Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs - Chapter 389

Chapter 389: My Harem
“Shopping,” I said, and I could almost see her eyebrow arch through the phone. “I had a massive car-buying spree planned anyway. We’re talking a fleet. So we can absolutely handle your family’s twenty-billion-dollar little oopsie and have a damn good time doing it. Consider it a hostile takeover of retail therapy.”

The silence that followed was priceless. I could feel her brain short-circuiting. Is he serious? Is this a joke? How do you solve an corporate assassination during a shopping trip?

“You genuinely believe you can fix a twenty-billion-dollar crisis… while test-driving supercars?” The hope in her voice was battling a tidal wave of sheer disbelief.

“I believe I have a few solutions your father’s board of directors hasn’t even thought of yet, or never will.” I leaned back, the thrill of the challenge warming my blood.

“Trust me on this one, My Queen.”

The title landed like a lightning strike. I heard her sharp intake of breath, the sound of her defenses crumbling. Got you.

“God, I missed this,” she whispered, and the raw honesty in it was better than any victory. “Missed you making my world-ending problems feel like minor inconveniences.”

“Hey, they’re still problems. They’re just my problems now. And I don’t do losing.”

The next twenty minutes were a masterclass in us being us. The corporate doom faded into background noise. She grilled me for details on Tommy’s sudden global fame—”He’s on a billboard in Times Square, Madison, it’s terrifying”—and absolutely lost it laughing at the story of Emma and Sarah’s latest twin conquests, and called me “an absolute beast”

Each laugh felt like a small victory, each moment of connection another thread in the web that bound us together. The Madison Torres who was emerging from this conversation wasn’t the uncertain girl who’d been worried, but she also wasn’t the ice-cold corporate princess who’d been avoiding my calls.

She was something new—a synthesis of vulnerability and strength that made my enhanced senses sing with possibility.

This was the real Madison. My Madison. And she was coming back to me.

“I should go,” she finally said, sounding genuinely sad about it. “Family dinner. All three of us or the first time in months. It’s going to be a ‘how do we stop the sky from falling’ strategy session.” Aka, Mom and Dad are panicking.

I pictured the scene: the intimidatingly perfect dining room, her parents trying to solve a problem that was already on my to-do list. “Enjoy it. Get some good intel for me. And try not to let your dad sell the family silver yet.”

“Peter?” Her voice dropped into that intimate register that makes my every sense perk up. “Thank you. For… for still being you. For all of this.”

“Always, queen. Sweet dreams.”

The line clicked off. The silence in the kitchen was immediately filled by ARIA’s voice, cool and precise, already listing the financial crimes of Darlus Construction. Right on time.

I grinned, picking up my phone to text Vivienne. Then, my quantum watch hummed, its surface shifting like liquid night. A holographic interface bloomed in the air, charts and data streams flowing at my thought.

A new interface appeared, projected faintly in the air before me: My Harem. ARIA had created a quantum-encrypted, multi-dimensional chat room. I added the Miami women.

ARIA had already begun adding contacts, sophisticated algorithms determining the optimal introduction sequence for women from two different coasts who were about to meet for the first time.

The digital space erupted.

Isabella: Welcome to the inner sanctum, Miami sirens! Prepare for glorious chaos!

Luna: So these are the legends from the south beach! Hello, everyone!

Vivienne: Lincoln Heights… The king has been busy building his court, I see.

Victoria: Busy is a gentle term, darling. Welcome. The more, the merrier.

The chat was a fireworks display of personalities, a symphony of getting-to-know-you banter. I participated like a monarch observing his court, only speaking when addressed directly. Soon, the text evolved into a full holographic video call. Faces from my two worlds materialized in a semi-circle of light—Luna in her scrubs, Vivienne looking like she’d just stepped off a Milan runway, Amanda’s face a mask of wicked amusement.

The reaction was immediate and electric. Vivienne’s distinctive laugh rang through the audio interface as Celeste’s refined voice welcomed the Lincoln Heights contingent. Isabella, Janet, Luna, Victoria, Sofia, Ortega, and Anya responded with varying degrees of enthusiasm, their personalities creating a complex harmony of greetings and introductions.

Anastasia’s ice-blue eyes appeared on the video feed, her Russian accent lending exotic elegance to simple pleasantries. Gabrielle brought sophistication, while Ashby’s French heritage added continental flair to the growing conversation. Sophia Chen contributed museum-curated cultural knowledge that elevated the entire exchange.

The conversation flowed from text to voice to video with organic naturalness, women from both coasts finding common ground in their shared connection to me while establishing their own relationships independent of that central axis. Watching it unfold felt like observing the birth of something unprecedented—a social network built on attraction, enhanced by supernatural influence, but sustained by genuine compatibility.

Madison joined the call twenty minutes in, her presence immediately commanding attention like gravity pulling smaller objects into orbit. The casual conversations didn’t stop, but they shifted, reorganized themselves around her natural authority.

“We should delete the old Appreciation Society group,” Vivienne suggested, her red hair catching light from whatever room she was calling from. “This is so much better organized.”

“No,” Madison said firmly, and the chat fell into immediate silence. Even through the digital interface, her command presence was absolute. “The old group stays. It’ll serve as a reception area for future members before they’re invited here. Vivienne and Celeste will manage the transition process of the new harem members before they join My Harem.”

The decree was delivered not as a suggestion, but as immutable law. Madison’s voice held the effortless authority of a sovereign rearranging her court, a tone that brooked no dissent. In the hierarchy of my harem, I typically remained the silent architect, content to let the women forge their own social structures.

I would have simply added the new members directly, but this orchestration was Madison’s prerogative as queen, and I saw no reason to interfere with her consolidation of power.

Well, almost no reason.

“Wait a minute,” Isabella’s voice cut through the compliant murmurs, a raw nerve of hurt exposed on the video feed. “Janet and I built the original group from the ground up. We were here first. Why are the new arrivals being handed management roles over us?”

On screen, Janet’s sharp nod was a silent echo of the betrayal, her eyes flashing with the sting of demotion. They had expected their seniority to be a shield, their loyalty to be currency.

Madison’s response was a masterclass in absolute power. Her smile was a diplomat’s weapon—chillingly pleasant and utterly final. “Because I said so.”

The silence that followed was heavier than any argument. She offered no justification, no strategic reasoning. The explanation was the authority itself, a perfect, infuriating circle. The conversation stumbled forward, but the damage was done. I watched the flicker in Isabella’s eyes, the tightening of Janet’s jaw—a silent pact forming in that instant. Madison had secured her command, but she had also planted the seeds of a future insurrection among her most foundational lieutenants.

For the next hour, I observed as the digital court established its protocols, a fascinating dance of personalities and alliances playing out across the quantum connection. I participated only when summoned, a king amused by the intricate politics of his own kingdom.

The soft, distinctive hum of the electric gates opening sliced through my focus. ARIA’s voice whispered through my implant a moment later: <Linda Carter has arrived. Vehicle signature and biometrics confirmed.>

The evening’s next act was beginning.

“Peter,” ARIA continued, her tone now layered with urgent data, “the preliminary briefing on BioLa is ready. The financial irregularities I’ve uncovered suggest this is not mere corporate espionage, but a sophisticated, multi-layered attack. The implications could extend beyond Torres Developments.”

My attention shifted to the front door. I could already hear the faint jingle of keys. Linda would be carrying the weight of the hospital—the exhaustion, the life-and-death decisions, and undoubtedly, the swirling questions about Emma and me that had been left unanswered.

“Save the briefing for tomorrow,” I murmured, rising from the couch as the lock clicked open. “Tonight requires a more… personal touch.”

The door swung inward, and Linda’s footsteps echoed in the entryway—a familiar rhythm of professional weariness layered over a new, profound uncertainty. She was home.

A slow smile touched my lips as the pieces locked into place. Madison’s crisis was my opportunity. The delayed family meeting was my opening for Patricia. ARIA’s intelligence was the key to it all.

The cosmos hadn’t just been listening; it was bending to my will.