Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 67

Chapter 67: Hope & First Trading Profits

"What am I looking at?" Mom asked, squinting at the screen, her reading glasses perched on her nose.

"Those are his trades," Madison explained softly. "He’s making money in real time."

"How much money?" Sarah asked, leaning forward with curiosity.

"Ethereum is up $50,000," I said, trying to keep my voice calm but failing completely. "BNB is up $5,000. I went heavy on Ethereum because it’s got major updates coming next week—the market’s pricing in the upgrades early."

The table went completely silent. I could hear the refrigerator humming, the clock ticking on the wall, my own heartbeat in my ears.

"Fifty thousand dollars?" Mom said slowly, like she was testing whether the words were real. "In one day?"

"More like three hours," I corrected, watching her face go pale.

"Peter," Emma said, staring at my phone like it was displaying alien technology, "that’s more than Mom makes in a year."

The weight of that statement settled over the table like a heavy blanket. Mom made $45,000 a year killing herself with double shifts, and I’d just made more than that in three hours sitting in my bedroom.

"Wait," Mom said, and I could see the wheels turning in her head. "Where did you get the money to invest in the first place?"

Madison and I locked eyes. That look you share when you both know the lie you built is about to get grilled.

"I’ve been freelancing," I said. Smooth. Deadpan. Like tossing a dollar store tarp over a volcano. "Coding gigs. Websites. Saved up."

"How much did you save?" Sarah asked like a detective who’d smelled something off ten minutes ago and finally had the warrant.

"Enough to get started," I deflected, sipping water like it could drown the tension.

"Peter," Mom said—and this time, it wasn’t gentle. It was her real voice. The one she saves for when she’s terrified. "How much money are we talking about here?"

Deep breath. No way around it now.

"I started with $300,000."

Boom.

The silence that followed? It wasn’t awkward. It was nuclear.

Madison froze that I gave the accurate number. Sarah’s jaw dropped. Emma’s eyebrows vanished into her hairline. And Mom—

"Three hundred thousand dollars?" she whispered like each syllable cost her something.

"Yeah."

Her chair screeched back as she stood, like even it couldn’t handle this plot twist.

"Peter Carter. Where the hell did you get three hundred thousand dollars?"

She was shaking—arms, voice, soul. Not from rage. From fear. That deep, old fear—the kind that follows people who’ve lost everything before and just started trusting the floor beneath them again.

"Mom, I swear—"

"No teenager makes that kind of money building websites!" she barked, voice splintering. "Are you dealing drugs? Did you steal it? Are you in some kind of gang? Tell me the truth, now!"

"Mrs. Carter," Madison stepped in, trying to defuse the bomb, "I can explain—"

"Madison, no, stay out of this," Mom said, eyes flaring for a second before softening. "But—Peter, please..."

Her eyes were glass now. Not anger. Not disappointment.

Fear.

Real, raw, stomach-punch fear.

"Mom," I said gently, reaching across the broken silence, "it’s not illegal. I promise. I’ve been working on something for months—crypto-based. It finally paid off."

"What kind of crypto project?" she asked, her hand shaking in mine. Her voice barely holding on.

And that’s the question, isn’t it?

What kind of project turns a broke sixteen-year-old into a ghost millionaire overnight?

I didn’t answer her yet.

Because the truth?

The truth would nuke the dinner table.

And everything that came after.

I scrambled fast, like I hadn’t rehearsed it a thousand times in my head. "I created some trading algorithms," I said, heart hammering. "They run automatically, make money while I sleep. Crypto markets never close—so, 24/7 grind, constant openings."

Mom didn’t respond. She just stared at me. That locked-on, mom-level stare that cuts through bullshit like it’s her superpower. My stomach twisted, not from guilt—no, that ship sailed—but from the sheer suspense of whether she was gonna buy it or crack it all open.

Numbers don’t lie. Or at least, she thought they didn’t. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

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