Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs
Chapter 66: Six Figures. Pink Barbie Card

Chapter 66: Six Figures. Pink Barbie Card

The weight of that number hit me like a truck. $367,000. My mom made $45,000 a year working herself to death. This was almost eight years of her salary, just sitting there as points from hooking up with my girlfriend.

"And I’m about to cash most of it out," I said, feeling that familiar reckless energy building up, but this time it was mixed with pure terror.

"How much are you gonna exchange?" Madison asked, and I could hear the excitement building in her voice.

"How much?" I repeated, my mind racing. The thing with me is, apart from being smart and calculating, I’m reckless as fuck too. That trait has gotten me into trouble before, but right now, with my enhanced knowledge, I could afford to be as reckless as I wanted.

But this wasn’t just about me anymore. This was about my family’s entire future.

"All of it except 670 points," I decided, my voice steadier than my hands. "Go hard or go home."

"We’re already home, babe."

"Then go hard or stay broke forever."

Madison laughed, but I could hear the nervousness underneath it. "Do it. Let’s see what happens."

"System, exchange 3000 SP!"

A new interface materialized with three options that made my head spin and my stomach drop at the same time.

[EXCHANGE OPTIONS:

Option 1: Link permanent bank account - All transfers untraceable, perfect for hiding system income

Option 2: Temporary manual exchange - Enter account each time, also untraceable

Option 3: System-issued unlimited card (400 SP) - Risk-free, perfect for Dark Lord identity]

"Holy shit," I breathed, reading through the options, my hands shaking so hard I could barely focus. "This is incredible. This is actually fucking happening."

"What do they mean?" Madison asked, studying the floating text, her own voice filled with awe.

"Basically different ways to get the money without anyone being able to trace where it came from," I explained, wiping sweat from my palms. "The first one links to my bank permanently, second one I have to enter my account each time, and the third one gives me some kind of special untraceable card."

"Which one should you pick?"

"I’m thinking option three for now. I want everything permanently linked yet, and I’m ready for the card thing." My heart was hammering so hard I could hear it in my ears.

"Smart," Madison agreed, squeezing my shoulders for support.

"System, let’s use the option 3."

I thought my bank account number as clearly as I could, my entire body tense with anticipation, and instantly—

[TRANSFER COMPLETE: $300,000 deposited.

[400SP Deducted for Unlimited Card!]

The confirmation appeared, and for a moment, time stopped.

"This is fucking incredible," I whispered, staring at the message, barely able to process what had just happened. "Three hundred grand just appeared in my account like magic."

My phone buzzed, and with hands that were shaking like I had hypothermia, I opened my banking app.

ACCOUNT BALANCE: $300,47.83

I stared at the screen for what felt like hours but was probably only seconds. The numbers didn’t look real. They looked like a glitch, like someone had accidentally added too many zeros.

"Oh my fucking God," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

Madison was silent behind me, and when I turned to look at her, there were actual tears in her eyes.

"¡Dios mío!" she whispered, then kissed my cheek with lips that were trembling. "Peter, you did it! You actually fucking did it!"

"I can’t believe this is real," I said, and suddenly I was crying too. Not sad crying—overwhelmed, disbelieving, life-changing crying. "Madison, this is three hundred thousand dollars. This is real money."

"Believe it, mi millonario," she said, pulling me into the tightest hug of my life. "This is your life now."

I buried my face in her shoulder and let myself feel it—the relief, the terror, the absolute impossibility of what had just happened. For the first time in my life, I had enough money to actually help my family instead of being another burden they carried.

"Alright," I said after we’d both stopped crying, wiping my eyes and trying to get my hands steady. "Time to turn $300,000 into something even bigger."

"How does this work?" Madison asked, settling behind me again, her presence grounding me.

"Crypto and forex trading. I analyze market patterns, make predictions, place bets basically. But I’m only doing crypto tonight—never open forex positions on Friday nights."

"Why not?"

"Forex markets close over the weekend. If you’re holding a position and some major news breaks Saturday or Sunday, you’re fucked. Your trade just sits there bleeding money until Monday morning when markets reopen. It’s like leaving your front door unlocked for two days straight."

"That makes sense," Madison said, watching me navigate between trading platforms with the kind of focus I’d never had before.

"And you’re good at this?"

"I’m about to be fucking legendary at this. Don’t you know I have Knowledge and skills for almost everything"

I was setting up my positions when Madison started laughing from behind me, the sound bright and unexpected.

"What’s so funny?"

Madison was holding something up like it was sacred. A card. But not just any card.

It was pink.

Like, nuclear pink. Barbie’s wet dream kind of pink. The kind of pink that screamed "glitter explosion at a toddler’s birthday party." She tried to stifle a laugh and failed miserably. "Peter, look what the system gave you."

I stared at it. Stared harder. Blinked once. Nope. Still violently pink.

"You have got to be kidding me." I stepped closer like it might bite. "That thing looks like a five-year-old girl had a meltdown in a toy aisle and the system went, ’Yup, that’s the vibe.’"

Madison giggled, trying to keep it classy. Didn’t work. Her shoulders were already shaking. "It’s not that bad."

"It’s an insult, Madison." I didn’t blink. "There’s only one pink thing I like putting my attention onto, and it sure as hell doesn’t belong in my wallet."

She howled. Collapsed on my bed, actual tears rolling down her face as she gasped, "Peter!"

"What?" I raised my hands, dead serious. "I’m just saying. There are pinks that make you weak, and then there’s this—this makes me wanna fight God."

"System, can we please change this damn card color before my masculinity packs its bags and walks out?"

[Card customization available for 100 SP - $10,000]

"Ten thousand dollars to change the color?" I said out loud, my voice cracking with disbelief. "System, you’re a fucking scammer. That’s like mobile game microtransaction bullshit."

"Just keep the pink one," Madison said, wiping tears from her eyes. "It’s cute. And honestly, after what just happened, I don’t think you should complain about anything."

She was right. I just made $300,000 appear out of thin air. Complaining about a pink card was the definition of first-world problems.

"Cool," I muttered. "Guess I’m officially the founder of the Pretty Princess Black Card Club. Kill me."

*

Two hours later, Mom called us down for dinner, her voice carrying up the stairs like it had every night for sixteen years. But tonight felt different. Tonight, everything was different.

Madison and I walked into the kitchen where Sarah and Emma were already seated at our worn table, and I felt the weight of what I was about to tell them.

"Madison’s staying for dinner," I announced, my voice more confident than usual.

"Of course," Mom said, setting an extra plate—one of our mismatched ones that we’d collected over the years. "You’re always welcome here, sweetheart."

"Thank you, Mrs. Carter," Madison said politely, and I could see her taking in our kitchen with new eyes. The peeling wallpaper, the cabinet doors that didn’t close properly, the linoleum floor that was worn through in spots. "Your home always feels so warm."

"Unlike the mansion where nobody talks to each other?" Emma asked with that brutal honesty only teenagers possessed.

"Emma!" Sarah scolded, but she was trying not to laugh.

"No, she’s right," Madison said, her voice getting quieter. "My family could learn from you guys. You actually care about each other."

As we ate Mom’s homemade spaghetti—the kind of meal that stretched a dollar and filled hungry kids—I couldn’t resist pulling out my phone to check my trades.

The numbers on the screen made my heart race all over again.

"Peter, what are you doing?" Mom asked, noticing my distraction.

"Just checking something," I said, then my eyes went wide as the profits updated in real-time. "Holy shit."

"Language," Mom said automatically, but her voice was gentle.

"Sorry, but Mom... look at this." I turned my phone around to show the table, my hand trembling slightly.