people who knew one typo could end careers, and her head of strategy practically jogging to keep pace while clutching files against his chest like a man shielding vital organs from a sniper.

They weren’t walking with her.

They were surviving proximity to her.

"Then the Whitmore." She didn’t turn. Didn’t slow. Didn’t inflect. The name dropped from her lips like a coroner reading a death certificate. "Out."

The assistant on her left—a woman whose left eye had developed a permanent twitch three weeks into this job—scrambled to keep up. "The severance structure, should we—"

"Standard."

"He might push back on the non-compete clause, given his—"

"Then let him." Aurelia’s pace didn’t waver. "I’ll tie him up in litigation until his retirement fund bleeds dry. He can spend his golden years explaining to his wife why they’re selling the lake house. Next."

Click. Click. Click.

Her heels were metronomes counting down someone’s remaining time at the company.

"The Brennan merger," she continued, voice flat as a frozen lake. "Dead."

"Ms. Royce, they’ve already sent the revised term—"

"I don’t care."

Three words. No emphasis. No anger. Just absolute, arctic finality.

The assistant’s mouth closed like it had been zip-tied.

"Their CFO lied about the pension liabilities. Not exaggerated. Not optimistically projected. Lied." Aurelia’s gaze remained fixed ahead, cutting through the lobby like she was walking through an empty room full of corpses. "I don’t do business with liars. I bury them. Send the letter. Use whatever words make legal comfortable. The sentiment is: go fuck yourself."

A junior analyst fifteen feet away actually flinched.

He wasn’t even part of the conversation. Her voice had carried just enough for him to hear the last three words, and now he was staring at his shoes like they contained the secrets to surviving the next five minutes.

"London office," she said. "Merge analytics with Singapore. Seventeen reassignments. Anyone who complains gets added to the redundancy list instead."

The head of strategy opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

Aurelia’s eyes slid toward him without her head moving. Just the eyes. Slow. Reptilian. The kind of look that said I can see your soul and it’s overdrawn.

"He’s been approving deals based on golf games and dinner reservations. Fire him. Effective now. Not effective immediately. Now. Security walks him out before he reaches his desk. Box his belongings and courier them. I don’t want him contaminating anyone with a goodbye speech about loyalty and years of service."

Silence.

"Clients who choose their account manager over their returns aren’t clients," Aurelia continued, reaching the base of her private escalator. "They’re liabilities. Let them leave. Let them learn. Let them come crawling back in eighteen months when they realize Patterson’s ’relationships’ cost them eleven percent annually. I’ll be here. And my terms will be worse."

"Forward me the flags. I’ll assess tonight. Term sheet on my desk by nine tomorrow. I want their board receiving our offer while they’re still digesting breakfast. People make decisions differently when they’re caught off-guard. Worse decisions. Decisions that favor me."

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