Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 130

Chapter 130: The World to Me

It looked like a spaceship built by Gucci engineers on Adderall. Black leather seats with stitching so tight it made my trust issues jealous. Ambient lighting that shifted like mood rings on a rich girl’s fingers. A dashboard that basically whispered, You’ll never be good enough to own me unless your name is Kendall or Kylie.

"Feel that leather, Mom." I guided her toward the driver’s seat like I was leading Cinderella into her Uber Black. "Sixteen years of sacrifice? This is what you get."

She eased in like the seat might eject her for using coupons. Gripped the wheel like it might disappear if she breathed too hard. But for a split second? She believed it. She saw herself in the GLE. And damn, it looked good on her.

Diaz wasn’t done. "2.0-liter turbo engine. 255 horsepower. Nine-speed automatic transmission. All-wheel drive. Basically, you can drive this thing through a snowstorm and still look hot."

Emma was in the passenger seat acting like she’d been launched into low orbit. "Mom! This is literally a spaceship. Look at all these buttons!" She’d press anything if it lit up.

Sarah, of course, was reading the fine print like a BuzzFeed fact-checker. "Five-star safety rating. Advanced collision prevention. Blind spot monitoring. Emergency braking. This thing could survive the apocalypse."

Good. Let them hit her from all angles. One kid selling her the dream, the other whispering logic. Me? I just sat back and watched her fall.

Because sometimes luxury isn’t about needing it. It’s about letting yourself want it.

And this car? Yeah. It wasn’t just transportation. It was transformation.

"And the cargo space," Diaz kept going, like we weren’t all standing on the edge of a psychological cliff.

He popped the rear hatch with a soft hydraulic hiss, revealing enough room to haul groceries, trauma kits, or dead dreams—whatever the week called for. "Power liftgate. Removable floor panels. 60/40 split-folding seats. Very adaptable."

Mom stepped out of the driver’s seat again, circling the GLE like it might vanish if she blinked. But her steps weren’t timid anymore. There was something in her shoulders now—weight shifting.

Like she was giving herself silent permission to want.

"Peter," she said, her voice low and breaking at the edges, "this is... too much. This car probably costs more than I make in a year."

There it was. That old poverty programming, clawing at her throat like it had a right to stay. That deeply embedded shame passed down from generation to generation like a curse.

’Nah. Not today. We’re killing that noise.’

I stepped in, grabbed her hands, forced her to meet my eyes. "Mom, you’ve spent sixteen years sacrificing your body, your sleep, your sanity—raising three kids that weren’t even yours by blood. You broke yourself into pieces to keep us whole. If anyone on this fucked-up planet deserves this? It’s you."

Charlotte stepped in with the lethal calm of a woman used to ending arguments with signatures. "Consider this a signing bonus for raising the young man who just saved my company. You invested in Peter when he was just another kid with nothing but chaos. Now it’s time to cash in."

Mom’s eyes were full now, glassy and wide, like she couldn’t figure out how the ground had moved beneath her feet. Like she was afraid to believe this wasn’t a setup. That there wouldn’t be a catch. That survival mode didn’t have to be permanent.

Diaz hesitated. "The MSRP on this build is $87,450," he said carefully, like he didn’t want to rupture the fantasy with sticker shock.

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