Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

Malris finally broke the silence.

"I didn't come here to fight you."

"Then why did you come?"

"Because I think you're about to become a problem."

"Too late."

"And I think…" She paused. "You might not be able to control it."

Lux chuckled.

"Malris," he said, swirling the tea gently in its cup, "control is the only thing I have left."

And outside the windows of the restaurant, somewhere beyond the gold-glass walls and whispered tension, the world kept spinning.

Unaware that a devil was changing.

She didn't say a word for a while.

Because yeah… there wasn't much to say.

Not after that.

She knew he was right. That every deal he bound with a thread of his soul wasn't drama—it was desperation masked as control. A leash forged from distrust.

And unfortunately?

It worked.

There were reasons behind the iron-tight clauses in his contracts. Reasons he rarely talked about. Like the fact that when his father, Zavros, had Seraphyne, Lux had… no one.

No backup. No team. No loyal right hand who wouldn't sell him for a promotion or an exclusive trade route.

Just him.

The Half-Incubus Crown Prince of Finance.

Too good to be killed. Too useful to be loved.

So yeah… he learned. He adapted. He overcorrected.

Control became religion. And if trust couldn't be bought, he'd manufacture obedience.

Malris drank the wine first. Then broke the silence.

"I know how you are, Lux," she said finally. "Maybe you're not afraid. But I—no, we—we are."

Lux looked up, slowly.

She wasn't trying to guilt trip him.

Her tone wasn't judgment. It was worry. Honest, war-worn worry.

Malris didn't fear easily. Which meant this wasn't a bluff.

"The Infernal Realm used to be pure chaos," she continued, placing her fork down like she was about to testify. "Kill or be killed. Rob or be robbed. Every territory a petty kingdom trying to one-up the others. We were a joke. Until you."

He raised a brow slightly, but didn't interrupt.

"You brought a framework," she said. "Not peace—but rules. Agreements. Contracts. You taught us to make deals instead of declarations of war."

Lux didn't argue.

Because… yeah.

He did that.

He'd weaponized numbers. Made greed function instead of burn. He offered every Lord of Sin something too tempting to fight: predictable profit. Predictable vengeance. Predictable expansion.

Not utopia—Hell didn't do utopia.

But it was efficient. And terrifyingly addictive.

"You know," Malris added, her voice lower, "you've become the most important demon in the Infernal Realm. And you don't even act like it."

He didn't answer that either.

Not because he was surprised.

Because he wasn't.

Not even a little.

He knew his name got whispered in council halls. That certain factions flinched when his sigil appeared on a ledger. That rebellious Dukes were being "reminded" quietly that upsetting Hell's economy would upset him.

He just… didn't like to think about it.

Because power in Hell always came with a price.

And Lux had been paying his in blood-stained balance sheets for centuries.

Still, he used his reputation where it mattered. Painted narratives. Let the rumors swirl that he was untouchable, beautiful, and probably cursed. Half-truths were better than loyalty.

Lux leaned back and exhaled through his nose.

"I know," he said finally.

That was all.

And it was enough.

Malris narrowed her eyes slightly. "Then let me help. I'll send you protection. You're not in your tower anymore. If you don't want the big brutish kind, I can send you female operatives. Or maybe something closer to that insane raven of yours."

Her tone twisted slightly on the word raven.

Yeah… the disgust wasn't subtle.

He could practically feel her allergic reaction to Corvus just from the way she curled her lip slightly at the memory.

Corvus was a hacker. A shady, sarcastic, winged data thief with a borderline criminal relationship to surveillance laws and sarcasm. So, yeah. Understandable.

But also loyal.

Loyal in a way most demons weren't.

Lux studied her a moment. His fingers drummed lazily on the polished blackwood table.

"No decision yet," he said. "Give me time to think."

Malris frowned. "You don't have time. They already—"

"I said give me time."

His tone wasn't sharp. But it was final.

She paused.

Then nodded once, slowly.

The system pinged quietly in his vision.

[Subject has entered Defensive Diplomacy Mode. Signature: subtle warning, passive-aggressive rhythm detected.]

Lux ignored it.

He stared out the window again.

Watched the mortals pass on the sidewalk below. Cars gleamed like insects in the sun. Buildings rose in golden arrogance against the skyline.

From up here, everything looked clean. Simple.

Controlled.

But that was the lie.

He knew what the mortal world really was now.

A hunting ground.

And he wasn't the prey anymore.

Malris went back to eating, slower now. Her eyes didn't leave him, but the fire in her posture had simmered down into something more... diplomatic.

She knew this wasn't a negotiation she could win with pressure.

Not with him.

"Still think you should've let me deploy the twins," she muttered.

Lux raised a brow. "The ones who broke the Pride Accountant's jaw?"

Malris smiled behind her glass. "They were provoked."

Lux let out a breath that might've been a chuckle. Or maybe exhaustion.

He reached for his tea again and took a sip. The herbal bitterness hit his tongue with a floral sting.

Calming. Sharp. Kind of like her.

"I'll think about it," he repeated, quieter this time. "But for now… this is still my vacation."

Malris tilted her glass in a mock toast. "Then enjoy it. Before the realms come knocking again."

They already were, of course.

But he didn't say it out loud.

Instead, he watched her sip her wine, her red eyes glowing faintly under the warm restaurant lights.

He could feel eyes on them again—mortal women watching the handsome devil in a tailored suit dine with a living flame of red and black.

Another scene. Another cover story.

Just two beautiful people pretending not to be monsters.

For now.

And somewhere inside him…

That old knot of control pulled tighter.

Because trust?

Yeah, still a myth.

But power?

Power was real.

And as long as he held onto that, maybe—just maybe—he wouldn't need anyone else.

At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

That was the lie Lux kept reheating like yesterday's coffee.