Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 855

Chapter 855: The Unknown Silent Shadow Watcher

The guard made a sound that wasn’t quite a word.

I stepped out.

Six feet two inches of godly-supernatural impossibility in a Tom Ford suit that probably cost more than his annual salary. Dark hair catching the strange luminescence. Features that made women forget their own names and men question their sexuality.

Eyes that promised things most religions condemned.

Madison emerged from the passenger side with the grace of a woman who’d grown up knowing she was beautiful and had simply decided to be generous about sharing it with the world.

The guard was still staring. At me. At Madison. At the car. At me again. His hand twitched toward his radio, stopped, twitched toward his weapon, stopped, settled for hanging uselessly at his side.

"We’re here to see Charlotte Thompson," Madison said, voice smooth as honey over silk. "She’s expecting us."

The guard found words. Sort of. "The... vehicle, sir. What... what is that?"

I smiled.

"Mine."

They let us in with no question, Madison was known here, not just her title as the Torres Developments heiress but as Charlotte’s friend. The security team had recognized her—Charlotte’s best friend, the Torres heiress, practically family at this point. They stepped aside with respectful nods, one murmuring into his earpiece to announce our arrival.

We walked toward the elevator, leaving him to contemplate the nature of existence and why his training hadn’t covered alien automobiles driven by walking impossibilities.

Behind us, the ghost car went dormant.

Not off. Never off. Just... waiting. The blue headlight-slits dimmed to a gentle pulse. The gold veins faded to spider-silk traces. The impossible surface settled into stillness.

Watching.

Patient.

Ready to wake the moment I returned.

The lobby of Quantum Tech was all sleek minimalism—white walls, holographic screens displays cycling through AR.NuN achievements, ambient lighting that cost more per fixture than most people’s furniture.

Security guards in tailored black suits stood at precise intervals, maintaining professional expressions despite clearly wanting to ask about the vehicle currently redefining their understanding of automotive engineering.

Three women staffed the reception desk.

All three stood up the moment I walked through the glass doors.

That kind of standing.

The kind where bodies decide to be vertical before brains give permission. Where instinct overrides professionalism because something in the hindbrain screams pay attention, this matters, this is important.

One of them—brunette, wedding ring, probably in her early thirties—dropped a pen. It clattered to marble and she didn’t notice. Couldn’t notice. Too busy staring at what had just entered her workplace.

Another—younger, redhead, cheaper blazer suggesting intern status—had her mouth literally hanging open. The third maintained composure through what appeared to be superhuman effort, but her cheeks had flushed crimson and her knuckles were white where she gripped the reception desk.

Madison chuckled beside me. "Every single time."

"Jealous?"

"Please." She squeezed my arm. "I’m the one who takes you home. Let them look."

But their eyes stayed on me.

Eros Velmior Desiderion. The hidden name on contracts that had changed Quantum Tech’s destiny. The voice on encrypted calls guiding billion-dollar decisions. The phantom partner who’d helped transform an $8 billion company into a $2.4 trillion empire.

Now here. In person. Real.

We were halfway to the elevator when ARIA’s voice cut through my thoughts.

"Master. Someone just photographed you."

I stopped.

Madison noticed immediately. "What is it?"

"Location?" I asked silently.

"Twentieth floor. The Langham Hotel, across the street. Southeast corner suite. Telephoto lens. The photograph was taken approximately two seconds ago."

I turned.

Slowly. Deliberately. Not hiding that I was looking.

The Langham rose above Quantum Tech’s modest twelve stories—twenty floors of boutique luxury casting afternoon shadow across Charlotte’s headquarters. Glass windows caught California sun, turning them to mirrors that reflected everything and revealed nothing.

But I had godly 2000+ stats now in my Eros Mode. Eyes that could count a hummingbird’s heartbeats at a hundred yards. Perception that made binoculars feel like training wheels for children.

I squinted against the sun blazing directly into my face—

There.

Twentieth floor. Southeast corner.

A silhouette.

Just a shape against the glass. Human? Standing. Something in their hands that caught the light—the telephoto lens ARIA had identified. The sun hit my eyes like a weapon, washing out details, turning the figure into nothing but darkness framed by brilliance.

I couldn’t see features. Couldn’t identify gender, age, intent.

Just presence.

Watching me.

I chuckled.

"A fan... so soon?" I murmured. "What happens when the world learns I’m more than shadows?"

"Shall I identify them?" ARIA asked. "Hotel registrations, facial recognition, surveillance—"

"No."

"Master?"

I’d had a stalker recently—that black sedan following me for weeks, the hooded figure near the estate perimeter. Professional. Careful. Someone who knew ARIA’s capabilities and stayed just outside her reach.

Different signature entirely. Amateur. Opportunistic. Someone who’d seen an impossible car and wanted documentation.

"Peter!"

"Yesterday," she mumbled into my Tom Ford lapel. "You were gone all of yesterday. Do you know how long that felt?"

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