Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

The moment Corvus appeared, he opened his beak wide—ready to offer his usual over-dramatic monologue.

Lux didn't even glance. Just reached up and clamped two fingers over the raven's beak.

"Shhh."

Corvus blinked.

Then gave an indignant muffled mrrk under the pressure.

Lux turned slowly to face him, red eyes narrowed.

"Two surveillance cams," he whispered. "Lamp. Drawer," he added.

Corvus went very still.

Lux leaned in, finger still pressed against the beak. "No banter. No Shakespeare. Just hack. Quietly. Find out who's behind it."

He released the beak.

Corvus ruffled his feathers once—visibly offended—but nodded. "On it, boss," he muttered in a whisper so low it barely registered.

Lux exhaled through his nose and raised his voice, deliberately loud enough to carry.

"Ugh. I guess I'll hit the bathroom first," he said with an exaggerated sigh, like a tired husband talking to no one. "This is exhausting."

He grumbled dramatically, walking toward the hallway that led to the en suite marble spa, muttering things like "Need a steam," and "Don't bother me, I'm rich."

He paused at the doorway, looked back at the room with mock exasperation, and added, "You know what would really help? A world without nosy voyeurs."

Then he shut the bathroom door.

The moment it clicked closed, his smile vanished.

Gone was the lazy playboy expression.

Gone was the amused sarcasm.

All that was left in the mirror was that calculating glint behind his eyes. The CFO of Hell. The apex predator who knew how to burn down kingdoms from the inside out.

He flicked on the shower. Let the water heat. It hissed against the tempered glass.

"System," he said lowly, unbuttoning his shirt.

[Yes, sir.]

"Pull Corvus's visual. I want to see what he does," he ordered.

[Streaming Familiar Feed. Warning: feed may contain excessive sarcasm, melodrama, and bird-related commentary.]

Lux snorted. "Yeah. Just mute the commentary. He is dramatic."

[Muted.]

As he stepped into the hot shower—water hitting his skin like a blessing no heaven could offer—a second window opened in the upper corner of his vision. A live feed. Corvus's eyes.

And Lux watched.

From Corvus's perspective, the suite transformed. Warm colors dulled to gray. Edges sharpened. Every source of light glinted with technomagical overlays—faint digital currents, heat signatures, flickers of static.

Corvus flapped once and launched from the curtain rod.

He veered around the chandelier like a drunk acrobat and made a show of accidentally crashing into the lamp.

-CAW!

The sound was loud, dramatic, theatrical.

Lux rolled his eyes under the spray.

The camera inside the lamp jostled wildly from Corvus's impact. Then again. The bird clawed at the fabric shade, flapping his wings like he was chasing a ghost.

The camera's angle shifted—first toward the ceiling, then briefly caught Corvus's wing, then—finally—angled directly at the wall.

Perfect.

One down.

Corvus turned in the air, let out another garish CAW! CAW! like he was reenacting 'The Raven: Drunk Edition', then dive-bombed toward the closet.

The feed jerked wildly with motion blur as Corvus barrel-rolled across the closet floor, intentionally crashing into the coat that Lux had oh-so-casually draped earlier.

This time, he pecked.

Once.

Twice.

Then jammed a tiny, glimmering spike from his talon into the magnetized lining under the drawer's lip.

Flick!

Static.

The feed of that second camera went dark.

[Visual Interruption Registered: Cam Two Disabled.]

Corvus stood still on the coat for a second, wings ruffled, breathing dramatic little bird huffs.

Then, from Lux's system feed, his voice crackled through again.

"Phase one: Success," he grinned.

[Voice modulation restored.]

"Now," Corvus murmured, hopping up onto the dresser. "Let's see where these little mortal toys report to…"

He clawed open a pouch in his wing and produced a black data needle—thin, longer than his leg, etched with infernal script. It pulsed once.

"Plugging in. Gimme a sec, boss…"

Lux watched, letting the steam roll over his back as the water traced the tension from his shoulders.

It didn't vanish. But it dulled.

A little.

[Progress: 37%... 51%... 76%...]

The screen flickered.

Then popped.

[Trace Result: Uplink source located. Encrypted signal rerouted through mortal net infrastructure.]

Lux's brows rose.

"Oh?" he muttered.

[Final origin: Lylith Seravelle.]

There it was.

The lamia queen herself.

The Jewelry Empress. The Lamia Heiress of Scales & Silk. Collector of Pretty Things.

Lux tilted his head under the spray and laughed once. Low. Bitter.

"She really put a camera in my nightstand lamp?"

[Its location likely to record nudity.]

"…She wanted content?"

[Statistical likelihood: 92% the queen became interested after yesterday's auction incident. Unclear whether the interest is political, personal, or reproductive.]

Lux let out a long groan, dragging a hand down his face.

"I should've made conversation with her while I had the chance yesterday…"

[Suggestion: Do not indulge stalker fantasies.]

He chuckled, shaking his head.

The steam thickened around him, fogging the gold-edged mirror. The scent of Naomi still clung faintly to his skin—like warmth and wine and whatever mix of shampoo she used that drove him unreasonably mad. Despite the soap, despite the scalding water, she lingered.

And it made the presence of those cameras feel even more violating.

It wasn't about privacy. It was about permission.

It was about control.

It was about someone thinking they could steal what he hadn't chosen to give.

Lux braced his palms against the tiled wall, head bowed, chest rising slow.

"…No one gets to touch my life without asking."

[Understood.]

'Corvus.'

A beat.

'Yes, boss?'

'Rip the cams out. Toss them into the Void Bypass. Let them burn.'

There was a dramatic gasp from the other side of the suite. 'What, no slow trap? No delightful mental torment before we gut their tech and throw their data into the abyss of unindexed regret?'

'No.'

He opened his eyes, red and furious.

'I want them to know they were caught. I want silence on their end. No closure. Just absence. Let her wonder what I saw—and how much I already knew.'