Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 981

Chapter 981: Thin Walls: Stepdaughter’s Confesion

The bedroom door had been closed for exactly forty-seven seconds before the first moan leaked through.

Genevieve and Maya sat on opposite ends of the living room couch—one woman who’d known Peter for less than twenty-four hours, and one who’d been living in the blast radius of his existence for much longer.

Between them: three cushions of neutral space, a glass coffee table with an untouched bowl of fruit that was rapidly becoming Maya’s emotional support produce section, and the growing, unmistakable soundtrack of Isabella getting her soul rearranged with architectural precision.

A muffled thud hit the wall. Then another.

Then a rhythm of that sound.

Steady. Professional.

The cadence that suggested someone had consulted the Kama Sutra and then decided physics was negotiable.

Genevieve stared straight ahead like she was watching paint dry on someone else’s existential crisis.

Maya stared straight ahead like she’d already seen this particular shade of beige seventeen times this month.

Neither acknowledged it.

"So," Genevieve said, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap like a woman waiting for her name to be called at the DMV. "This is a beautiful penthouse."

"Thank you," Maya said quietly, adjusting her glasses with the careful dignity of someone preserving the last shreds of plausible deniability. "The kitchen is nice too."

A loud, guttural moan—unmistakably Isabella—bled through the walls. It was the kind of sound that could get a noise complaint from the devil himself.

They both pretended it was distant construction.

Very enthusiastic construction.

"How long have you lived here?" Genevieve asked, voice pitched slightly higher than normal.

Casual. Completely casual.

Just two women having a conversation in a living room where absolutely nothing unusual was happening.

Except something was happening. Loudly. Repeatedly. With enthusiasm that bordered on athletic scholarship.

"A while," Maya said. She reached for the bowl of fruit, selected a grape, and ate it with the slow, deliberate focus of someone defusing a bomb one explosive bite at a time. "Since Eros bought it for mom. Mom wanted me closer after... everything. And I wasn’t close enough to my dad to go with him instead of my mom."

She said it flat. No emotion. The way you mention a childhood trauma you’d long since converted into rent-free real estate inside your ribcage.

"Deeper—fuck—stretch this pussy—"

The words arrived through the drywall like they’d been FedExed priority overnight. Clear. Unmistakable. With footnotes.

Genevieve’s eyes widened a fraction. Her mouth opened. Closed. She smoothed an invisible wrinkle from Peter’s jacket—the one she’d been wearing since last night and still carried faint traces of whatever unholy cologne he wore—and cleared her throat.

"The acoustics in here are... really something."

"Yeah," Maya said, eating another grape. "The walls are thinner than you’d think for a place this expensive. You’d expect better soundproofing when you’re paying for guilt in square footage."

Slap. Slap. Slap.

The headboard had joined the conversation now. A rhythmic, percussive addition that turned the muffled moaning into something that had its own BPM.

If you closed your eyes and had no context, you might mistake it for someone aggressively testing IKEA structural integrity.

You would be wrong.

Maya ate another grape. She’d developed a system—one grape per moan, two per scream, the whole stem if something hit the wall hard enough to rattle.

The bowl was half empty. It was a big bowl.

She was going to need a second one soon.

Genevieve turned to Maya. Slowly. The way you turn to someone when you’ve just realized you’re trapped in a live-action porno parody of domestic realism and need immediate confirmation that this is not, in fact, a fever dream.

Her expression said everything her mouth was too polite to form: Is this your life? Every day? Is this what you live with?

Maya met her eyes. And for the first time since Genevieve had hugged her without permission in the hallway, something in Maya’s expression softened. Cracked open.

The mask of quiet awkwardness shifted into something rawer—relief. Deep, exhausted, bone-level relief.

The look said: Thank God. Someone finally sees it. Someone finally understands the absolute circus I am living in. No one can blame me now that I have a thing for my stepdaddy.

"It’s worse in the mornings," Maya offered.

"Worse?"

"He sometimes eats her out for breakfast when he sleeps over. Like... literally. Every morning. I have to put headphones on to make coffee."

"Noise-canceling. The expensive kind." Maya ate another grape. "They don’t cancel enough. I think Bose is secretly judging me."

"Yes—fuck—pinch it—hurt me—"

"Yeah." Maya nodded slowly, like a war veteran greeting a new recruit who just stepped on their first landmine. "Welcome to my life."

The headboard was now keeping time like a metronome operated by someone who hated drywall and personal boundaries in equal measure. Something fell over in the bedroom. Glass shattered. Neither of them investigated.

Before she could answer, another crash came from the bedroom—something heavier this time. A dresser, maybe. Or dignity.

The thing she’d only ever half-told Cazzie about, in fragments, in jokes that weren’t really jokes, in late-night whispers that she’d walk back the next morning.

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