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

Chapter 332: The Emma Unraveling

I closed Emma’s bedroom door behind me and leaned against it for a moment, letting the emotions wash over me. The emotional torrent hit immediately - raw, desperate fear wrapped around abandonment issues so deep they made my chest ache like a fist squeezing tight.

Emma slept curled up on her bed, arms wrapped around her knees, trying to look tough but mostly just looking like a scared kid. Which, fuck, she was. Eighteen years old and dealing with trauma that would break most adults.

I could feel everything she couldn’t say out loud. The terror that leaving meant I didn’t care anymore coiled in her gut, cold and heavy. The bone-deep fear that without me in the house, she’d be vulnerable again settled like ice in her veins. The shame that she needed me this much, that she couldn’t just be normal and independent like other girls her age was a bitter taste on her tongue.

But underneath all that fear was something else - something that made my throat tight with emotion. Pure, desperate love. The kind of love that came from someone who’d been saved when they thought they were lost forever, clinging to the only solid ground left.

I was her anchor. Her safe harbor. And she was terrified I was about to cut the rope and let her drift away.

The hurt in her voice, the way she’d lashed out - it wasn’t really about Madison or inappropriate comments. It was about me leaving. The knowledge was a physical weight in the room.

Emma woke and sat cross-legged on her bed. Wearing one of my old Lincoln High hoodies that was way too big for her and a pair of fuzzy pajama pants with little tacos on them. Her hair was in a messy bun, and she had that stubborn set to her jaw that meant she was trying not to cry.

The set was a brittle shield, cracking at the edges.

She looked so young sitting there, despite being eighteen, and the sight twisted something deep in my chest, a sharp, painful pang.

"Don’t," she said without looking up, picking at a loose thread on the comforter. Her fingers worried the thread relentlessly, a tiny focus for a storm of feeling. "Don’t give me some speech about how everything’s going to be fine and I’m overreacting."

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