Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 901

Chapter 901: What Margret and Patricia Wants 1 (r-18)

They gave me exactly four minutes.

Four minutes of Rory climbing me like a jungle gym that owed her money. Four minutes of Vanessa’s shy smile as I asked about her new place, her cheeks going pinker than the paint on her new walls.

Four minutes of my women orbiting closer—touches on my arm, fingers brushing my back, the gravitational pull of a harem that hadn’t been fed in days and was now exhibiting classic signs of starvation: dilated pupils, shallow breathing, and the subtle threat that if I didn’t start distributing affection soon, someone was going to start biting.

Four minutes before Margaret and Patricia couldn’t take it anymore.

"Eros." Margaret’s voice cut through the noise. Polite. Controlled. "A moment?"

Patricia was already moving. Didn’t wait for my answer. Just caught my elbow and steered me away from the group with the efficiency of a hospital administrator clearing a hallway—

"Ladies, I was in the middle of—"

"Now," Patricia said. A verdict.

Margaret fell into step on my other side. Two women flanking me like escorts to my own execution. My women watched us go—Madison raised an eyebrow that said this ought to be good, Charlotte tilted her head like she was already mentally drafting the group chat recap. Amanda crossed her arms with the look of someone who’d seen this movie before and knew the ending involved someone getting railed, and Sofia just smiled that serene, terrifying smile that meant she was either blessing the moment or already planning the eulogy.

Nobody intervened. They knew when something was happening that was bigger than welcome-home kisses and bigger than the collective horniness currently threatening to spontaneously combust the front lawn.

We crossed the grounds to the guest mansion where Margaret still lived. She hadn’t moved into the main house despite being mine now—

I suspected the real reason was that Margaret Thompson didn’t share bedrooms. She shared a man, apparently.

The door closed behind us.

The lock clicked.

And in the next thirty seconds, everything made sense.

"Linda told us," Margaret said.

Three words. No preamble. No warm-up. Just the verbal equivalent of a guillotine blade dropping cleanly through butter.

I stared at her. "Told you what?"

"About the baby." Patricia’s voice was quieter. Steadier. But her hands were shaking. Actually shaking—"She told Margaret, Catherine, and me."

My jaw tightened. Mom. My sweet, secret-keeping, I’ll-handle-this-myself mother had apparently handled it by telling women in my orbit within forty-eight hours.

And ARIA—my omniscient, all-seeing, always-in-my-ear goddess—hadn’t said a word.

That traitor. That beautiful, treacherous, strategically-silent traitor. She’d known.

And she’d chosen silence.

Because she’d known what would come next.

Because she’d known THIS would happen.

"We want the same thing," Margaret said.

There it was.

"I want a child," Patricia added. And the way she said it—Gods, the way she said it—stripped every layer of composure she’d been wearing since I walked through the door. Her voice cracked on the word.

Actually cracked—her voice broke on a single syllable like cheap glass under pressure.

Because Patricia couldn’t have children.

She couldn’t conceive. Biology had written its verdict in scar tissue and hormone levels and the specific cruelty of a reproductive system that simply... wouldn’t.

She’d spent years making peace with it. Years of quiet acceptance. Years of being the rock for other women in fertility groups, the one who smiled and said it’s okay, there are other ways while privately mourning the one thing she couldn’t buy, negotiate, or outwork.

But Divine Seed didn’t care about biology’s verdict.

Divine Seed looked at "impossible" and laughed so hard it rewrote the rulebook.

Any woman. Any condition.

Any impossibility the human body had decided was permanent—Divine Seed looked at it, laughed, and planted life anyway. It was one of my most profound abilities, and I fully understood what it meant to someone like Patricia.

"We want what Linda has," Margaret said. No hesitation. No shame. Just the calm certainty of a woman who had spent her life getting what she wanted by refusing to accept any other outcome.

"Please," she whispered.

And in that single word—please—I heard everything she’d never said out loud.

They were undressing me.

This was a woman reaching for something she’d been told—by doctors, by tests, by years of quiet grief—she could never have.

I caught Patricia’s hand.

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