Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 98

Chapter 98: Baby Millionaire’s Day Out

Even as laughter echoed through the kitchen—echoed off cracked tiles and mismatched chairs that had quietly borne witness to a decade of careful budgeting and unspoken sacrifices—part of my mind had already drifted. Not away from them. Never from them. But forward. Into a future so wide and sharp-edged it felt like staring at a sunrise through broken glass.

I had given them relief. That was undeniable. But relief was only the beginning.

Because money, real money, doesn’t just buy comfort. It buys momentum. It buys silence in rooms where power speaks in whispers.

It buys choices.

I could feel it pulsing beneath my skin, the system’s gift and the raw capital it had earned me merging into something alive. Something with teeth. The kind of power you don’t flaunt—you architect with it. You build cathedrals no one knows you designed, influence disguised as inevitability.

Every hardship in life, I realized, was never just pain. It was a riddle with a price tag, and I was finally rich enough to buy the answers.

The system had handed me tools. But tools without material are just glorified ideas. Potential energy in a locked box. Now? I had the material. The leverage. I was no longer a desperate student with a cracked phone screen and silent bank notifications. I was the man holding the lever.

And as Archimedes once said, "Give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it, and I shall move the world."

Money is the lever. Intelligence is the fulcrum.

And I am the hand that moves the fucking earth.

The Charlotte Thompson mission—it wasn’t just a job. It was the blueprint of my myth. A way to root Peter Carter into the fabric of high finance, into networks with passwords and legacy codes. Into a world where wealth had origin stories, and mine would be told in boardrooms and bar whispers alike.

This wasn’t just a win. It was an origin story carved into gold.

But first, I had to survive Sunday.

I turned toward my family—toward the half-eaten cereal bowls and the tears that refused to hide—and I knew: this was the last night they’d ever fall asleep worrying about bills. The age of barely-enough was over.

Permanently.

Welcome to the new normal, Carter family.

Population: four.

Net worth: no longer a problem.

And just as that thought settled in, Sarah and Emma flanked me like secret service agents with matching grins that screamed coordinated mischief.

"What’s happening?" I asked, already suspicious.

"Visitor," Sarah announced, practically vibrating.

Emma leaned in like a gossip columnist unveiling a scandal. "Madison’s here."

Wait—Madison? Now?

Before I could protest or process, they each hooked an arm around mine and marched me toward the front door like I was being extradited for crimes against disbelief.

And there she was.

Madison. Billionaire. Phenomenon. My personal glitch in the simulation. She was leaning against her white Mercedes convertible like the world was hers and she was just deciding which parts to keep. Wind in her hair, one eyebrow raised like she was in on a secret no one else knew.

She didn’t belong on our cracked driveway—but somehow, she belonged here. In my story.

I looked at Madison, then at my family—at my empire in its infancy—and smiled. The kind of smile that tastes like champagne and dawn and the electric hum of fate kicking into gear.

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