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

Chapter 357: My Falling? , The Unfuckwithable.

This had me thinking about some uncomfortable shit. What would Mom say if she found out I was the reason a married woman was getting divorced? Would she sigh? Would she cry? Or would she just stare at me over her steaming mug of herbal "I told you so" blend and ask, "Peter, darling, couldn’t you have found a slightly less... explosive hobby? Like collecting rare stamps? Or juggling chainsaws?"

Forget Isabella’s particular Christ-on-a-crutch situation – the real grenade I’d lobbed into the societal China shop was Amanda. Literally. Stolen a bride. From her actual engagement party. Like some fucked-up fairy tale where the dragon rides off with the princess before the "I Do’s," leaving the hapless prince holding a wilted bouquet and a lifetime of therapy bills.

We didn’t just crash her upcoming wedding; we detonated it, scooped up the dazed, glittery debris.

What the actual fuck was my life becoming? It felt less like a life and more like a reality TV script penned by Nietzsche after a bad batch of brownies. Extreme Makeover: Moral Edition – Tonight’s episode? Guy Obliterates Social Norms!

Seemed like the only morals clinging to the wreckage of my psyche like stubborn survivors were two flimsy, suspiciously self-serving commandments: Thou Shalt Ensure Women’s Well-Being (mostly by not letting them marry dipshits like Amanda’s almost-husband), and Thou Shalt Provide Mind-Blowing Satisfaction (because hey, if you’re gonna burn down their carefully curated lives, the least you can do is give them a decent orgasm in the ashes).

Divine responsibility, right? Like a career arsonist justifying spreading napalm because hey, the fire looks pretty and it clears the underbrush.

My moral compass wasn’t just broken; it was spinning like a demented roulette wheel, landing on chaos every single fucking time.

...Nah. Screw that spiral. I slammed the mental brakes. That introspective noise? That was the sound of weakness. The whimpers of a conscience trying to stage a pathetic comeback tour. I wasn’t becoming some monster. I was just... excelling at my calling.

Think of it less as destroying marriages and more as... efficient relationship triage.

Cutting out the gangrenous limbs before they infected the whole patient? Yeah. That sounds medically ethical. As for Amanda? We didn’t steal her. We rescued her. From a lifetime of vanilla sex and beige suburbia.

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