Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs Chapter 910: The Carter Legacy

Hollywood wasn’t just about Lila.

Don’t get wrong—cutting my dancer free from Dex’s world was priority one, top of the stack. But I didn’t do single-purpose trips. Every move had layers. Every destination had multiple objectives. Every hour spent traveling was an hour that could—and should—be doing three things at once.

This trip was doing four.

The entertainnt thing had been brewing since Emma.

My sister—loud, chaotic, chronically online Emma—had told that her long-term dream was the entertainnt industry. Not a passing comnt. Not a maybe-soday fantasy.

She’d said it with the kind of quiet seriousness that Emma only used when she ant sothing down to her bones.

Talent Managent; Acting. Producing. Creating. She wanted in.

I’d started building toward it before I even realized I was building toward it.

The music room at the estate—every instrunt you could na, professional-grade, acoustics engineered by ARIA to make a recording studio weep with jealousy and probably file for unemploynt.

The dance floor where I’d danced with Lila, where she’d moved like gravity was a polite suggestion and I’d understood for the first ti what real artistry looked like in a human body that wasn’t trying to kill .

The recording studio with equipnt that wouldn’t exist in consur markets for another decade.

Those weren’t hobbies.

Those were infrastructure.

Then Lila had co into my life—a professional dancer whose talent was so raw and real that the only thing between her and global stardom was the predatory machinery that had tried to consu her.

A woman who deserved a stage, not a cage.

And that’s when I knew.

When the pieces clicked together and the picture beca obvious.

I knew what business and industry would cent the Carter legacy that I had in mind for so long. I’d thought of Biotech but decided against it.

Entertainnt.

Not Liberation Holdings entertainnt. Not a subsidiary buried under corporate layers like a dirty secret. Sothing with Carter na on it. Sothing that would last with my empire and everything I’ve built.

Carter Entertainnt.

I was going to make my family one of those powerhouses. The Carters as an entertainnt dynasty in Hollywood—films, series, talent managent, a record label. The na that made people in this city straighten up when they heard it, check their posture, and wonder if they’d rembered to send flowers to the right assistant.

It would take ti to reach the pinnacle.

Years, maybe.

But the foundation was getting poured now.

The parent holding company would be Liberation Empire, as always—the mothership that sat above everything like a bored god watching ants build empires.

But Carter Entertainnt wouldn’t link to Liberation Holdings directly.

Clean separation. Different DNA.

Liberation Holdings was the war machine—acquisitions, finance, corporate warfare, the kind of thing that made regulators wake up in cold sweats.

Carter Entertainnt was legacy. Family. The thing I’d hand to my children.

My children.

That thought still hit different every ti it crossed my mind—like a warm fist closing around my heart and squeezing just hard enough to remind I had one.

The kid growing inside Linda was days old. Barely a fist. Margaret and Patricia’s pregnancies weren’t even confird by traditional dicine yet—just ARIA’s absolute biotric certainty, which was more reliable than any hospital test but still felt like cheating.

I was out here building generational infrastructure for children who were currently the size of poppy seeds and probably thought mitosis was the height of entertainnt.

Overthinking? Probably. Definitely. A sane person would wait. Would see how things developed. Would focus on the pregnancies first and the legacy-building second.

But I wasn’t sane. I was a teenager with a god complex, an ASI goddess handling my logistics, and the bone-deep understanding that everything I built from this point forward needed to support my kids for a lifeti.

Not just the money—that was easy, that was already handled.

The structures. The foundations. The institutions that would generate wealth and opportunity and power long after I stopped actively managing them.

Carter Entertainnt was one of those institutions.

And I wasn’t just thinking about my empire and my won anymore. I was thinking about the tiny lives that would inherit all of it. So, everything from now on had to be straight and solid in its foundation.

No cracks. No shortcuts that would beco problems in ten years.

No legal ambiguities that so future rival could exploit like a cheap crowbar.

Unlikely, with ARIA running oversight.

But it doesn’t hurt to be cautious when your kids are going to grow up in the sa house as you.

Now—the boring part. Except it wasn’t boring when you had a goddess doing it.

Normally, forming an entertainnt company at this scale ant incorporating in Delaware first. That’s what the smart money did. Delaware’s Court of Chancery, business-friendly statutes, tax advantages—there was a reason half the Fortune 500 was technically headquartered in a state most people couldn’t find on a map without Google.

You’d form your Delaware LLC, then register as a foreign entity in California to actually operate there.

ARIA didn’t do that.

She’d registered Carter Entertainnt directly in California, straight through the Secretary of State’s office. No Delaware detour. No foreign entity registration. No tax optimization gas. The right paynts to the right offices, filed simultaneously, processed within hours instead of the standard weeks because ARIA had politely reminded the servers who was really in charge.

"Tax advantages are negligible when your holding company already operates through structures I’ve optimized beyond what Delaware’s statutes offer," she’d explained when I’d asked. "Filing directly in California establishes Carter Entertainnt as a native entity. Born here. Built here. Hollywood will respect that more than another Delaware shell pretending to be local."

She wasn’t wrong. In this town, optics mattered as much as legals. Sotis more.

The entity formation was done. Carter Entertainnt existed on paper—a California corporation, subsidiary of Liberation Empire, with its own EIN, its own bank accounts, its own identity separate from the war machine upstairs.

The rest was in motion.

Entertainnt insurance—errors and omissions, general liability, workers’ comp—all bound and active. Union agreents with SAG-AFTRA, DGA, and WGA were being negotiated through legal teams that ARIA had vetted and deployed like special forces.

Registration with SoundExchange for digital royalties was complete. ISRC codes secured for the record label division.

Distributor agreents with Spotify, Apple Music, Amazon, and Tidal were in various stages of finalization. BMI affiliation for music licensing—done.

The talent agency license was the bottleneck. California’s Labor Commissioner didn’t rush for anyone—the Talent Agencies Act required a $50,000 surety bond, formal application, and approval that normally took weeks.

ARIA had filed everything, posted the bond, and was currently applying the kind of quiet, persistent pressure that only an omniscient AI with access to every communication channel on earth could apply—gentle reminders, polite escalations, the occasional existential dread delivered via encrypted email at 3:17 a.m.

Two months. That was the tiline. In two months, Carter Entertainnt would be fully operational across all divisions—production, talent managent, record label, distribution. Every license secured.

Every union relationship established.

Every legal frawork bulletproof.

Today’s visit was to finish a few remaining things in person—signatures that required a physical presence, office spaces that needed eyes on them, relationships that couldn’t be built through screens.

And to et a certain person.

But that was later.

First—Lila.

I looked at her beside . She was staring out the window now, watching the Hollywood streets scroll past with an expression I couldn’t quite read.

Nostalgia, maybe. Fear, definitely.

The specific tension of a woman returning to the place that had built her up and nearly destroyed her.

As soon as her contract with Dex’s agency was terminated—and it would be, today, by whatever legal ans necessary—she’d be signing with Carter Entertainnt. Not just as talent. As administration.

Lila wasn’t just going to dance for my company.

She was going to help run it. Her years inside the industry’s machinery—seeing how it chewed people up, understanding where the gears caught and where they crushed—made her invaluable.

She didn’t know that yet. I hadn’t told her. Was saving it for after the contract termination, when the weight of her old world had been fully lifted and she could hear the offer with clear ears.

Lila—first talent signed to Carter Entertainnt. First artist on our roster. First person to carry the Carter na into Hollywood’s ecosystem.

Felt right.

Reyna snored lightly against my shoulder. Rory murmured sothing in her sleep. Luna was reviewing the city in the window—Soo-Jin navigated traffic with the calm efficiency of soone who could kill you with a steering wheel but preferred not to.

The Hollywood sign appeared through the windshield. White letters on a green hillside, sun-bleached and iconic, looking smaller in person than it did in movies.

Everything in Hollywood looked smaller in person than it did in movies.

I was going to change that.

Carter Entertainnt. Carter legacy. Carter children who would grow up knowing their father hadn’t just built an empire—he’d built a na.

Soo-Jin pulled off the main road. We were close now.

"Lila." I touched her hand. Gentle. "You ready?"

She turned from the window. Looked at . Looked at the street. Looked at the world she was about to leave behind forever.

"Yeah," she said. Quiet. Steady. "Let’s end it."