Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs - Chapter 408

Chapter 408: Humor Of the Harem God
Soo-Jin hesitated at the edge of the showroom, quiet beneath the noise.

Amanda and Emma found her instantly, their warmth giving her courage. Then I approached — steady, calm, unyielding.

“You did not choose anything, darling.”

Soo-Jin froze like a deer at a luxury auction. “I… I can’t take this much. I don’t give enough—”

“Family only, Soo-Jin. Not strangers. Family.”

Her confidence flickered, then held. Mercedes-Benz G63 AMG ($180,000) — safety forged into power. Porsche Macan GTS ($90,000) — quiet speed, subtle strength.

Total: $270,000.

She didn’t need to roar. Her presence was enough.

My harem’s final total? $22,598,000 USD

While the girls hunted like goddesses on commission, I moved through the dealerships like a man possessed by purpose. ARIA whispered, I decided, and together we built a symphony of machines that could probably bankrupt small nations. But hey—knowledge isn’t cheap, and neither is taste.

Mercedes-Benz Collection

AMG One (custom, grey titanium, V.D. package) — $2,700,000G-Wagon G63 AMG — $180,000AMG GT Black Series — $325,000AMG SL 63 — $185,000AMG S63 E-Performance — $185,000E63 S AMG Wagon — $120,000

Mercedes Subtotal: $3,695,000

I didn’t buy them for fun. Each engine note, each design flaw, was a lesson. The AMG One roared like a war cry; the wagon was an apology to practicality. Together, they formed a library in motion.

Rolls-Royce Collection

Ghost Series II (pale blue, ARIA’s pick) — $400,000Spectre (all-electric) — $420,000Cullinan Series — $350,000Phantom VIII — $500,000

Rolls-Royce Subtotal: $1,670,000

Elegance weaponized. The kind of cars that didn’t drive — they glided through opinions. ARIA said the pale blue suited my “psychological profile.” I didn’t argue; she’s usually right about my demons.

Bugatti Collection

The private Bugatti gallery was built like a temple, and even I — who’d stared into darker heavens — had to pause.

Chiron Pur Sport — $3,600,000Tourbillon — $4,000,000

Bugatti Subtotal: $7,600,000

The Chiron was mechanical perfection; the Tourbillon was something else — a sermon in carbon fiber. I didn’t smile. I just nodded. You don’t grin in church.

Hypercar Research Collection;

ARIA called it a “comprehensive engineering study.” I called it expensive curiosity.

Pagani Huayra Imola — $5,400,000 (Italian insanity, art on steroids)Koenigsegg Jesko Attack — $3,000,000 (Swedish lunacy with a God complex)Koenigsegg Gemera — $1,700,000 (four seats, because apparently family matters now)Rimac Nevera — $2,400,000 (Croatian lightning in a battery)Ferrari Daytona SP3 — $2,300,000 (the last scream of a V12 before extinction)Ferrari 296 GTB — $330,000 (V6 hybrid, efficient like a sociopath)McLaren Speedtail — $2,250,000 (250 mph of British denial)

Lotus Evija: $2,300,000 (shock therapy on four wheels)Czinger 21C: $1,700,000 (3D-printed chaos, Made in L.A.)

Hypercar Subtotal: $21,380,000

If the world ended tomorrow, I’d outrun the apocalypse.

Lamborghini Collection

Aventador SVJ: $520,000Revuelto (the V12 hybrid flagship): $608,000Veneno Roadster: $9,000,000

Lamborghini Subtotal: $10,128,000

Lamborghini never built cars. They built weapons.And I wanted all three.

Miscellaneous Power Plays

McLaren 765LT: $380,000Porsche 911 Turbo S: $230,000Custom Mercedes Sprinter Van (luxury conversion, seating for 12): $250,000

My research final total was $44,833,000

Even accountants get nervous when I walk into a dealership.

I sighed—half satisfaction, half exhaustion.

I’d bought a van too. A ridiculous, overbuilt luxury Sprinter, because apparently being God comes with errands.

The Settlement Fund for my women was $20.

That $20 million that followed covered everything the women would need to truly settle in:

Wardrobes & Fashion: full designer collections for every season and sin.

Beauty & Cosmetics: everything from Chanel to shit that hasn’t hit the shelves yet.

Jewelry & Accessories: elegant, not excessive. He preferred the shine to be in their eyes.

Personal Tech: laptops, tablets, phones—the kind that don’t glitch under divine hands.

Logistics: professional movers, bulletproof organization.

Supply Stock: daily luxuries, imported everything.

Miscellaneous: the thousand little things that make a house a home… or a palace a fortress.

By the time the receipts stopped printing, La Cherry looked like it had hosted a royal invasion.

I didn’t buy cars. I curated dominance.

“Buy everything in plenty before we settle it,” I had said, and they had. Every woman armed, every whim granted. No desire left unattended. No excuse for mediocrity in my orbit.

I stared at the figure blinking back at me. Seventy-nine point seven million dollars. In one day. At one mall. Most humans would need three lifetimes and a lottery win to reach that number. I, however, had a mild headache and a latte.

I laughed. Actually laughed, the kind of laugh that makes accountants consider early retirement and salespeople question life choices. The sound bounced off the Bugatti showroom walls like champagne corks shot at an art gallery.

“ARIA,” I muttered, because even artificial intelligences need the occasional verbal affirmation, “I just spent more on cars than most people earn in lifetimes.”

“Correction,” ARIA replied, deadpan as ever. “You spent more on automotive research and family investment than most corporations earn in a fiscal year. Your net worth regenerates this amount in approximately two days if I leverage all trading channels.”

“Ah, a challenge,” I said, lips curling. “A friendly invitation to chaos.”

“It is a mathematical observation. But if you interpret it as permission to continue—”

“Done,” I said. One word. Sharp. Final. Deliciously absolute.

Charlotte, forever the human embodiment of corporate efficiency, sighed and signed documents with the precision of a neurosurgeon. “Liberation Holdings will process everything. Corporate purchase—faster, cleaner.” Her eyes met mine, a hint of awe hiding behind the calm. “You know this is insane, right?”

“Insane would be wasting knowledge,” I said, gesturing toward the gleaming parade of automotive royalty. “These aren’t trophies, Charlotte. They’re textbooks. Each engine, each system, every questionable aesthetic choice—I study it all. Because in twelve months, I won’t be driving other people’s designs. I’ll be creating my own. Superior. Untouchable. Ours Charlotte. US”

Amanda leaned in, voice low, eyes gleaming. “You’re going to build your own.”

“Better,” I corrected. Always better.

*

The custom Mercedes Sprinter Van ($250,000) led the convoy—a rolling palace for twelve, reclining captain chairs, ambient lighting that could seduce a monk, and entertainment systems that made first-class feel like a trailer park. Behind it, the rest of the fleet paraded like apex predators: Pagani, Koenigseggs, Rimac, Bugattis—all roaring, growling, promising secrets.

Legal teams moved faster than physics would allow, bending reality like taffy. Contracts flew, titles transferred, insurance clicked into place. La Cherry’s staff gawked like they’d stumbled into a natural disaster labeled Eros Carter: The Human Hurricane. iPhones raised, jaws slack, envy radiating in waves.

I sat in the Sprinter, surveying my women at the wheels of their new kingdoms. Emma waved from her Mini, innocence wrapped in precision. Sofia’s Cullinan bulldozed metaphorical traffic. Luna’s Aventador growled like it owned the night—and maybe it did. Somewhere in the mix, the Pagani, three Koenigseggs, a Rimac, and two Bugattis prowled, teaching me their secrets, whispering, screaming, challenging.

“Eighty-seven million,” I muttered aloud.

“Eighty-seven point seven million,” ARIA corrected, the tiniest hint of condescension threading her voice. “Cars, research, and everything required to establish fifteen women in permanent luxury. Return on investment: incalculable.”

I smirked. Numbers were nice, but power—oh, power was sweeter.

“Let them watch,” I said, eyes sweeping the horizon like a king inspecting new territory. “Let the universe know: I spend like a mortal, think like a god, and collect knowledge like it owes me tribute. And no one—not one soul—is untouchable.”

Behind me, the engines growled. Around me, the world quietly recalibrated itself for my presence. A Bugatti purred. A Koenigsegg screamed. Somewhere, an accountant died a little inside.

I leaned back, letting the parade of steel, leather, and hubris carry me forward. A day’s work? More like an overture. And tomorrow? Oh, tomorrow, we build empires.

Amanda leaned against me, her head heavy on my shoulder like she owned the gravity in the room.

“Regrets?”

“Not one.” I let my gaze sweep over the convoy, engines purring hymns to excess and ambition, each machine a note in my private symphony of domination. “ARIA’s right. I won’t drive other companies’ cars forever.

These aren’t toys—they’re textbooks. Blueprints. Lessons in metal, horsepower, and ego. Each choice is a data point: why this engine works, why that hybrid manages torque like a magician, why the ergonomics force the human body into submission.

And yes… I want my women satisfied. I have billions. This—this spree? Not even two percent of my net worth. Over-spending? Sure. Caring? Not in the slightest.

What use is a billion if you can’t make the ones you love want for nothing? Knowledge, pleasure, loyalty—they’re all currency, and I plan to invest wisely.”

I didn’t need to finish the sentence. She understood.

I grew up poor. I knew that itch, that ache for what’s always just out of reach—the kind that wrecks minds and fuels bad decisions. I didn’t get these women to make them crave what they couldn’t have.

No. I did this for them, will do the same for the ones already mine, for those yet to come, for my family. Every smile, every satisfied glance? Quest complete. Level unlocked. I wasn’t indulging; I was optimizing happiness like a strategy game.

If they were fulfilled, loyal, and inspired, the empire I built would be built on devotion rather than fear. That’s leverage, and leverage wins wars without firing a shot.

The convoy rolled onward, a parade of steel, leather, and unapologetic audacity. I wasn’t wasting money—I was engineering influence, command, and obsession. Each car, each piece of tech, each luxury item, was a node in a network I controlled, a moving library of power and seduction.

Girls: $24,268,000. Me: $44,833,000. Settlement: $20,000,000. TOTAL: $87,701,000. A number that could make most mortals weep. I didn’t. I calculated, I observed, I conquered.

Every dollar was a lesson, every transaction a strategic imprint on reality.

The cosmos would not curse me for hoarding knowledge.

It would curse me if I stopped. And I never intended to stop. Not when empire, loyalty, pleasure, and intellect were all in my grasps, optimized, and fused into the ultimate equation of my being.

I was already three moves ahead, watching the patterns, predicting reactions, ensuring that when history remembered this day, it wouldn’t be about excess—it would be about genius.