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

Chapter 871: Taboo Knot: My Mom is the Mother of My Child

"The baby will look like a baby," I said gently, letting a small, crooked smile tug at my lips. "And then a child. And then a person who is loved beyond measure—no matter who they end up resembling. Eye color, hair, nose, whatever. Doesn’t change the fact they’ll be ours. And they’ll be spoiled rotten by the best mom in the world."

Linda pulled back just enough to look up at me, her swollen eyes searching mine like she was trying to find the catch. "You’ve... thought about this."

I huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. "I’ve had approximately goddess-flight time to think about nothing else. Turns out traveling at mach-whatever with ARIA gives you a ridiculous amount of headspace for contemplation. I basically wrote three parenting books in my head on the way here. All terrible. But the point stands."

Another watery laugh bubbled out of her—small, surprised, the sound loosening something tight in my chest. "My life has become so strange."

"Strange isn’t bad," I said, catching both her hands in mine, thumbs brushing over her knuckles in slow, comforting circles. "Different isn’t bad. Weird? Sure. But weird can be good too." I squeezed her fingers gently.

"Mom... Linda... look at me."

She did—those warm brown eyes still glassy, still scared, but meeting mine without flinching.

"I love you," I told her, voice low and steady. "Not just as the woman who raised me. Not just as the woman I fell in love with. I love every version of you—every role you’ve ever played in my life. And this—"

I released one of her hands to rest my palm flat against her stomach, gentle, reverent, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin t-shirt. "This doesn’t change that. This doesn’t complicate that. If anything... it makes everything feel bigger. Deeper. More real."

Her breath hitched, a fresh tear slipping free.

"More?" she whispered.

"You’re carrying my child." The words felt sacred on my tongue—heavy, beautiful, terrifying in the best way. "Part of me is growing inside you right now. Our blood, our genes, our future—all tangled up in something brand new. Something that only exists because we love each other this much."

Tears streamed freely down her cheeks again, but these were different—softer, warmer, almost relieved.

"I’m scared," she admitted, voice cracking.

"I know."

"I’m terrified, Peter. Of the pregnancy. Of the birth. Of raising a child at forty-three. Of what this means for us, for the family, for—"

"I know." I pulled her close again, tucking her head beneath my chin, arms wrapping around her like I could shield her from every fear trying to claw its way in. "And that’s okay. Being scared is okay. But you don’t have to be scared alone. I’m here. I’m always going to be here."

"You have so many responsibilities," she murmured against my chest, fingers twisting in my shirt. "So many women. So many—"

"And I love them," I said firmly, cutting through the spiral before it could take root. "Not any less than the others. But you’re you." I pulled back just enough to meet her eyes again, letting her see the absolute certainty there.

"You were first, Mom. Before the power. Before the money. Before the harem. Before any of this—there was you. Taking care of me when no one else would. Loving me when I was too broken to love myself. You’re not just one of many. You’re the foundation. Everything else is built on what you gave me."

She was crying harder now, but her arms wrapped around me tighter, holding on like I was the only solid thing left in the world.

"I don’t deserve—"

"Stop." I cupped her face again, thumbs wiping away tears with gentle strokes. "Don’t ever say that. Don’t ever think that. You deserve everything good that has ever happened—or will ever happen—to me. You deserve more than that. You deserve the moon, the stars, and every ridiculous thing in between."

"Peter..."

"I’m going to take care of you," I promised, voice low and fierce. "Every single day of this pregnancy and every day after. Rest, nutrition, doctors, prenatal vitamins, foot rubs at 3 a.m.—whatever you need. I’m going to be there for every appointment, every ultrasound, every random craving, every moment of panic and every moment of joy. You’re not doing this alone."

"You can’t promise that. You have—"

"I can promise it. And I am." I held her gaze, letting her see the iron in my eyes. "ARIA can run the empire. The others can handle things for a while. Right now, in this moment, the most important thing in my world is you and the life we created together."

I eased her backward until she was lying down, tucking the covers around her shoulders the way she used to do for me when I was small and feverish.

The role reversal hit us both—she gave a watery, protesting laugh even as she let me fuss.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, voice thick. "I’m the parent. I should be taking care of you."

"You did. For years." I climbed onto the bed beside her—not under the covers, just propped against the headboard so she could curl into my side. "Now it’s my turn. After all... you’re my woman now. The mother of my child." I grinned down at her, soft and teasing.

"Get used to being spoiled."

She made a small, hiccupping sound—half laugh, half sob—and immediately curled against me, head finding its usual place on my chest, arm draping across my stomach like she’d done a thousand times before.

"Have you eaten today?" I asked, fingers combing gently through her hair.

A guilty pause. "...Breakfast. Before the grocery store."

"That was hours ago."

"I wasn’t hungry."

"The baby is hungry," I said, deadpan, pressing my palm lightly to her stomach again.

She snorted—wet, shaky, but real. "Don’t do that. Don’t use the baby to guilt me into—"

"Into taking care of yourself? Oh, I absolutely will. Get used to it, Matriarch Carter. I’m relentless."

"You’re impossible."

"I’m determined. There’s a difference."

I reached out mentally to ARIA.

"Already arranged, came the instant reply. Light meal en route—soup, crackers, ginger tea for the nausea. Prenatal vitamins tomorrow morning. Top discreet obstetricians on standby. I’ve also flagged the best prenatal yoga routine."

Perfect. Thank you.

"Always, Master. Take care of her. She’s special."

I know.

I refocused on Linda. She’d gone quiet, breathing evening out, body slowly relaxing against mine in small, incremental surrenders.

"Peter?" she murmured after a while.

"Yeah?"

"What are we going to tell the others?"

"The truth," I said simply. "When you’re ready. They’ll understand. They’ll still love you too, Mom. Not the way I love you—but they respect you. Care about you. You’re their family too."

"I’m part of the harem," she said softly, voice fragile, uncertain. "Your mother in the harem. Pregnant with your child. Do you have any idea how insane that sounds?"

I huffed a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I have some idea, yeah."

"And you’re just... okay with it?"

I let the question settle between us for a real moment—not just a quick answer, but the kind of pause where I actually felt the weight of it sink in.

Was I okay with this? This impossible, tangled, taboo knot of a situation? Could I look at it square and say yes—really yes—without flinching?

"When this all first started," I said slowly, voice low, "I thought it was about power. Conquest. Taking what I wanted, building something that served my ego, my desires, whatever version of ’more’ I was chasing that week."

Linda stayed quiet, her breathing soft against my chest, listening the way she always had—really listening.

"But it’s not." I ran my fingers through her hair again, slow, gentle strokes that made her shoulders loosen another fraction against me.

"It never really was. Not deep down. It’s about connection. About finding people who see me—actually see me, past the glow, past the titles, past the money bullshit—and choosing to build something real together. Something that lasts."

She lifted her head just enough to meet my eyes. "And I... do that?"

"You’ve always did." My thumb brushed the shell of her ear, a small, tender motion. "Even when I was a scared, angry kid who shoved everyone away because it felt safer. Even when I didn’t deserve your patience, your late nights, your belief that I could be better. You saw something worth saving. Worth loving."

I pressed another soft kiss into her hair, lingering there. "How could I not love you? How could I not want to build whatever future we can—however messy, however strange—with you?"

"Even if that future includes a baby?"

"Especially then."

The words landed soft but certain.

She went quiet again, long enough that I could feel her heartbeat steadying against my ribs.

Then, barely above a whisper: "I want to keep our baby."

The sentence hung there—simple, enormous, terrifying, beautiful.

"I know I haven’t had time to really think it through," she continued, voice trembling at the edges. "I know there are a million reasons this is complicated, difficult, maybe even wrong to most people. But when I think about... about not keeping a part of us..." She couldn’t finish. Her fingers tightened in my shirt.

She didn’t have to.

"Then we keep our baby," I said simply. "We keep this gem of us, we raise it, we love it. Together."