Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

The hall was quiet.

Whoever came wasn't trying to hide.

They were invited. Or expected.

Or powerful enough to not give a damn. Like Sira or Lullaby.

He rode the elevator down like a man descending into war with the confidence of a bored executioner. The lobby was already humming with mortal activity—waiters gliding like ghosts, guests murmuring into phones, the soft clink of fine cutlery from the adjacent restaurant.

Lux walked into the lounge area like he owned the building.

The restaurant smelled of fresh croissants, caramelized bacon, overpriced truffle eggs, and whatever perfume the elite wore to pretend they had morals.

He scanned the tables.

There. Far back corner.

A booth with a view. Two empty seats. Perfect lighting. Subtle distance from mortal noise. Close enough to hear the espresso machine hum, far enough to shut down a conversation with one look.

Exactly the kind of table a devil picked when he didn't want trouble—but didn't mind being noticed.

He made his way to the host counter with the smooth confidence of someone who had no business being humble in a luxury hotel.

The staff behind the podium blinked, clearly taken aback for a second. Probably the suit. Or the aura. Or the fact that Lux Vaelthorn looked like a war crime in a bottle of cologne.

"Good morning, sir. Number of room?"

"Lux Vaelthorn," he said simply. "Penthouse."

There was a small pause as the staff checked the screen. "Of course, Mr. Vaelthorn. Will it be just you dining this morning?"

"Two," Lux said without skipping a beat. "My partner will be joining shortly. And I'll take that seat."

The staff nodded. "Allow me to escort you, sir."

He followed them through the restaurant, footsteps slow, purposeful. The ambient chatter dulled slightly as he passed. Silverware clinked against porcelain. Someone's fork paused mid-air. And the scent—coffee, glazed bread, truffle oil—twisted softly as he cut through the space.

The gazes followed.

Of course they did.

Lux didn't even need to look. He felt them—eyes trailing up his jaw, lingering too long on the curve of his collarbone where the shirt dipped slightly open, catching on the sharp lines of his suit. Whispers stirred like the first notes of temptation.

[System Notification: 14 glances received. 6 categorized as admiration. 3 categorized as lust. 2 as envy. 1 internal crisis. 2 ambiguous.]

He didn't react.

Didn't need to.

[Do you wish to review detailed breakdown by table and seat number, sir?]

"No," Lux muttered under his breath as he adjusted his cuffs. "Let the mystery eat them alive."

The staff stopped at the booth. "Please make yourself comfortable. Would you like me to bring the menu?"

Lux sat down, shifting into the seat like he belonged in it more than the leather ever would. "Just bring me a plate of something warm. Something complicated. Surprise me."

The staff smiled politely. "And to drink, sir?"

He opened his mouth.

Paused.

His usual instinct—coffee. Black. Strong. With a hint of war crimes.

But…

"…Tea," Lux said, shocking even himself. "Herbal."

The staff gave a small bow. "Right away, sir."

And just like that, the staff walked away—leaving Lux alone with his thoughts, his tie, and the faint betrayal of not having coffee in his hand.

The system's silence broke immediately.

[Confirmation required. Did you say herbal tea, sir? As in, non-caffeinated? As in—leaves and hot water?]

"Yes."

[Sir, you are an infernal entity with a documented addiction to bitterness.]

"I want to try something new."

[Understood. Initiating self-care mode. Updating dietary tags.]

"Please don't."

He sighed. Not dramatically. Just... tiredly.

He leaned back, one arm stretched along the booth, staring out toward the city with that dangerous kind of stillness that looked like peace but felt like planning.

That's when she showed up.

He smelled her before he saw her. Sweet. Artificial. Something between vanilla and desperation. A scent designed in a bottle by someone who wanted to sell identity crisis as perfume.

"Is this seat empty?" came a sultry, sugar-slick voice.

Lux turned, slow.

The woman standing there was mortal—technically. But the glamour was thin. She had the kind of body engineered for sin. Curves dialed to eleven, lips that looked like trouble, and eyes that said 'I'm bored, and you look expensive.'

A siren.

Not the singing kind.

The other kind.

The kind that devoured.

He didn't smile. Didn't flirt.

Instead, he flicked his fingers in the air, activating one of his favorite utilities.

[Wealth Scan – Activated]

[Subject: Serelina Maren]

[Race: Siren Subtype]

[Net Worth: $12.4 Million]

[Fortune: 61%]

[Status: "Manipulative, Addictive, Plays Victim for Leverage. Seduces wealthy men to prove her beauty, empties their wallets to feel powerful."]

[Financial Personality: Femme Fatale Cosplayer with Daddy Issues and a Shopping Obsession.]

[Investment Field: Fashion Startups (bankrupt), Cosmetic Labs (questionable ethics)]

Lux blinked once.

Then deadpanned. "I'm waiting for a guest. Please return to your seat, Miss."

Serelina smiled wider and slid into the booth anyway, ignoring the venom in his tone like it was foreplay.

"Oh, thank you," she purred. "So generous of you."

He didn't look at her. Just stared ahead, sighed, and muttered, "Whatever you're trying to do, you'll be disappointed."

"Trying?" she tilted her head. "Why, I'm just looking for company. You seemed... lonely."

"I'm not."

She leaned forward, cleavage on full display. "Then maybe you're just used to being alone."

He finally looked at her. Fully. Eyes hard. Voice soft enough to cut marble.

"I'm used to silence. Which you're interrupting."

She paused. Just a blink.

Then giggled like a girl who thought she was still winning.

"Are you always this cold?"

"No," Lux said. "Sometimes I'm worse."

[Would you like me to trigger a discreet anti-harassment field, sir?]

'Not yet,' Lux thought.

Serelina crossed her legs. Slowly. Obnoxiously. "You know, most men at least pretend to enjoy me sitting with them."

"I'm not most."

"Ooh," she teased, brushing her nails along the edge of the table. "A man with standards."

He didn't blink. "You don't meet them."

That one hit.

She faltered.

Only slightly.

Lux let the silence stretch. Long enough for her ego to start itching. Long enough for the illusion to flicker. Long enough for her to realize—

She picked the wrong devil to play with.

But still, she smiled again.

Because women like her?

They always tried one more time.

And Lux?

He let them.

Because he enjoyed watching them fail.