Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 540: The Man Who Walked Like a Verdict

The Man Who Walked Like a Verdict

The sound of descending steps continued, slow, steady, and so precise it felt rehearsed. Each impact echoed through the grand hall like a heartbeat amplified by marble and silence. Nobody spoke. Nobody dared shift. The entire estate—normally a playground of noble chatter, flirtation, and empty politics—seemed to fold itself around the rhythm of those footsteps.

Even the ticking of the massive golden clock mounted above the hall began to blend with the cadence, creating a strange, haunting harmony.

Tick... step... tick... step...

Each one a warning. Each one a promise.

Up on the upper landing, shadows stirred before the figure emerged.

Torchlight licked the polished leather of his boots first—midnight-black, sharp as blades in silhouette. The hem of a long, fitted coat followed, cut with the kind of precise tailoring only men born with too much money and too little conscience ever wore. The coat hugged a lean, sculpted torso, broad shoulders, a tight waist, every line announcing someone who didn’t just hold power—he lived inside it.

Then the man stepped fully into view.

Count William.

Black hair, rich and thick, swept back with a lazy precision as if even his messiness was intentional. It framed a face carved in sharp, elegant angles—cheekbones high, jawline firm, lips curved in a faint hint of amusement that never touched his eyes. His eyes were pure black, deep and unreadable, the kind that swallowed light instead of reflecting it.

A man who could smile while gutting you.

A man who could whisper kindness with a knife in hand.

His black coat hung open enough to reveal a vest of dark velvet, silver buttons catching the torchlight. A white shirt sat beneath it, crisp and fitted, sleeves cuffed by ornate silver clasps shaped like wings. And under all of that—visible even through the fabric—was a body made for command: tall, athletic, a predator wearing noble clothing like it was a polite joke.

He moved with the ease of someone who never needed to raise his voice to own a room.

And he did own this one.

The nobles standing below the staircase went still. Some sucked in a tiny breath. Some dipped their heads out of instinctive submission. Some froze out of outright fear. A few women—dressed in lavish silks, hair styled high with jeweled pins—visibly brightened, their eyes warming with a hunger they didn’t bother hiding.

Not because he was handsome.

No—because he was dangerous.

And in noble society, danger was a kind of pleasure.

William reached the last step, boots clicking softly on the marble floor as he glanced across the hall. His gaze drifted lazily from noble to noble, measuring them, weighing them, peeling back their polite masks without even trying.

The first to speak was Baron Halden, voice shaky but attempting enthusiasm.

"G–Greetings, Count William."

Then, like a wave rolling through the hall, the others followed.

"Greetings, Count William."

"An honor, Count William."

"We welcome you, Count—"

William lifted one hand, barely a gesture.

The room fell silent instantly.

He gave a slow nod, lips curving in a polite smile that fooled no one.

"Thank you for the warm reception."

The nobles exhaled. But quietly. Carefully. Nobody wanted to be the one who sounded relieved.

William’s notoriety was not gossip.

It was a fact.

He was charming, yes.

A gentleman when he wanted to be.

But he ran his territory like a quiet tyrant, ruling North Vellore with an iron glove wrapped in velvet. Nobles under him behaved, not out of loyalty—but out of survival.

His reputation with women was just as sharp.

No married woman.

No young lady.

No widow.

None were off limits if he found them interesting.

Half the noblewomen in this hall had fantasized about his attention.

The other half had nightmares about earning it.

But every single one of them looked at him now.

Some discreetly.

Some openly.

Some trembling with excitement.

Some trembling with fear.

He gave them all one short sweep of observation, as if scanning a menu.

Then William bowed his head lightly toward the group.

"My noble friends, allies, and... companions," he said, voice warm but edged with steel. "I trust the evening has been enjoyable so far?"

A chorus of eager nods, fake smiles, too-quick answers.

"Yes, very much."

"Exquisite preparations tonight."

"We are honored by your presence."

William chuckled under his breath.

They sounded like children reciting lines.

His eyes flicked briefly toward a cluster of women at the right side—elegant dresses hugging c-to-e-cup curves, hair shimmering under the chandeliers. One whispered something to her friend, cheeks warming, eyes unable to leave William’s face.

She wasn’t alone.

He tapped a finger against his chin thoughtfully.

Women knew one thing about him:

If he chose you—even for a night—your social standing soared.

You became untouchable among the noble ladies.

Feared. Envied. Respected.

And yet... you also risked being discarded just as easily.

A blessing and a curse.

Wrapped in a beautiful, irresistible man.

William exhaled softly, then turned his attention back to the room.

"Well," he began, tone turning smoother, richer, "since we are all enjoying ourselves... why don’t a few of you accompany me?"

The nobles glanced at one another. Panic. Curiosity. Fear. Hope.

William smiled.

"I require a word about certain matters. Urgent, but not grim. Merely... business."

He gave a small, elegant bow—more mocking than polite.

"My noble ladies," he said gently, "forgive me. But this conversation is for men only. Please continue enjoying the banquet. I will return shortly."

Several noblewomen murmured in disappointment, one even biting her lip before calling softly,

"Count William... perhaps later you will honor us with your company?"

William’s smile shifted—half amusement, half promise.

"Perhaps," he said in a tone that made her knees weaken.

He knows exactly what he does, she thought.

And he enjoys it.

He turned back to the men, eyes narrowing in subtle command.

"Let’s go."

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

Five nobles—Baron Halden, Viscount Renn, Duke Selmen, two younger lords—all stepped forward instinctively.