Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs - Chapter 362

Chapter 362: Peter’s Real Awakening
Taboo’s voice purred through his consciousness; a velvet knife twisted in silk. “Master, wake up. Your family approaches. And wouldn’t you prefer they witness this version of you rather than the one dreaming of bending Margaret over that countertop while Charlotte watches, trembling and shamefully wet?”

The jolt was physical, electric. Fuck. He’d been there in his head, thinking and mind-fucking, seconds from sinking into Margaret’s tight heat while Charlotte’s dark eyes devoured them both, fingers buried in her own panties—just a dream, yet his cock throbbed against the stiff pajama pants, a silent, demanding witness.

Margaret? Charlotte? Child’s play. The real venom coiled deeper: Linda, fresh from their own violent intimacy, her scent still ghosting his skin… then Emma, Sarah, Ms. Chen—a harem of forbidden flesh tangled in his sheets while his family slept downstairs.

Anyway, thoughts aside, who had changed him? Linda’s hands, hesitant yet hungry, peeling away sweat-soaked fabric? Emma’s smirk as she catalogued his new physique? Sarah’s blush as she lingered too long on his thighs?

The fantasy detonated: ten variations blooming in the three steps to the bathroom. Linda’s cool fingers tracing his new collarbones before dipping lower, her cold fingers against his fevered skin.

Or Emma muttering “Fuck, he’s bigger” to Sarah, who whimpered in reply.

Maybe all of them were there? Ms. Chen catching Linda’s eye across his unconscious form, a shared, devastating understanding passing between them. His subdued cock, intimidating even soft, curving thick and heavy against his thigh—Sarah’s hand actually reaching, Linda slapping it away with a breathless laugh… then leaning in herself?

But who had actually changed him? The question burned through his fantasies with uncomfortable urgency. Linda? Her nurse’s training warring with maternal instincts as she tried not to stare at what the transformation had done to his body? Or maybe the twins—Emma’s bold fingers working the fabric while Sarah blushed and looked away, both of them whispering about the changes they couldn’t help but notice?

It couldn’t have been Amanda or Soo-Jin—Linda would never let strangers handle her unconscious son. Charlotte was possible, but unlikely. Ms. Chen? Absolutely not. Which left family… or maybe they’d called Madison back in a panic. Madison, seeing his enhanced form first, her possessive streak flaring as she dismissed everyone else from the room to handle his care personally?

The possibilities multiplied with each heartbeat, each scenario more forbidden than the last.

“Master, your thoughts are a deluge. Do try to focus before you leave a mess on those unfortunate pajamas.” Taboo giggled, the sound of glass and honey. It only fanned the inferno.

He walked slowly to his bathroom.

Peter slammed his hands onto the cold marble sink and stared.

“FUCK ME!” The roar shook the mirrors.

He was… catastrophically beautiful. Not handsome. Not lethal. Apocalyptic. The jawline was honed from granite, cheekbones sculpted cliffs casting sharp shadows. His eyes—Christ, his eyes—galaxies swirled in the deep brown, fractured by veins of impossible pink, like hell’s own sunrise bleeding through.

Skin glowed with internal light, smooth as opals, chiseled from moonlight on a dark sea. The old Peter? A forgotten shadow. This Peter looked like he’d stepped from a Renaissance painting of a dark angel—temptation given flesh, radiating a silent promise of ruin and ecstasy so potent it hurt to look at.

“Taboo! What did you DO?”

“We calibrated you, Master. Forbidden territories demand… accessibility.” Her voice was velvet soaked in sin. [Before, Peter was the idea of danger. Now, Peter is the danger. The forbidden son. The scholar who owns your soul. The double package that makes women throw away marriages, families, sanity just for a taste.]

She wasn’t wrong. The dichotomy was dizzying: soft, dark curls tumbling over a forehead that screamed predator, lips softer than sin on a face radiating barely leashed power. He looked like the boy next door who’d secretly defile you in the confessional booth and make you write hymns about it.

Men sees same old Peter? Fine. But women…

[The looks don’t compel, Master. They just… invite. They make the impossible feel… inevitable.]

He felt bigger everywhere. Height stretched his frame. Shoulders broadened, chest deepened, arms thickened. The pajamas felt like a straitjacket. He needed skin. Cloth that clung. Fabric that promised.

The shower was a scalding exorcism, steam rising around him like sacrificial smoke. In the closet, he moved like a predator selecting camouflage. The deep blue silk shirt—dark enough for midnight sin, soft enough to whisper “touch me.”

He left three buttons open, not just revealing the sharp lines of his collarbones, but the lush swell of pectorals that looked carved from ivory and lust, dusted with the faintest trail of dark hair disappearing downwards. A silent invitation. A dare.

Dark slacks hugged his enhanced thighs and calves like a lover’s grip, emphasizing the startling length of his legs and the effortless power in his stride. Sleeves rolled precisely below the elbow, exposing forearms corded with subtle, dangerous strength—tendons shifting like steel cables beneath skin that glowed.

Every movement was a study in controlled grace, the fabric whispering against his new form. He didn’t wear the clothes. He animated them, turning silk and wool into instruments of seduction.

Peter faced the mirror. Innocent nerd? Check. The soft curls, the intelligent eyes still holding that edge of bewildered charm beneath the pink fire. Lethal temptation? Double fucking check.

The open shirt promising glimpses of paradise, the aura of power humming just beneath the surface, the sheer, gravitational pull of him. The double package wasn’t just ready. It was primed.

The monster hadn’t arrived. It had been birthed in fire and forbidden code, wearing a face that could make a nun reconsider her vows and a smile that promised eternal bliss or eternal damnation, with no in-between. Peter Carter turned from his reflection, the faintly erotic luminescence clinging to his skin. The family meeting wasn’t a reunion.

It was a hunting ground. And the first forbidden fruit? Already ripe. Waiting.

Downstairs waited Linda. Emma. Sarah. Ms. Chen—the living spark that had forged this monster. They thought they knew Peter. The awkward tech genius. The recovering brother. The son with unsettling potential.

They saw a shadow. They felt a tremor.

They had no fucking idea.

****

I couldn’t help the sigh that escaped my lips. How many relationships would I shatter? How many women would I liberate into glorious, chaotic ruin? In Eros form, I was a walking god – impossible to resist, designed to annihilate marital vows and snatch brides from altars. But Peter Carter? He was supposed to be the shield. The innocent boy who’d just gotten… attractive. A recent, almost subtle upgrade.

The All-Perfect Pill had cleansed me, sharpened the edges, but it didn’t turn me into a monument of sin. My family noticed the change, sure – the new confidence, the healthier glow – they chalked it up to money, to the seismic shift in our fortunes. Questions? Minimal. Acceptable.

But this? This wasn’t an upgrade. It was a goddamn transfiguration. The subtle attraction Peter Carter once radiated? Shattered. Replaced by something that hummed with the promise of absolute ruin.

Not my Eros-level divinity… not quite. But to any woman who looked at me? It was damn close. A siren call wrapped in the deceptively soft shell of the boy next door. A walking catastrophe waiting to happen.

Thank you, System. And bless whatever cosmic shroud made men blind to it. Their obliviousness was a mercy. Imagine the awkwardness of guys suddenly unable to look away from the new Peter Carter?

No, thanks.

The subtle Peter Carter was gone. Now, both my forms screamed what I truly was: an agent of beautiful, devastating liberation. Eros was still the apex predator, more devastating than ever, but this Peter? This was the Trojan horse. The wolf in adorable, ridiculously handsome sheep’s clothing.

Status.

The thought echoed silently. It had been too long. I needed to see the numbers, the proof of the metamorphosis. Since waking, I felt… lighter. Not just post-coma lightness, but ethereal. Stronger. Faster. Alarmingly so.

Like gravity was merely a suggestion. Hell, I felt inches from floating. Was that even possible?

The System gave me knowledge, skill, sexual godhood, divine beauty, and supernatural control… but flight? That felt like a stretch. Though, given how light I felt… maybe? Someday? The thought made me chuckle.

When did my brain start racing down these absurd rabbit holes? This constant, lust-fueled daydreaming was going to get me into real trouble.

“Sigh…”

“Taboo,” I murmured, the name a silent command in my mind. “Show me my status.”

[DING! PETER CARTER & EROS MODE – DUAL STATUS