NOVGO.NET Chapter 768: Welcome to the Cuck City
Chapter 768: Welcome to the Cuck City
I’d taken Madison from the dating pool—rich girls’ parents usually vetted every guy, protected their daughters like investments. Nothing. Her father didn’t even blink. Just accepted it.
I’d taken Sofia from Jack Morrison—quarterback, wealthy family, the kind of guy who should’ve come at me with everything he had. He’d tried once or twice? That was it. Then he crumbled. Fell apart.
Became a cautionary tale instead of an opponent.
I’d taken Isabella from her husband—a married woman, a teacher, risking everything. And her husband? Found out, filed for quiet divorce, slunk away like a beaten dog. No confrontation. No fight. No attempt to win her back or destroy me for ruining his marriage.
I’d taken women from the Miami elite—men with billions, with power, with resources to make me disappear. And what did they do? They negotiated? They accepted losses? They moved on to the next acquisition because fighting wasn’t worth the energy.
Where did all that manly ego go? That territorial instinct men were supposed to have?
I remembered reading about the old days. Not ancient history. Just a few generations back. When men would duel over women. Actually face each other with weapons, with fists, with honor on the line. When stealing another man’s girl meant you’d better be ready to defend yourself because he was coming for blood.
There were stories about bar fights that lasted hours because some guy disrespected another man’s woman. About fathers showing up with shotguns when boys got their daughters pregnant. About husbands challenging lovers to actual physical combat—not lawsuits, not social media campaigns, but fights.
Men who’d rather die than let another man take what was theirs without consequences.
But the so-called modern men?
They just... let it happen.
Sent passive-aggressive texts. Posted sad shit on Instagram. Maybe filed for divorce through lawyers. But actual confrontation? Actual willingness to fight, to risk something, to stand up and say "not my woman, not without going through me first"?
Nonexistent.
And yeah, maybe I should’ve been grateful. Made my life easier. Meant I could seduce whoever I wanted without worrying about getting jumped in parking lots or shot by jealous husbands.
But part of me—the part that respected strength, that understood the value of worthy opponents and the value these women.. my women represented—was fucking disappointed.
Who would let such women go without doing anything about it?
Where was the challenge? Where were the men who loved their women enough to actually fight for them instead of just rolling over and accepting defeat?
It made victory feel hollow sometimes. Like I was conquering a world that had already surrendered before I even arrived.
Anyway.
Point was: my dreams came true. So completely that the SP I’d thought would be my main income source had grown to nine hundred thousand without me even noticing.
I’d last checked when I hit seven hundred thousand. That was... weeks ago? A month? Time blurred when you were busy building empires and fucking your way through LA’s elite.
Two hundred thousand SP gained passively. In the background. While I focused on trading, on business acquisitions, on expanding Liberation Holdings into a multi-billion dollar empire.
SP had become secondary. A bonus. Supplementary income to the real wealth I generated through legitimate business.
The system that gave me powers had accidentally created a capitalist.
Ironic as fuck.
"You’re good at that," Margaret observed, watching me braid Reyna’s hair.
"I’m good at everything," I said, grinning. "Comes with the god complex."
Amanda snorted. "Humble as ever."
"Humility is for people with things to be humble about."
They laughed. Even Margaret. The sound carried across the garden like music.
We talked. About Miami. About the chaos the women used to cause down there. About Margaret missing those days a little—the freedom of causing trouble and getting away with it because money and connections made consequences optional.
And listening to them talk about it, about the wildness, the recklessness, the absolute freedom of doing whatever the fuck they wanted and facing zero repercussions—
Something clicked.
Days of causing trouble and getting away with it.
That sounded fucking fun.
Margaret was describing some party they’d crashed in South Beach. How they’d walked in like they owned the place, drank the most expensive champagne, flirted with everyone, caused absolute chaos, and walked out before anyone could even ask who invited them. No consequences. No fallout.
Just pure chaotic fun backed by enough money and confidence that nobody questioned their right to be there.
"I miss those days a little," Margaret admitted, smiling at the memory. "Not the danger. Not the kidnapping or the violence. But that feeling of... invincibility? Like nothing could touch us because we were untouchable?"
Amanda nodded. "We were terrible. Absolutely terrible. But it was fun being terrible."
Reyna laughed. "I wish I could’ve seen it. You all sound like you were living in a movie."
"Oh, we were," Amanda confirmed. "A very expensive, very illegal movie."
And I sat there, listening to them reminisce about causing trouble and getting away with it because money and power made consequences optional.
And thought: I have more money than they did. More power. More influence. More resources.
Why the fuck am I not causing trouble?
I had the wealth to walk into any party, any club, any event in Los Angeles. Had the looks to turn heads. Had the abilities to make any woman I wanted fall for me. Had the business empire to deflect consequences. Had the political connections to make problems disappear.
I could do exactly what they did in Miami. But bigger. Bolder. More systematic.
Time to turn LA into a city of cuckolds.
Every unsatisfied wife in Beverly Hills. Every frustrated girlfriend in Santa Monica. Every woman trapped in mediocre relationships with mediocre men who didn’t deserve them.
Time to liberate them all.
Walk into their lives. Their marriages. Their boring relationships with men who’d stopped trying years ago.
Seduce them. Satisfy them. Show them what they’d been missing. Ruin them for their husbands and boyfriends so completely that going back felt like downgrading from a Rolls-Royce to a bicycle.
And get away with it.
Because who the fuck was going to stop me? The husbands who rolled over instead of fighting? The boyfriends who’d rather post on Reddit than confront me in person? The fathers who cared more about stock portfolios than their daughters’ happiness?
Nobody.
I’d cause trouble. Systematic, calculated, satisfying trouble.
And I’d get away with all of it.
Margaret caught my expression. Raised an eyebrow. "What are you thinking about?"
I grinned. "Just realizing that causing trouble and getting away with it sounds like exactly the kind of fun I should be having."
Amanda laughed. "Oh no. We’ve inspired him."
"You absolutely have," I confirmed.
And I had the power, the money, the influence to do exactly that.
Time to turn LA into a city of cuckolds. Time to take every unsatisfied woman, every frustrated wife, every girlfriend trapped in mediocre relationships with mediocre men.
Time to liberate them all.
And get away with it.
Because who the fuck was going to stop me?
[DING!]
Oh no.