Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

He huffed, low and under his breath. Not loud enough to count as an argument, but enough to let her know that his patience—already on a timer—had just lost a few precious seconds.

The sound made her smile in that way Pride demons did best—like she'd just won an argument he didn't even know they were having.

Inwardly, he was split clean down the middle.

The Greed in him, the CFO, the one with instinctive ROI charts tattooed in his soul, was already shouting 'bad investment, Lux, walk away, write this off as sunk cost.'

The Lust in him, the one with sin carved into his bloodline and a weakness for dangerous women, was saying …'but what if?'

And somewhere in the middle, a quieter voice muttered that she wasn't a red flag—she was a black one. And not the fun kind you wave at a race. The kind pirates hang before they board your ship.

Her giggle pulled him out of the mental committee meeting. "Now you're giving me that stare again~."

He didn't bite.

"You're too cautious, Lux," she purred.

"Normal thing," he said flatly, "since you just told me you want to play a game with me."

She smirked, stepping closer, her heels clicking on the marble until she was close enough to tilt her head and study him like a jeweler checking a diamond for flaws. "Oh, Lux… where's that smile of yours? And those sweet talks?"

"I left them in my office," he said without missing a beat. "I'm off the clock hours."

"Oh…" Her pout was pure performance, dripping with amusement. "…how disappointing," she purred in a sultry voice.

She leaned in, her perfume hitting him again—smoke, cinnamon, and that older, sharper undertone. "Relax."

He didn't.

Her fingers brushed the lapel of his shirt, and then—without warning—she pulled. The sound of tearing thread was small but sharp in the quiet, and she parted the already-messy mortal-made shirt with casual disdain.

"Really?" she said, brows lifting, voice as smooth as the silk drape over her shoulder. "Mortal fabric?"

Lux just raised a brow back at her.

Sira didn't wait for an answer. She reached for the basin a butler had left on the side table, dipping a cloth into water still steaming faintly from whatever cleansing magic they'd used. The scent of lavender and something metallic rose with the heat.

She pressed it to his shoulder, slow but deliberate. The blood smeared first before it came away, and he hissed—just a little—when she dragged the cloth over an open cut.

Her eyes locked with his immediately.

That was the thing about Pride—when they had you, they had you. She didn't blink, didn't look away, didn't give him even a second to shift out of the moment. Every flinch, every breath, she was watching like she could read the currency of his pain and file it away for later use.

She moved to the next mark, her touch deceptively gentle. "You know, most demons would've taken the help with a little more grace."

"Most demons aren't me," Lux said.

Her lips curved. "True. Most demons aren't worth the trouble."

She slid the cloth lower, brushing it along his collarbone, smearing more blood across her knuckles than she bothered to wipe off. "You should smile more when I'm around," she said softly. "You have one of those smiles that makes people forget their better judgment."

"That's the idea," he said, tone dry enough to scratch glass.

She laughed under her breath. He could feel it more than hear it, the way it vibrated in the small space between them. Her free hand adjusted the torn edge of his shirt, tugging it wider so she could reach another streak of blood along his ribs.

He hissed again when the sting flared, but she didn't stop. If anything, she slowed down, as if savoring the reaction.

Her thoughts were a slow, curling ribbon in the back of her mind. 'Cautious. Always cautious. Even when you're bleeding on my couch, you look at me like I'm holding a dagger. Maybe I am. Maybe I'm the only one in this room who's honest about it.'

She pressed the cloth over a deeper cut, watching the way his jaw tightened. 'You don't trust me—not even for a second—and yet you're still here. That's the thing about you, Lux. You can't help but see what happens when you stay in the fire. Maybe you think you can walk out without burning. I think you'll like the burn too much to try.'

"You're staring," Lux said suddenly, eyes meeting hers like he'd been reading every thought.

"I am," she admitted. No point lying when Pride was all about owning the truth you wanted to show. "I like watching you pretend you're not curious."

He snorted. "Not curious. Just waiting for the catch."

"Oh, there'll be one," she said easily, wringing out the cloth in the basin again. "Maybe… it's tonight."

She ran the cloth down the side of his throat, slow enough for the water to trace a warm path before she caught it. Her fingers lingered there—just enough pressure to remind him she could press harder if she wanted.

"Fresh work," she murmured, brushing the edge of the wound with her thumb. "Messy. I'll have my healers fix these properly. You're not walking around looking like some back-alley brawler. You're better merchandise than that."

Lux's eyes narrowed. "Merchandise?"

Her grin flashed, sharp and sweet all at once. "Investment, then. Better?"

"Not really."

She dabbed the last smear of blood from his chest, then tossed the cloth aside. Her fingers, still damp, traced the line of muscle there like she was considering her next move on a chessboard. "You're so tense," she murmured again, softer this time. "Relax, Lux. You're in my territory. No one here will touch you unless I say so."

"Not exactly comforting."

Her smile didn't falter. "It shouldn't be."

Sira didn't pull back—if anything, she stepped in closer, close enough that the fine heat radiating off his skin reached her. His scent—blood, steel, and that faint undercurrent of something richer, something older—slid into her lungs and settled there. Dangerous. Addictive.