Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

Lucaris' voice sharpened. "Proof of what, exactly?"

She reached into the slit of her gown—because of course she'd hide documents there—and pulled out a black-sealed scroll. She tossed it lightly, and Kaelmor plucked it midair with the ease of someone catching a coin.

"That," Sira said, "is evidence Vyrak siphoned two hundred million Soul Credits from sector reserves."

Kaelmor's grin grew almost fond. "Two hundred million? My, my. That's… ambitious."

But Sira wasn't done. Her gaze slid briefly to Lux, then back to her father. "And to make it worse—he used every credit to raise Lux Vaelthorn's bounty."

Lucaris blinked, slow. "What?"

"You know what happens if Lux dies," Sira said flatly. "The Infernal economy will destabilize in under three days. Three realms will default on their contracts. And then we start eating the losses."

Kaelmor rolled the scroll between his palms, humming like he was deciding whether to make a game out of this or not. "Mm… well, she's not wrong."

Lucaris' glare shifted to Lux again, now edged with something deeper—mistrust layered with something… personal.

"I told you," Lucaris said, his voice low, "you are nothing but trouble."

Lux kept his tone even. "Trouble I've prevented. More times than you'd care to count."

Sira's lips twitched at that, almost a smile.

Kaelmor stepped forward, putting himself in the middle of the tension. "Well now, I'm not here to mediate your little family drama, but I do like a clean floor. So, Vyrak's dead, his accounts are forfeit, and our dear Lux is still breathing—which means my ledgers don't burst into flames this week."

Lucaris folded his arms, still looking like he wanted to put a blade between Lux's ribs purely on principle. "You expect me to believe you weren't involved in provoking him?"

Lux tilted his head, voice calm. "I don't provoke. I close accounts."

That earned him a quiet snort from Kaelmor.

Sira stepped slightly to Lux's side, an unspoken signal—'I'm backing him, whether you like it or not.'

Lucaris' jaw clenched. His gaze darted between the two of them, catching the unspoken familiarity there, and something sharp flickered behind his eyes. He didn't like it.

Kaelmor clapped his hands once, sharp enough to echo off the vaulted ceiling. "Alright, playtime's over. Sira, darling, make sure the corpse is processed. Lux—stay out of Pride's territory for the week. Lucaris—" he grinned wider—"try not to murder your daughter's… acquaintances."

Lucaris' expression went glacial. "Acquaintances."

Lux met his stare without blinking. "Of course."

But in his chest, under the lingering ache and the fading adrenaline, there was still that strange mix—resentment at being hated for doing the damn job, and a sharper, quieter curiosity about why Sira had stepped in at all.

Even Kaelmor's grin couldn't cut through that entirely.

Because Lucaris' glare wasn't just Pride.

It was personal.

Lux could feel it in the way the Lord of Pride's gaze lingered—not on the mess Vyrak had left behind, not on the black ichor drying in hairline cracks in the marble, but on him.

Kaelmor clapped his hands together, that unnerving, cheerful energy still buzzing in the air like static before a storm. "Well! That was a fun field trip, wasn't it, Lucy?"

Lucaris' left eye twitched. "Can you stop calling me that?"

Kaelmor's grin widened to something almost predatory. "Nope."

The King didn't even break stride as he turned toward the vault doors, his coat tails flicking like the shadow of a guillotine. "Now, come along. We've got a hell chess match to finish. You're still losing."

Lucaris let out the slowest, iciest breath Lux had ever seen someone exhale without freezing the room. "I am not losing."

Kaelmor just hummed like someone who absolutely knew he was. "Sure you're not, Lucy."

The two of them disappeared, their footsteps echoing, one jaunty and one measured. Their presence left the vault feeling… smaller. Lighter. Not less dangerous—just less suffocating.

Lux straightened slowly, letting his muscles adjust after being locked in that formal kneel. Blood still ran down the curve of his ribs, cooling against his skin under the torn fabric of his shirt. Yes, he was back in his demonic form, not his true form. The scent of iron was sharp enough to coat his tongue.

And then there was her.

Sira moved toward him like heat given shape—fluid hips, predatory grace, eyes fixed on him like he was the next jewel she was going to own. Her smirk was pride and hunger tangled together.

"You owe me, Lux~" Her voice slid over him like silk dragged across raw skin.

Before he could step back, her hand was on him—tracing over the fresh gash along his side, fingertips brushing through blood as if she were sampling the quality of wine. She didn't flinch at the slick warmth; she enjoyed it.

"I killed Vyrak so you don't have to take the wrath from my dear father~" Her tone was a purr, but her smile stayed sharp.

Lux's instinct was to argue—because she was right, and he hated that. Instead, he tilted his head, forcing the truth out in a flat tone. "True. But…" His eyes narrowed just a fraction. "That doesn't mean I owe you."

Sira's hand lingered on his chest, nails grazing his skin just enough to remind him she could draw blood if she wanted.

He caught her wrist before she could slide lower. "Vyrak was dying. You just took the last hit." His voice was calm, but the underlying message was clear. "And I have proof he targeted me. So your claim…" He let the pause hang, "…isn't exactly clean."

Her lips curved in that infuriating way—half amusement, half challenge. "Oh, c'mon. You know my father. He's not simple." Her free hand curled against his jaw for just a moment. "And he listens to me."

Lux hated that she was right about that. The Lord of Pride might hate his guts, but when Sira spoke, Lucaris listened.

Which meant she could spin this however she wanted.

"Mm." Lux's gaze didn't move from hers. "Then I guess you'll spin it into whatever debt you want from me."