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

Chapter 873: Legacy: Peter’s Bloodline

"You, Mom." I leaned down, pressing my forehead against hers, breaths mingling. "You taught me what it meant to sacrifice for family. To put others first. To love without strings or scorecards."

Our noses brushed; I felt her exhale shakily against my lips. "Everything I am, everything I’ve built—it started with you. And now... now we get to build something together. Something new. Something that’s ours in a way nothing else has ever been."

"Our baby."

"Our baby."

I kissed her.

Not the soft, gentle brush from before. This one was deeper. Longer. The kind of kiss that sealed unspoken promises, that wove souls tighter together. Her lips parted beneath mine, and I tasted salt from her tears, sweetness from her joy, the faint echo of everything she was and everything we were becoming.

Her hands slid up to cup my face, fingers trembling at first, then steadying—pulling me closer as if to say yes, always yes.

When we finally broke apart, both of us were breathing hard—chests rising and falling in sync, foreheads still pressed together.

"I love you," I said, voice rough. "I love you, and I love our baby, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving that to both of you. Daily reminders, gold-plated if necessary."

"I know," she whispered back, a soft laugh threading through. "I love you too. Both of you. My son. My man. My... the father of my child." She chuckled at the absurdity, shaking her head. "How did we get here, Peter? How did any of this become our life? One minute I’m changing your diapers, the next we’re... this?"

"Does it matter?"

She thought about it. Really thought—brow furrowing in that familiar way.

Then: "No. No, it doesn’t. What matters is that we’re here. Together. And that we’re going to face whatever comes... together. Even if it means explaining to the baby why their family tree looks like a pretzel."

"Together," I agreed, grinning. "Always."

My hand was still on her stomach. Hers was still covering mine.

And somewhere beneath our joined touch—impossibly small, barely even real yet—

Our baby waited.

Growing.

Becoming.

Loved before they even existed.

The meal arrived—delivered by ARIA, who left it on a tray outside the door without knocking but pinged me mentally. I retrieved it while Linda protested half-heartedly that she really wasn’t hungry, then watched her devour every bite once the savory aroma hit her nose.

"Pregnancy cravings already?" I teased, stealing a cracker when she offered.

"Or just my body finally realizing it needs fuel after a day of emotional gymnastics," she shot back, smirking.

I sat beside her while she ate, sneaking small bites when she playfully fed them to me, keeping the conversation light and easy. We talked about nothing important—her day before the world tilted, the grocery store run with Jasmine, the over-the-top cheese display that had apparently left her sister in awe, declaring it "the eighth wonder of the world."

Normal things.

Simple things.

The kind that reminded us both that life kept rolling, even when it threw curveballs like this.

When she finished, I took the tray and set it aside. Then I returned to the bed, gathering her in my arms once more.

"Thank you," she whispered, nestling closer.

"For what?"

"For coming. For being here. For not... for not making this weird. Or weirder, anyway."

I laughed softly. "It is weird, Mom. It’s incredibly weird. But weird isn’t bad."

"That’s the second time you’ve said that tonight."

"Because it’s true." I tilted her chin up, making her meet my eyes. "We’re going to figure this out. Day by day, step by step. And it’s going to be okay. Better than okay. It’s going to be us—complete with flowcharts and all."

Her eyes searched my face one more time.

Then she stretched up and kissed me.

Not a passionate kiss. Not a hungry one. Just a soft, gentle press of lips against lips—the kind that said thank you and I love you and I trust you all at once.

When she pulled back, her eyes were clearer than they’d been since I arrived.

"Stay with me tonight?" she asked. "Not for... anything. Just... stay?"

"I wasn’t planning on going anywhere."

She smiled—a real smile, tired but genuine.

"Good."

I reached over to turn off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness broken only by the faint glow of city lights through the curtains. Linda settled against me, her head on my chest, her hand resting over my heart.

"Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you. You know that, right? Not because of the sex, the pleasure, or the... the whatever. I loved you before all of that. I’ll love you after."

"I know, Mom." I kissed her forehead. "I love you too. Always have. Always will."

Her breathing evened out as sleep finally claimed her—real sleep, not the restless exhaustion of before. Her body grew heavy against mine, warm and trusting.

I stayed awake a while longer.

Watching her sleep.

Thinking about the future we were building together.

A child. Our child.

And then it hit me.

Really hit me, in a way it hadn’t before.

This was my first biological child.

My child. My blood. My genes. My legacy.

I’d been an orphan.

I would’ve been abandoned—shuffled through foster homes like an unwanted package, passed from stranger to stranger until I disappeared into the system’s cracks. I never knew my birth mother. Never had a single relative anywhere.

Never had anyone in the world who shared my DNA, my features, my history written in chromosomes.

For my entire life, I’d been alone in that fundamental, biological way. Connected to people through choice, through love, through circumstance—but never through blood.

Until now.

Somewhere inside Linda—inside this woman who had chosen me when no one else would—a piece of me was growing. Cells dividing. A tiny heart beginning to form. A life starting that would carry part of me forward into the future.

I would see my eyes in another face. My smile on smaller lips. My blood running through veins I hadn’t built but had helped create.

For the first time in my existence, I wouldn’t be alone.

The thought hit so hard I had to close my eyes against the sudden burn of tears.

Me—Peter Carter, who’d faced down enemies, built empire, conquered everything in my path—crying over a poppy-seed-sized cluster of cells.

But it wasn’t just cells.

It was family.

Real family. Blood family. The kind I’d never had. The kind I’d secretly, desperately wanted my whole life, even when I pretended I didn’t need anyone.

And Linda had given that to me.

This woman who’d already given me everything—a home, a future, a foundation to build on—had now given me the one thing I could never earn, take, or buy.

A child of my own blood.

My hand found her stomach again in the darkness.

She stirred slightly but didn’t wake—just made a soft, sleepy sound and nestled closer against me. My palm settled over the place where our baby grew, fingers spreading wide as if I could shield that tiny life through touch alone.

I didn’t move my hand.

Not when hours passed. Not when the first gray light of dawn crept through the curtains. Not when my arm went numb and my body begged for sleep.

I kept my hand there, connected to them both—the woman I loved and the child we’d made together.

Somewhere in the early morning hours, Linda’s hand found mine again. Still asleep, moving on instinct, her fingers lacing through mine and pressing my palm more firmly against her belly.

Holding me there.

Keeping me connected.

Even in sleep, she understood.

When real morning arrived—sunlight streaming golden through the windows, birds singing outside—I was still awake. Still watching her. Still holding the place where our future grew.

Linda’s eyes fluttered open.

She looked up at me, then down at our joined hands on her stomach. A soft, sleepy smile curved her lips.

"You stayed," she murmured, voice rough with sleep and wonder.

"I told you I would."

"All night? Your hand..."

"All night."

Her smile widened—slow, radiant, tired but real. She lifted our joined hands, pressed a gentle kiss to my knuckles, then settled them back over her belly.

"Our baby’s first night with their father watching over them," she said softly.

"First of many."

"First of many," she agreed.

And in the golden morning light—holding the woman who had saved me and the child who would continue me—I finally understood what all of this had been for.

Not power. Not conquest. Not empire.

This.

Family.

Real, permanent, unbreakable family.

The kind I’d been searching for my entire life without knowing it.

The kind I’d finally found.