My Milf Conqueror System novel Chapter 39

Chapter 39: Defying the queen

The President’s House was a sprawling Georgian mansion on the edge of campus, glowing with warm light against the night sky. Valets were parking Bentleys and Mercedes.

I didn’t take a town car this time. I took an Uber Black. It was understated, professional.

I stood at the bottom of the stone steps, checking my watch. 6:58 PM.

At exactly 7:00 PM, a sleek silver Audi pulled up. The back door opened, and Elena Vance stepped out.

She was breathtaking.

She wore a deep burgundy gown that matched the tie I had chosen perfectly. It was velvet, off-the-shoulder, and clung to her figure in a way that was both elegant and devastating. Her hair was down tonight, cascading in loose waves over one shoulder.

She looked like a queen arriving at court.

I walked forward to meet her.

"Elena," I said, offering my arm.

She took it, her grip firm. Her eyes scanned me instantly, starting at my shoes and moving up to my face.

She stopped at the suit.

It wasn’t the black tuxedo she had asked for. It was the midnight blue suit with the subtle texture, paired with the burgundy tie.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. The air between us cooled.

"I told you to wear the black suit," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "The one from the Met."

"I know," I said, keeping my tone smooth. "But the Met is about drama. Tonight is about politics."

I gestured to the other guests walking up the stairs—older men in conservative black tuxedos, women in muted tones.

"Look around, Elena. Everyone here is wearing black. If I wore black, I’d look like a waiter. Or worse, like I’m trying too hard to fit in."

I leaned in closer, letting the cedarwood scent of the cologne drift toward her.

"In this blue," I whispered, "I look like the future. And you look like the only person who saw it coming."

I nodded at her dress.

"Besides," I added, a small smirk playing on my lips. "We match."

Elena looked down at her own gown, then back at my tie. The color coordination was flawless. It looked intentional. Like we were a power couple who planned our wardrobe over breakfast.

The tension in her jaw relaxed. A slow, impressed smile spread across her face.

"You disobeyed a direct order," she murmured.

"I made an executive decision," I corrected. "That’s what you expect from me, isn’t it? To see the angles you miss?"

She laughed—a soft, genuine sound that made the donor couple next to us turn their heads.

"You are impossible," she said, squeezing my arm. "But you’re right. We look... formidable."

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