Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs Chapter 547: Rebecca Hartwell

Catherine’s expression shifted. Professional mask dropping slightly. "Rebecca Hartwell. 34. VP of Operations at Stellar Dynamics—aerospace company. She runs their entire West Coast operation. Brilliant woman. Absolutely brilliant."

I waited. There was always more. The good shit was never on the surface.

"Divorced six months ago. Husband left her for his 23-year-old assistant." Catherine’s voice went cold, that ice-queen tone that ant she was personally offended on behalf of another woman. "The assistant he’d been fucking for eight months while telling Rebecca her body didn’t do it for him anymore."

Fuck.

"She ca to three weeks ago. Took her that long to work up the courage after finding my card." Catherine pressed the elevator button. "Do you know how many tis she called and hung up before I answered?"

"How many?"

"Seventeen tis over two weeks." She pressed the button again, harder, like it was personally responsible for Rebecca’s pain. "When she finally ca in for consultation, she could barely look at . Kept apologizing. Asking if this made her pathetic."

I felt that familiar rage building. The one that ca whenever I heard about n destroying won, taking sothing beautiful and strong and twisting it into self-doubt and sha.

"She told —" Catherine’s voice caught slightly, that rare crack in her armor. "She told she just wanted to feel beautiful again. Wanted soone to look at her like she mattered. Like she was worth wanting."

The elevator doors opened. Executive floor.

"I told her I had soone perfect for her." Catherine looked at , and her eyes had that fierce protectiveness that made understand why won trusted her with their secrets. "Don’t make a liar, Eros."

"I won’t."

"She’s terrified. Vulnerable. This is her first ti doing anything like this. She’s never even had a one-night stand."

I’ll take care of her."

"I know." Catherine smiled, small but genuine. "That’s why I chose you."

The doors started closing. I stepped inside.

"Eros?"

I looked back.

"Thank you. For understanding what this is really about."

The doors closed. I rode up in silence, thinking about Rebecca Hartwell. 34. VP of Operations. Running West Coast operations for a multi-billion dollar aerospace company.

Seventeen phone calls before she could speak to Catherine.

Three weeks to work up courage.

How many nights did she lie awake? Staring at ridian’s website? Reading reviews? Maybe asking friends she trusted—carefully, quietly, ashad but desperate.

How many tis did she type "high-end escort Los Angeles" into Google and then delete her search history?

How long did she cry in the shower? In her car? At her desk between etings where she had to be the competent VP?

What did it cost her—not the money, fuck the money—what did it cost her soul to walk through ridian’s doors and admit she needed this?

To pay soone to make her feel desired because her husband had convinced her she wasn’t worth wanting for free?

The elevator chid. Executive floor.

I stepped out. Plush hallway. Soft lighting. Suite 7 at the end.

I walked slowly.

This wasn’t about . Wasn’t about adding another conquest or earning SP or building my empire. This was about Rebecca Hartwell. About a woman who’d been brave enough to co here despite everything telling her she shouldn’t.

I reached Suite 7. Stood outside for a mont.

Heard movent inside. Pacing. The soft sound of breathing—quick, nervous.

She was terrified.

I stayed there for two whole minutes as my being synched with her.

I knocked. Twice. Gentle.

Silence.

Then footsteps. Hesitant.

The door opened.

And there she was.

Rebecca Hartwell.

The first thing I noticed was her eyes. Blue-gray. The kind that probably sparkled when she laughed. Right now they were wide with fear and sothing else—hope? Desperation? Both?

She was shorter than I’d pictured, maybe 5’5" in the low heels, but the way she held herself made the room feel smaller. Shoulders squared, chin level, the posture of a woman who could silence a boardroom with one raised eyebrow. Blonde hair the color of sunlight on champagne, swept into a sleek, low ponytail that brushed the nape of her neck when she moved. Not a strand out of place. Effortless, like she’d twisted it back in the car and sohow made it look expensive.

Navy blazer, perfectly tailored, nipped in at the waist just enough to hint at the curve beneath without ever announcing it. White silk blouse beneath, the top button undone (only one), revealing the delicate line of her collarbone and the faintest shadow between. Tailored charcoal slacks that followed the long, clean line of her legs and stopped just above elegant ankles.

But underneath it all I could feel the tremor of nerves she refused to let show.

Her eyes were what stopped cold. Pale blue-green, almost sea-glass, frad by lashes that didn’t need mascara to look lethal.

A face that belonged on the cover of Forbes and in soone’s bedroom fantasies at the sa ti. Sharp cheekbones, soft mouth, the kind of bone structure that made you understand why certain won get promoted faster than they should and hated for it just as quickly.

She stood just inside the doorway, one hand still on the handle like she hadn’t decided whether to let in or bolt. The other hand hovered at her side, fingers half-curled, nails kept short and unpolished but flawless anyway, the cuticles the only betrayal--tiny half-moons of red where she’d worried at them in the car.

On the nightstand behind her, a single glass of red wine, half gone, the imprint of her lipstick faint on the rim.

She didn’t say hello yet. Just looked at with those sea-glass eyes, equal parts terror and defiance, like she was daring to prove her ex-husband wrong.

"Hi," I said. Kept my voice gentle. "I’m Eros."

"Rebecca." Her voice was steady. Professional. The voice she used in boardrooms. But it cracked slightly at the end. "Hi. Co in."

She stepped back. Too quickly. Nearly tripped on her own feet. Caught herself on the dresser.

"Sorry. I’m—" Nervous laugh. "I’m not usually this clumsy."

I stepped inside. Closed the door quietly. Stayed near the entrance. Gave her space.

The room was beautiful. King bed. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown LA. Low lighting. Expensive everything.

But Rebecca wasn’t looking at any of it. She was looking at .

And I could see the exact mont the Eros effect hit her.

Her breath caught. Audible. Her pupils dilated. Her cheeks flushed.

But underneath the physical attraction—I could see sothing else.

Disbelief.

She looked at like I couldn’t possibly be real. Like n who looked like this didn’t exist outside of movies. And they certainly didn’t show up for won like her.

"You’re—" She stopped. Swallowed. "Catherine said you were attractive but I didn’t—I an—"

She laughed again. That nervous laugh that was half-panic, half-wonder.

"I’m sorry. I’m making this awkward."

"You’re not." I stayed where I was. Let her look. Let her process. "This is your first ti doing sothing like this?"

She nodded. Then shook her head. Then nodded again. "Yes. First ti. I’ve never—" Deep breath. "I’ve never paid for—I an, I’ve never—"

"It’s okay." I kept my voice calm. Steady. Anchor in her storm. "There’s no judgnt here."

"I just—" Her voice broke. "I didn’t know what else to do."

And there it was. The crack in the armor.