Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

The time showed 10:03 PM.

Lux knew because his watch chimed—politely, like even time didn't want to interrupt what was happening.

The dining room had shifted since the main course. It had slipped from polished conversation and tension-filled silences to an afterparty mess of half-eaten desserts, wine-stained linens, and too many open bottles. The scent of roasted duck had long been replaced by syrupy liqueur, melted chocolate, and something vaguely floral—maybe Rava's perfume, maybe Fiera's hair mousse as she now— drunk.

Lux exhaled slowly.

Because yes.

Fiera Ninevyn was currently perched sideways on his lap like a smug cat made of sequins, ambition, and alcohol.

Her lipstick was gone. Her blush was smeared. And her legs—those long, mile-long legs—were curled across his thighs like she owned his lap, his life, and probably his last will and testament.

"You smell like evil," she slurred.

Lux blinked. "Is that… a compliment?"

Fiera grinned, tipping her wine glass too far until Naomi snatched it before it spilled on his suit. "You're too good looking. Like, dangerously. Like—like—like you should be regulated."

"Ah," he said mildly. "Government oversight."

"You should be illegal," she declared. "Like—'hi I'm Lux and I'm a walking violation of moral codes and marriage contracts.'"

"You forgot building codes," he muttered, keeping his voice calm even as she pressed a little too close.

Naomi's voice was sharp but controlled. "Fiera. Get off of him."

"Come on," Ely said, gently tugging her arm. "You're drunk. Let's go upstairs. You can crash in the guest room."

But Fiera wasn't having it. She clung to Lux's shoulders with the stubborn determination of a designer brand refusing to be discontinued.

"No," she pouted. "We're talking. Bonding. He gets me. He knows how hard I work."

Lux looked up, deadpan. "I do. And I also know you've had three glasses of wine and four glasses of 'whatever was glowing in that bottle.'"

"It was blue," Rava noted, from where she stood nearby with a faintly amused expression. "Like forbidden candy."

"And tasted like regret," Naomi added. "Come on, Fiera."

"Nooo," Fiera whined, now curling tighter around Lux like a fashionable boa constrictor. "You guys don't get it. He gets it. He's evil and smart and he gets it."

Sira, reclining on the nearby chaise lounge like sin incarnate, sipped her wine and tilted her head toward Mira.

"You don't want to help?" Mira asked, one brow raised, arms crossed as she watched the scene unfold like reality TV dipped in scandal.

"Nope," Sira said, lips curling. "He can handle it."

Mira looked skeptical. "She's trying to take his pants off."

"He can still handle it."

Lux, for his part, was indeed handling it.

Barely.

Fiera's hands were everywhere. Her fingers curled around his tie, tracing the silk like it owed her affection. Then her hand slid down, grazing his chest, trying—really trying—to pop the first button of his shirt.

"Let's just… do it," she murmured, her breath warm against his ear, her voice sugar-drenched desperation. "You know you want to. I'm amazing. I'm bendy. I can scream your name in six accents."

"Impressive," Lux said dryly, catching her wrists as they tried to work another button. "But no."

She blinked at him. "No?"

"No," he repeated, still calm. Still collected. Still holding her wrists with enough strength to stop her without ever hurting her. "Not like this."

"But I'm ready," she whispered, biting her lower lip like it was part of a script she forgot she was improvising.

"I'm sure you are," Lux said, voice soft now. "But your brain isn't."

"My brain's always on," she argued, squirming closer. "Even when I'm drunk, I'm still smarter than half of the morons on my board. But I'm not drunk."

"And yet," he said, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, "you're on my lap, trying to have sex with someone you won't remember properly in the morning."

She stared at him.

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping lower. Not cruel. Not cold.

Just real.

"Fiera," he said. "You can do it. When you're in your right mind. When you'll remember how it felt. How I made you feel. How I touched you. Kissed you. Gave you your first real orgasm."

Her breath hitched.

"I don't want it like this," Lux whispered. "Not when your lips taste like wine and frustration and all the things your family made you feel tonight."

She was silent.

No one spoke.

Even Sira stopped swirling her glass.

Lux looked her in the eye, holding her gently but firmly in place. "I'm not going to be another regret for you to wake up to."

A long pause.

Then Fiera cracked. Not loudly. Not theatrically.

Just… quietly.

Her face twisted. Her lip trembled. And her forehead dropped against his chest with a defeated sigh that smelled like sugar, cherry brandy, and grief.

"…They never listen," she whispered, voice thick. "Not really. They never care unless I'm perfect. And even then—even then—they say I'm too loud. Too much. Too difficult."

Lux wrapped an arm around her, cradling her like someone holding volatile stock. "You're not too much."

"I am," she muttered. "I'm just the older one. The one who should be better. But I'm not cute. I'm not innocent. I'm just angry and tired and—I just wanted to be seen tonight."

"You were," Lux said, brushing her hair back. "You still are."

The girls exchanged looks.

Naomi stood frozen, like she wasn't sure if this was tender or just tragic.

Rava finally sighed and went to grab a glass of water.

Ely stepped back, eyes glossy but understanding.

Sira smirked and raised her glass. "Told you."

Mira sipped hers. "He's disgustingly competent."

Lux slowly shifted, lifting Fiera off his lap like she was made of glass and burned-out ambition.

"I'm taking her to the guest room," he said, tone all business now.

"She'll puke if she sleeps on her back," Naomi said.

"Noted," Lux replied. "I'll prop her up. Water, basin, painkiller."

"I will text her driver," Ely added.

He nodded, already moving.