Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 898

Chapter 898: The Sinners: The Wall Was Innocent

Actually, visibly combusting from shame—self-immolating right there on the kitchen tile while the rest of us pretended not to notice the human bonfire.

The only thing missing was someone throwing a marshmallow into the flames.

Emma’s wheeze graduated to a snort.

One single, traitorous, volcanic snort that detonated in the kitchen like a flashbang laced with pure evil.

The kind of sound that didn’t just expose her—it testified against her in court.

Sarah’s head whipped up from behind the counter.

Her eyes—wide, wild, absolutely feral with mortification—locked onto her twin with the heat-seeking precision of a woman who had identified the enemy and was prepared to escalate to thermonuclear sibling warfare.

She didn’t look like a girl who’d spilled juice.

She looked like a woman who’d spilled her dignity, her sanity, and a good portion of her future inheritance.

"Don’t," Sarah hissed. "Don’t you DARE—"

"I’m not—" Emma’s voice was three octaves too high.

Tears were genuinely pouring down her face. Her entire body was vibrating like a tuning fork struck by God Himself—possibly with a personal grudge against the Carter family bloodline.

"I’m not laughing, I have—I have hiccups—"

"Those are NOT hiccups—"

"Very sudden—hic—very involuntary—hic—"

"Emma, I swear to GOD—"

"Something funny?" Linda’s voice floated from the stove. Calm. So calm... the ocean floor right before the tectonic plates shift and a tsunami devours a coastal city, complete with souvenir keychains, overpriced "I Survived Breakfast" T-shirts, and a gift shop playlist of whale songs remixed into passive-aggressive elevator music.

That voice didn’t ask a question... notarized by the International Court of Maternal Wrath, and delivered via certified carrier pigeon straight to the amygdala.

"No ma’am," Emma managed, in the strangled register of someone whose airway was being choked by their own amusement while simultaneously trying to file for political asylum inside her own ribcage. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Just—allergies. And hiccups. Both. At the same time. Very common condition, actually—"

"Is it."

"Medical science is still studying it. Peer-reviewed journals. Double-blind trials. The works."

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. Stared at my bacon. The bacon stared back. Even the bacon was struggling—looking at me like bro, you did this to yourself, don’t look at me for sympathy, I’m just crispy meat trying to live my best life while quietly judging your life choices.

Linda set a plate in front of Sarah—who had returned from the floor, clutching salt shaker shards and the remnants of her self-respect like war trophies from a battle she had decisively, catastrophically, and publicly lost in front of an audience of one mother, one twin sister, and one man who was currently trying not to laugh so hard he aspirated coffee.

Their eyes met.

It lasted one second.

One thermonuclear, extinction-level, mother-daughter second.

Linda’s face: I know what you said. I know what you were doing. I know what you claimed you could do better. We will discuss this. In detail. When I have decided whether you remain in my will—or whether I simply feed your inheritance to the neighbor’s goldfish, who at least has the decency not to scream orgasmic performance reviews.

Sarah’s face: I am going to die. I am going to die right here at this breakfast table and I welcome it because death is preferable to this moment and also please God let the floor open up and swallow me whole before the next pancake lands, preferably with a side of amnesia, a new identity, and a one-way ticket to anywhere that isn’t this zip code.

Sarah broke eye contact so fast her neck cracked audibly—like a small-caliber gunshot in a library.

Her face plunged toward her plate like a submarine executing an emergency dive during a depth-charge attack.

She shoved an entire forkful of eggs into her mouth—a portion so large it distorted her cheeks into chipmunk geometry—and chewed with the desperate energy of someone who had decided that if her mouth was full, she couldn’t be expected to speak, and if she couldn’t speak, maybe reality would take the hint and end, or at least fast-forward to the part where she’s legally an adult living in another country under a new name and a fake mustache.

Emma "hiccupped" again.

Sarah kicked her under the island. Hard enough that Emma yelped and the stool scraped six inches across the tile like it was trying to escape the blast radius.

"HICCUP," Emma announced loudly, rubbing her shin. "BIG hiccup. Moved my whole body. Wow. Wild. Practically seismic."

I pressed my napkin to my face. Pretending to wipe my mouth.

And at the far end of the island—occupying a stool that might as well have been in a different dimension, possibly one with better Wi-Fi and fewer emotional landmines—Jasmine Carter sipped her coffee and observed everything with the polite bewilderment of an alien anthropologist studying a species she didn’t fully understand.

But was beginning to suspect might be clinically insane.

She’d come downstairs ten minutes ago, showered and smiling and completely unbothered, and walked into a kitchen that was operating at a psychic frequency she didn’t have the clearance for. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

The silence that had followed could have been bottled and sold as a weapon—probably under the brand name "Carter Family Silence: Now With Extra Judgment."

"OW—I mean—hic—"

And I—Peter Carter, Emperor of the Harem, architect of impossible situations, the man who had bedded both daughters and impregnated OUR mother and was now eating her accusatory bacon—stared at the wall and thought:

Best. Breakfast. Ever.

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