Champion Of Lust: Gods Conquer's Harem Paradise!

The walls of the executive suite gleamed under ambient starlight from the floor-length windows, casting a faint silver glow across the obsidian-black table. The city below sparkled like a lazy constellation that had gotten drunk and dropped into a tech-powered metropolis. The silence between them was thick, not awkward, but... anticipatory.

Pyris sat with the practiced calm of a man who'd once stood in the jaws of godhood and laughed. But tonight wasn't about power drama. No dragons, no reincarnation twists. Just a company, a legacy, and the vampire woman across from him.

Esmeralda.

Her crimson eyes reflected the lights outside, slow-burning, observant. If elegance could bleed, it would look like her. She crossed one leg over the other, heels tapping in an absent rhythm. Those same eyes had once stared down her own brother to defend Pyris in the trial.

Now, she was taking the crown.

Elsa had just left a few minutes prior, tugging Alera along with that stubborn pout of hers—one Pyris had only half-heartedly resisted. The little elf had insisted she could handle "ugly grown-up matters," but he'd smiled that same too-knowing smile and told her: "Not this one."

So now it was just the two of them. Vampire and a Lust Dragon, Corrupt Lust. Vice and departing CEO.

"So that's it?" Esmeralda asked, her voice low, smoothed in velvet. "You're stepping down."

Pyris nodded, exhaling softly. "Tonight's my last day as active CEO."

"Tomorrow, I'm officially just a boy, a Young Lord of House Obsidian going back to the academy and seduce beauties and a very expensive coffee addiction. That is my Path!" Pyris said, leaning back in the office chair one last time. "Tonight's the final ride."

Esmeralda smirked faintly. "You're making it sound like a funeral."

"Well, handing over Obsidian Tech to you is a bit like dying—except I know the afterlife's in competent hands."

She studied him with those bloodred eyes—centuries etched into a single look. He didn't flinch. He never did. But that didn't mean he wasn't feeling it.

"And your mother?" she asked.

"Returning," he replied. "But not to reclaim this chair. Emberly's taking her role as President of the entire Obsidian Conglomerate. Tech still needs a face. A steady hand."

"And that's me as the leader," Esmeralda said.

He smiled faintly. "With Elsa, Lizzie, Suzie… and a certain vampire I've come to trust more than most."

She tilted her head, a gleam in her eye. "How poetic." She rolled her eyes, lips twitching. "Flattery from you? I should be worried."

"You should be honored. Also, Lizzie, Suzie, my teacher… even Elsa—they all vouched for you. And I trust them. Which means I trust you even more."

For a moment, that silenced her. Her gaze softened, if only a shade.

They talked for another stretch—numbers, handovers, projects, the expansions. But the air shifted as the minutes ticked on, growing warmer, slower. The office lights dimmed automatically with the hour change, and Pyris stood with a stretch that cracked several vertebrae. He motioned with his chin toward the minibar near the window.

"Come on. One last drink as CEO."

She followed. Naturally. Effortlessly. Like shadows followed flame.

She poured the drink, something golden and aged with an expensive name. "Why so soon, Pyris?" Her voice was curious but not pressing. A vampire's voice—smooth, low, never in a hurry.

Pyris took the glass and watched it shimmer in the light. He didn't answer immediately.

"In case you didn't know…" he began slowly, each word carrying weight, "I didn't exactly choose this job." he said eventually, tone dry. "My mother tossed the title at me like she was assigning chores. Back then, I thought it was punishment. A passive-aggressive move because I was—well, stupid."

"For what, why would you think she'd that?"

"For being me?" he smirked. "For all the childish plans. The mistakes. The things I thought were clever, but weren't."

A low chuckle escaped her lips. Soft. Knowing.

"She's not like that," Esmeralda chuckled. She sat beside him at the bar, one elbow resting on the polished counter. She leaned her head against her hand, and for the first time, he noticed how close those red eyes were.

Close enough to see the subtle flecks of silver spiraling in their depths.

He turned to her—and the moment his eyes locked on hers, time slipped a beat.

Her eyes.

Closer than ever. Crimson galaxies rimmed in midnight, drawing him in like some forbidden truth carved into the bones of the world. His gaze, once casually drifting, now lingered without shame. From her lashes to the gentle arch of her cheekbones, the shape of her lips—painted with sin and secrets both.

Red. Not the color of blood—but the promise of it. A queen's red. A sinner's kiss.

"You beautiful thing," he muttered, almost unconsciously.

She smiled, just faintly.

She was... something.

"You know," he added, turning back to his drink with a chuckle, "this is only the second time I've ever been in a bar."

"Oh?" she said. Her lips curled. "What a strange coincidence."

"The first time we were drinking for our new positions," he said. "Now we're drinking for…"

"Goodbyes," she finished, but not like she believed the word.

He nodded, slowly. "Though that's a bit dramatic. We'll still see each other often."

She raised an eyebrow. "Much as I hate to admit it… your outrageously handsome face isn't the worst thing to look at."

Pyris laughed. "Not just good. Kill-for kind of face. And we both know how much you've wanted to touch it."

Her breath caught. Then she laughed—quiet, almost embarrassed—and rested her cheek fully on the counter.

"You're right," she whispered. "I have."

The silence that followed wasn't awkward.

It was heavy.

Loaded.

Then—like a violin string drawn tight—she shifted again. Voice calm, but precise.

"Then tell me... why did your mother really want you to be CEO?"

He stared into his glass for a long moment.

"...For tonight," he said.

And said nothing more.

But that was enough. The weight behind it wasn't missed. Not by her.

She nodded. No questions followed. Just silence and the soft clink of her glass as she sipped.

Then her tone changed—light again, but with a playful sharpness.

"So… what've you prepared for me?"

He blinked. "Prepared?"

"For me," she said, leaning slightly. "As a goodbye present."

He smirked. "Aren't you supposed to be giving me something? I am the one going."

"Damn right," she replied—suddenly close. Her voice had dropped to something that wasn't teasing anymore.

And then—without warning—she reached out.

Her hands cupped his face like it was something sacred.

And for the first time—he felt it.

The soft tremble of her fingers. The cool smoothness of her palm. The faint chill of vampire blood warming under centuries of control.

His skin. Sculpted divinity. Velvet under her fingertips. The kind of face artists ruined themselves trying to sketch.

She shivered. Not from cold.

"I've wanted to do this," she whispered, voice cracked just slightly. "For so long…"

Then—she kissed him.

No hesitation. No warning.

Just fire.

A kiss that wasn't gentle—it was real. Full of memory. Of late nights. Of long stares across boardrooms. Of tension that lived in every stolen breath between power plays and shared silences.

And this time—he didn't pull away.

He kissed her back.

Not politely. Not meekly.

But like someone who knew what she'd been holding back all these years—and decided to let her have it.

One taste.

One heartbeat.

One kiss between the end of a reign and the beginning of something neither of them could name.