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

Chapter 787: The Devil’s Offer

"I am your only hope, Jack Morrison."

Jack laughed.

Not a happy laugh. Not even a bitter one. It came from somewhere dark and broken.

He waved her off, turning away, looking out over Lincoln Heights like the conversation was already over.

Because what the fuck even was this? Some hot woman appears out of nowhere, knows his name, offers to help him "end" Peter Carter with glowing eyes and supernatural vibes, and he’s just supposed to—what? Accept? Shake hands with the devil because his life went to shit?

Fuck that.

Fuck her.

Fuck all of this.

He didn’t even wonder how she found him up here. Didn’t question how she knew his name, knew about Peter, knew anything. Because honestly? At this point, nothing surprised him anymore. His life had become such a clusterfuck of impossible bullshit that a mysterious woman with glowing eyes barely registered on the weird-shit meter.

"Who the fuck are you anyway?" Jack asked, still not looking at her. "And what makes you think I need your help?"

The woman laughed.

It was a beautiful sound. Rich. Melodic. But there was something wrong underneath it. Something cold. Like hearing music played backward.

She walked closer. Jack heard her boots on concrete—soft, measured steps that said she was anything but normal.

She stopped beside him at the edge. Close. Too close. Near enough Jack could smell her.

And fuck, she smelled good.

Not like perfume. Not like the cheap body spray girls at school wore. Something deeper. Richer. Dark and sweet like expensive incense mixed with something floral he couldn’t name. It made you want to lean in, take a long breath, get lost in it.

Jack fought the urge. Barely.

He looked at her instead—really looked. Let his eyes trace down her body like he was a predator eyeing prey. The leather jacket hugging curves that looked sculpted. The fitted shirt beneath. The pants that might as well have been painted on. Legs that went on forever.

But even as he looked, even as his brain catalogued everything about her body, another part of him—the part that had kept him alive through years of being Lincoln Heights’ Prince—whispered a warning: This one’s not prey. This one will kill you if you try.

The woman leaned forward, looking down five stories below. Casual. Fearless. Like gravity was optional for her.

Jack raised an eyebrow.

"What?" she asked, still looking down, voice amused. "What can you possibly do to Peter Carter, Jack Morrison?"

She turned to face him, and her eyes—Jesus, her eyes were something else. Dark. Deep. The kind of eyes that had seen things Jack couldn’t imagine.

"Do you even have any idea who you’re talking about?" she continued. "Or do you think Peter Carter is just some average high school boy who suddenly got lucky? Got some money? Stumbled into success?"

Jack opened his mouth to answer—because yeah, that’s exactly what he thought. Peter was a lucky little bitch who’d somehow conned his way into wealth and status he didn’t deserve.

But the woman laughed before he could speak.

"Well then," she said, shaking her head like he’d just confirmed her worst suspicions. "If that’s what you’re thinking, you’re as naive as everyone else. As naive as Peter’s own women who don’t even know who he really is."

She paused, tilted her head. "Maybe even Peter himself doesn’t fully know yet."

Jack’s brain caught on one word. Latched onto it like a dog with a bone. Of all the things she said, his lizard brain only cared about one.

"What do you mean women?" he demanded.

The woman looked at him like he’d asked the sky what color it was.

"His harem," she said simply. Casually. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jack choked on his breath.

"His what h—" He couldn’t even finish the sentence. The word stuck in his throat like broken glass. "Harem?"

The woman smiled. Not kindly. "Let me save you the trouble of whatever plan you’re cooking up in that angry little brain of yours. If you were thinking about using your family’s wealth against Peter Carter?" She pulled out her phone, tapped the screen a few times. "That won’t be possible."

She held the phone toward him.

Jack looked.

Documents. Financial statements. Official-looking shit with numbers and percentages and legal language that made his eyes hurt.

But one thing stood out clear as day:

Morrison Construction Holdings - Shareholder DistributionLiberation Holdings LLC - 25% ownership

Jack’s blood went cold.

"What the fuck is this?" he whispered.

"Patricia Morrison sold her 15% shares," the woman said, voice flat. Matter-of-fact. Like she was discussing the weather. "To Peter Carter. Well, to one of his shell companies. Liberation Holdings. He’s been quietly buying up Morrison Construction shares for WEEKS now. Your mother sold him hers. Some board members sold him theirs. Twenty-five percent and counting."

The rooftop tilted. Jack grabbed the railing to keep from falling.

"That’s—that doesn’t make sense," he stammered. "Peter doesn’t have that kind of money. He’s—he’s nobody. He’s a fucking charity case whose mom works as a nurse. He can’t afford—"

"To buy out your family’s company?" The woman tucked her phone away. "Oh, Jack. Peter Carter is worth more than your entire family combined. More than most families in Lincoln Heights combined. Liberation Holdings is just one of his entities. He has others. Many others. Some you’ve heard of. Most you haven’t."

Jack’s mind was racing, trying to process, trying to understand.

Liberation Holdings.

Twenty-five percent of Morrison Construction.

Peter owned a quarter of his family’s company.

Peter—Peter fucking Carter—owned pieces of the empire Jack was supposed to inherit.

"But that still doesn’t explain—" Jack swallowed hard. "You said my mother sold to him? Why would she—"

The woman looked at him.

Really looked at him.

And smiled.

"His harem, Jack. Remember?"

The implication hit Jack like a freight train.

"No." His voice cracked. "No, that’s—that’s bullshit. You’re lying. My mother wouldn’t—she hates Peter. She’s hated him since he was born. She’s spent years making sure I—"

"Hated him too?" the woman finished. "Yes. Dad programmed you well. Taught what you should think how your mother thinks of Peter Carter, taught you that your mother sees Peter Carter as the enemy. As the living reminder of how a poor escort’s pussy was better than hers. How she couldn’t satisfy her own husband. How she failed as a woman."

Jack’s stomach churned.

"But here’s the thing about hate, Jack." The woman stepped closer. Close enough he could feel heat radiating off her skin even in the cold November air. "Hate is just love that got twisted. Obsession that went sour. And your mother—Patricia—has been obsessed with Peter Carter for seventeen years, loved him more than you... while you got obsessed with destroying him. Controlling him. Making him nothing."

Another step. They were inches apart now.

"And then Peter grew up," she whispered. "Became something she hoped he becomes. Became powerful. Became beautiful. Became everything she’d prayed for. And that motherly obsession?" She smiled. "It twisted again. Into something else entirely."

"You’re saying my mother fucked Peter Carter." Jack’s voice was dead. Hollow. "You’re saying she’s part of his—his harem."

"I’m saying your mother is one of many women who’ve fallen under Peter Carter’s influence," the woman corrected.

Jack couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The rooftop was spinning, the city lights blurring together into streaks of color that made no sense.

His mother.

Patricia Morrison.

Was fucking Peter Carter.

Was part of his harem.

Had sold him shares of the family company.

"No." Jack shook his head violently. "No. You’re fucking lying. This is—this is some kind of trick. Some kind of—"

"Jack." The woman’s voice cut through his panic like a blade. "Jack Morrison. Look at me."

He did.

Her eyes were glowing again.

Not subtly. Not like before where he could pretend it was a trick of the light.

Glowing. Blue now not red-gold. Electric blue. Bright enough he could see his own reflection in them.

And there was something else. Something behind the blue. Red-gold embers burning in the depths. Like her eyes were windows into a fire that would never go out.

She was so close he could see the city lights reflecting in her gaze. Or maybe that wasn’t the city. Maybe that was just her. Maybe she carried her own light source inside her skull.

"Tell me, Jack Morrison," she said softly, and her voice had layers now—human and something else, something that made his bones ache. "Can you really take on Peter Carter alone? With what you have? With what you are?"

Jack’s throat was dry. His hands shook.

Peter owned part of his family’s company. Peter had his mother in a harem. Peter had taken everything—everything—and Jack had nothing. No allies. No plan. Just rage and a dying family name and hatred that couldn’t touch someone who’d become untouchable.

The woman extended her hand. Palm up. Offering.

"Or would you rather take my hand?" she asked. "Help each other out? You give me what I need. I give you what you need. Together, we end Peter Carter. Together, we take back everything he stole. Together, we make him remember what it feels like to be nothing."

Her eyes burned brighter.

Jack stared at her hand.

At her eyes.

At the impossible choice she was offering.

Accept help from something that wasn’t human.

Or face Peter Carter alone and lose everything.

The wind picked up. Cold. Sharp. Carrying the smell of rain and the city and his own fear.

The woman smiled.

And waited.