Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 701

Chapter 701: The Carter Family Prodigy

I looked at Aunt Jasmine across the table—really looked at her—and couldn’t help the smile that curved my lips. Not the predatory one. Not the one that promised damnation wrapped in silk. Just... affection.

My smile came from knowing someone’s story, knowing what it cost them to get here.

She’d finished college last year. Graduated with honors, actually, though she never mentioned that part because humility was a family trait we’d all inherited except Emma, who’d decided bragging rights were more fun.

Linda had paid for every credit hour, every textbook, every late-night coffee that kept Jasmine’s eyes open through finals.

That’s why despite being promoted to the ICU floor—despite the raise that should’ve meant breathing room—Mom barely made enough to support four of us.

And the three were women with high needs even if they held back too.

Jasmine had worked part-time through school. Retail, mostly.

The kind of job where you smiled at customers who treated you like furniture and counted hours until your shift ended so you could go home and study for exams that determined whether you’d spend your life in retail or actually use the degree you were drowning to earn.

It helped with her immediate needs. Helped us kids when we needed something trivial Mom’s budget couldn’t stretch to cover.

But Jasmine had a dream.

And more importantly, she had talent.

The kind of talent that didn’t care about financial limitations or family obligations or the statistical improbability of making it when you came from working-class roots and had to fight for every opportunity people with money got handed at birth.

"So," I said, cutting through the comfortable noise of silverware on plates and Madison’s foot still teasing my calf under the table like she couldn’t help herself. "How’s the shooting going?"

Aunt Jasmine’s face lit up like someone had plugged her into a power source. Brightness and relief in one breath, the kind of expression that made you remember why people chased dreams even when the odds were garbage and the path was uphill through broken glass.

"Everything’s fine now," she said, leaning forward with an energy that made her wine glass wobble dangerously. "We’re finally on a break after four straight months of training."

Four months. Four months of discipline that would break most people, of waking up before dawn and going to bed with muscles screaming, of perfecting shots until muscle memory was more reliable than conscious thought.

Four months of proving she belonged on a team that represented the best shooters in the country.

Because Aunt Jasmine wasn’t just good at shooting.

She is a prodigy.

USA Shooting had added her to the national team last year—the actual Olympic and Paralympic shooting team that represented the United States in international competitions.

And Jasmine had earned her spot despite coming from a family where "disposable income" was a theoretical concept we’d heard about but never experienced. Most prodigies came from money—families who could afford private coaching, travel to competitions, equipment that cost more than our old car.

Jasmine had clawed her way there anyway with thirdhand gear and sheer stubborn refusal to accept that poverty meant settling for less than excellence.

It was impressive. More than impressive. It was an achievement that made you believe in meritocracy even when you knew the system was rigged.

"Running through January, just before the ISSF circuit begins. They’re not official world events yet—more like warm-ups where top shooters from different countries get together to test form, trade pressure, keep their edge sharp without the weight of medals."

Emma nodded like she understood, which she probably didn’t. Emma’s understanding of competitive shooting began and ended with "point gun, pull trigger, hope for the best."

She took a breath—a real one, the kind that came from the bottom of your lungs and reset your nervous system. "That’s why December is mine. A full month to breathe before the whole cycle starts again."

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