Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

Fenrir frowned like Lux had just suggested he go kiss a seraph. "Tip? As in... Hell Coins?"

Lux blinked, then laughed. "Ah. Right. Mortal realm. Yeah, they don't accept soul-tethered currency or blood-marked silver here."

He fished into his jacket. With a flick, he pulled out a crisp hundred-dollar bill, still fresh, like it had just been printed and kissed by greed itself.

He handed it over casually to the courier, who took it like he'd just been handed the keys to heaven.

The man's eyes went round. "Holy sh— I mean. Thanks. Thank you, sir!"

Fenrir grunted behind him.

"Escort him," Lux said again, this time with a look.

Fenrir obeyed—but not before shooting the man a glare that could peel paint off a cathedral wall. The courier laughed nervously and backed up toward the truck like someone caught shoplifting a crown.

Outside, the black delivery truck rumbled to life.

Fenrir didn't walk.

He ran.

Right beside the truck. Graceful, precise. Effortless in the most unsettling way possible. His boots didn't even scuff the driveway. Just pure predator shadowing its prey.

The courier, who tried to play it cool, was definitely sweating buckets now. Even from inside, Lux could hear the engine hiccup when the driver looked in his rearview and realized Fenrir was still right there.

Lux turned away with a chuckle, muttering, "I guess I need to start giving my staff mortal money, too. For situations like this."

He looked around. The puppets were still flitting about, arms full of boxes and clothes, hanging pieces along racks, smoothing out wrinkles, checking for inconsistencies.

For a brief moment, Lux actually admired the sheer organization.

Then he saw them.

Two specific outfits.

And his brain stopped.

One was… belts. Just belts. Barely enough to qualify as clothing. Leather straps across the chest, around the thighs, and a blindfold accessory hanging off the collar like an afterthought. A short whip coiled neatly beside it.

The other… was not a "clothes" by any stretch of definition.

Leather pants—with a hole exactly where his d*ck would be. And the top? If you could even call it that, was a cropped sleeveless leather piece that left his chest and abs completely exposed.

Lux cringed. Visibly. "What the actual hell are those?"

[Those are from the famous lingerie shop in the city. Specialty category: Dominance & Discipline Wear.]

"There's no way I'm wearing those."

[You don't have to. The women could wear them for you.]

Silence.

Lux's mind betrayed him.

Naomi—flushed, panting, walking slowly toward him in those pants with nothing underneath. Breasts half-out, collar tight around her throat. Her voice rough, whispering his name like a prayer before he shoved her onto the bed and—

He swallowed hard.

Then Rava. Tied. Wrapped in those leather belts, all her tentacles restrained. Blindfolded. Her body helpless and twitching as he dragged the whip down her stomach, between her thighs—

He blinked, jaw tightening.

"...Okay. Fine. Those two are acceptable."

[I knew you'd like them.]

Lux pointed at the boxes. "Just pack everything up for now. Kratzik's still working. Once he's done, I want the wardrobe arranged by occasion. Don't let any mortals see the… less polite ones."

The puppets nodded and got to work. Lyra remained quiet but gave a subtle smirk as she passed by.

Lux dropped back onto the couch and groaned.

"Godsdammit… I'm horny now."

No one answered.

"Great," he muttered. "Sira's still packing. Rava's busy with some meetings. Naomi's just now getting done dealing with Carson's clingy ghost energy."

He covered his face. "So I can't f*ck anyone right now. Excellent."

[There is a gym on the second floor. Perhaps you would like to burn the excess energy there, sir?]

Lux sighed. "Gym. Right. Better than dragging my own soul into another bad decision."

He stood, stretching. The espresso in his system had long since soured, and all the thoughts running around in his head were less "business visionary" and more "horny devil plotting furniture-based war crimes."

He trudged toward the stairwell and reached for the banister.

Paused.

His fingers recoiled instantly.

"…Ew," he whispered. "This… is cheap."

It wasn't even real wood. It was some plastic-painted nonsense designed to look like luxury. Probably a Carson choice.

Lux stared at it like it had personally insulted his net worth.

He pressed two fingers to the handle and murmured, "Midas Touch."

[Skill Activated: Midas Touch]

[Target Acquired: Stair Rail Fixtures – Material Transmutation in Progress]

The banister shimmered, gold rippling along its length like liquid light. The cheap wood transformed into solid 24-karat luxury. Not tacky. Clean. Pure. Understated, with subtle sigils carved just beneath the surface—Greed's personal craftsmanship.

He smiled. "That's better."

[Stairwell upgrade registered. Mansion Value +2%. Aesthetic Value +700%. Ego Satisfaction: Maxed.]

He ran his hand along it again, satisfied, and began his climb. Each step felt more justified now.

Clothes delivered.

Staff deployed.

Tentacles fixing pipes.

And two possibly illegal outfits sitting quietly in his closet like future sins waiting to happen.

He exhaled through his nose.

'Just survive the day without fucking a stair banister.'

"Gym," he muttered again. "Just… gym."

Lux climbed the newly gilded staircase with the kind of reluctant dignity reserved for men who've already lost one battle against their own hormones and were now trying to wrestle their libido into submission with exercise.

He reached the second floor, rounded the corner, and opened the door to the gym.

Then he just… stopped.

Flat stare. No expression. Not even an exhale. Just that slow, deadpan silence that said every fiber of his soul was screaming in capitalist betrayal.

"This is a gym?" he finally whispered, as if saying it louder would summon equipment from hell to fix it.

The room was large enough. Airy windows. Polished wood floor. High ceiling with ceiling fans that hadn't spun since at least the last economic recession. But the equipment—oh gods, the equipment.

There were three things.

A treadmill. A single punching bag. And… a push-up bench. That was it.