Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

He paused.

Didn't look back.

Not yet.

Her voice was different now.

No longer smug. No longer in control.

Just curious.

Almost… dangerous.

"Who are you really?"

His smirk returned—slow and lazy.

The prince beneath the skin flashed for just a second.

"I'm the one you can't afford," he said over his shoulder.

Lylith blinked.

Once.

Then he walked. No he didn't go to the door.

Instead… He went toward behind her.

Her breath caught.

Not that she'd ever admit it.

The warmth of his presence brushed past her back like a shadow dipped in silk and heat. Her tail tensed instinctively, coiling slightly around the leg of the couch, her eyes darting just enough to catch his silhouette sliding behind her like a storm stalking its prey.

Like a predator.

But not the kind that pounced.

No—he was the kind that watched. Took his time. Savored the dread and delight. The kind of beast that knew you'd come to him willingly in the end.

His fingers brushed her hair aside—lightly, reverently. Just enough pressure to make her skin prickle as it fell away from her neck.

Then came the touch.

The heat.

His palm, smooth and slow, ghosted down from the nape of her neck to the curve of her shoulder, settling there for a single heartbeat too long.

And then—

Another kiss.

Soft.

Warm.

Not demanding, not forceful.

But intimate.

Lux kissed her shoulder like he'd just placed a seal on a contract. Like she was his to mark—gently, but unmistakably.

Her body responded before her mind could catch up.

A slow shudder rippled through her coils. Her fingers curled ever so slightly into the velvet cushions. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

And just as suddenly—

He was gone.

No warning. No whisper. No gleam of light.

One moment… heat.

The next… absence.

Lylith turned her head—fast, instinctively—but saw nothing.

Just a ripple of displaced air and the faintest trace of something… demonic. The sort of power you only felt after the fact. Not loud. Not flashy. But ancient. Coiled. Calculated.

The door slammed open.

Three guards burst in—polished black armor, rune-sabers drawn, eyes scanning everything.

"Lady Seravelle!" one barked. "Are you hurt?!"

Lylith slowly turned her gaze toward them. Her breath was steady. Her expression was unreadable.

"Yes," she said, voice smooth as ever. "I mean no. I'm fine."

They blinked. Confused. She looked fine. But… something was off. The scent in the air was heavier now. Warmer. The kind of scent that made instinct scream someone just crossed the line.

"Where is the target?" another asked. "Did he leave through the corridor?"

She didn't answer right away.

Because the truth was…

She didn't know.

He hadn't left.

He had disappeared.

No magical residue. No echo for her enchantments to trace.

Lux Vaelthorn had vanished without leaving a single breadcrumb.

And that?

Was unsettling.

Fascinating.

Exhilarating.

"He's gone," she said finally. "I didn't see how. He's… just not here."

The guards exchanged glances. One muttered something about illusion spells. Another lifted a communicator to his lips, ready to issue orders.

But before they could, she cut in sharply.

"Stand down."

They froze.

"But, my lady—"

"I said no pursuit."

A pause.

One of the younger guards—bold, foolish—stepped forward. "Should we trace his magical footprint? He could be an enemy operative. Should we capture or interrogate if he resurfaces—?"

Lylith's tail slammed against the floor once.

Hard.

The sound echoed like a hammer cracking marble.

Every man in the room shut up instantly.

Her voice dropped, not in volume, but in temperature.

"Do. Not. Touch him."

"But—"

"Spy on him, if you must. Report his movements. Find out where he's been. But no engagement. No intimidation. No accidents. And absolutely no kidnapping."

She stood now—slow, elegant, like a statue rising from molten gold. Her bare arms glistened in the low light, and her coils slithered with barely suppressed fury across the marble as she approached the nearest guard.

She didn't yell.

Didn't scream.

She didn't have to.

"I want to know everything," she said, now standing toe-to-toe with the youngest soldier. "Where he goes. Who he speaks to. What brands he buys."

The guard nodded quickly. "Y-Yes, ma'am."

She turned away, walking back to the lounge like the conversation had ended.

Because it had.

The guards left one by one, the air behind them still humming with quiet confusion and unspent tension.

The moment the door shut again, Lylith exhaled. Slowly.

She walked to the vanity near the window.

The glass was faintly steamed.

From his breath?

Her own?

She wasn't sure anymore.

She stared at her reflection.

Her lip was still tingling.

Her shoulder still warm.

Her neck?

Exposed.

She reached up, touched it.

He'd touched her. Kissed her. Brushed his lips over her scales like they were silk and not armor. Like he knew they'd respond.

And they had.

Worse—she'd frozen.

That hadn't happened before.

Never in her own life.

Even the last man she'd dated hadn't made her stop thinking.

But Lux?

He made her feel.

Not just annoyed.

Not just flustered.

Excited.

And that was the problem.

Because he wasn't just powerful.

He wasn't just attractive.

He was… unknown.

Anomalous.

Slippery as hell—figuratively, maybe even literally.

And it pissed her off.

Because she knew value.

She lived value.

She could spot fake from genuine across a ballroom. Could gauge market worth from one conversation. Could make men bankrupt with one breath and richer with the next.

But him?

She didn't know how to price him.

Didn't know how to contain him.

And that was intoxicating.

Lylith looked back at the door.

Then to the pearls still smoking in their crushed camera mounts.

Her lips curved upward, slow and serpentine.

"Lux Vaelthorn," she murmured to herself, voice smooth with dangerous amusement, "you're going to be the most expensive thing I've ever failed to buy."

And that thought?

Made her smile wider.

"But I will have you," she whispered, eyes gleaming. "No matter the cost."