Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs Chapter 68: Real Talk: Two Century Empire Princess

The drive to Madison’s mansion was different this ti. Instead of sitting like so proper rich girl with perfect posture, she was practically glued to my side, her arms wrapped around my right arm while I drove with one hand like so kind of professional chauffeur.

"You know what’s crazy?" Madison said, her head resting on my shoulder while I navigated through the wealthy part of town where every house looked like a fucking museum.

"What’s crazy?" I asked, feeling her warmth against and thinking about how surreal this whole day had been.

"This," she said, squeezing my arm tighter. "Us just... talking about normal shit instead of your supernatural sex god destiny or my family’s money drama."

She had a point, though. For the last twenty minutes, we weren’t dealing with missions, secret powers, or political landmines. Just... us. Dumb couple argunts over pineapple on pizza, her theory that TikTok dances are just "Gen Z mating rituals," and our growing list of movies we’d never actually finish because we’d end up making out halfway through.

"It hits different when we’re just... us," I said, glancing down at her. "No system missions, no family pressure, no school drama. Just Peter and Madison figuring shit out."

"Exactly," she said, then got quiet for a mont. "Can I ask you sothing?"

"Always."

"What do you actually want, Peter? Like, beyond all the supernatural stuff and making money for your family. What do YOU want?"

...Whoa.

The question caught off guard because nobody had ever asked that before. Not my family, not my teachers, not even myself really. It was always about survival, about getting through the next day or week or month.

"Honestly?" I said, taking my ti with the answer. "I want to matter. I want to be soone who changes things instead of just... existing. And I want the people I care about to never have to worry about anything again."

Madison was quiet for so long I thought she’d fallen asleep against my shoulder.

"That’s beautiful," she finally whispered. "And terrifying."

"What about you?" I asked. "What does Madison Torres want when nobody’s watching?"

She sighed, and I could feel so of that rich girl armor cracking. "That’s complicated as fuck."

"I’ve got ti."

"I can’t say for sure yet," she started slowly, like she was testing each word before saying it. "But I definitely have to take care of the family business when the ti cos. Not because anyone’s forcing to, but because..."

She trailed off, and I could feel her getting emotional.

"Because what?"

"Because this is our family’s generational business, Peter. We’ve been in real estate for at least two hundred years. Like, two fucking centuries of Torres family mbers building this empire."

My brain started connecting dots that made my head spin. "Two hundred years? Madison, that ans—"

"Yeah," she said quietly. "Every major building in this city, half the comrcial real estate in California, most of the luxury developnts on the West Coast. We built this place, literally."

The weight of what she was telling hit like a freight train. I wasn’t just dating so rich girl—I was dating the heiress to a real estate empire that basically owned California.

"There’s so much family drama you wouldn’t believe," she continued, her voice getting thick with frustration. "Generational wealth brings out the absolute worst in people. My extended family is constantly scheming, fighting over who gets what when my parents retire or die. Cousins, aunts, uncles—they’re all circling like vultures."

"And you’re the heir," I said, finally understanding the pressure she carried.

"My parents never had a boy," she said, and I could hear years of gender bullshit in her voice. "So, it’s on to carry forward two centuries of family legacy. So of my relatives think a woman can’t handle it. Others think I’m too young, too spoiled, too... female."

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. "Fuck them."

She blinked. "What?"

"Fuck them! Madison, you’re the smartest person I know when it cos to reading people and situations. You’ve been managing social politics since you were probably five years old. Business is just social politics with money involved."

She laughed, but it sounded like she was fighting back tears. "That’s actually a really good way to put it."

"Plus," I added, "you’ve got sothing none of those old-school family mbers have."

"What’s that?"

"You understand how the world actually works now. Social dia, technology, what young people want. They’re still thinking like it’s 1950."

"God, you’re right," she said, sitting up slightly to look at . "My dad still thinks websites are a fad."

"See? You’re gonna revolutionize that whole industry."

Madison was quiet again, but this ti it felt different. Hopeful instead of heavy.

"There’s more to than just the spoiled princess thing," she said softly. "I know that’s how everyone sees , but I actually give a shit about things. I want to build affordable housing, not just luxury condos for rich assholes. I want to revitalize poor neighborhoods without gentrifying them out of existence."

The passion in her voice was sothing I’d never heard before. This wasn’t rich girl guilt—this was genuine caring about making things better.

"I want to use our family’s resources to actually help people instead of just making more money we don’t need," she continued. "But I can’t do any of that if my family thinks I’m just so airhead who got lucky with genetics."

"Madison," I said, pulling into her driveway and parking in front of a house that literally looked like a palace, "will you let support you? In whatever way you need?"

She turned to look at with eyes that were bright with unshed tears. "You don’t have to ask that, Peter. You don’t have to do anything."

"I want to," I said simply. "Whatever you need, whenever you need it. I’m all in."

Instead of saying anything, Madison just nodded and buried her face against my shoulder. I could feel her crying quietly, and I realized this might be the first ti anyone had ever offered to support her dreams instead of just expecting her to fulfill everyone else’s expectations.

We sat there in her driveway for a few more minutes, holding each other while the engine ticked down from the drive. Through the massive windows of her house, I could see the housekeeper moving around, probably preparing for Madison’s return.

"Ready to go inside, mi amor?" I asked softly.

"Yeah," she whispered against my shirt. "But I don’t want this conversation to end."

"It doesn’t have to end. We’ve got ti to figure all this shit out."

The housekeeper—Maria, if I rembered right from one of Madison’s casual na drops—was waiting in the foyer when we stepped in.

She looked about thirty, give or take, with sun-kissed skin, dark waves tied back in a lazy bun, and a fitted blouse tucked into high-waisted jeans that sohow made "casual housekeeper" look runway-ready. If you told she modeled for so luxury cleaning brand on the side, I’d believe you.

Hell, I’d subscribe.

But there was sothing about her energy that stopped the ogling before it started. Calm. Solid. The kind of woman who could carry a screaming toddler in one arm and a casserole in the other without breaking a sweat or her smile.

"Señorita Madison," she said with a soft accent and a warm smile, her tone respectful but not stiff. "Welco ho."

Madison lit up. "Hi, Maria. Sorry we’re late. Peter, this is Maria. She basically raised ."

Maria gave a look that landed sowhere between curious and protective big sister who can see through your bullshit in five seconds flat. Not hostile—just aware. Like she could sll teenage drama before it even walked in the door.

"You must be Peter," she said, eyes locking with mine for just a second too long. Not flirtatious. More like... evaluating.

"I’ve heard about you."

Hopefully not the bad things.