Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

Zavros only smiled, golden and cruel.

"Then perhaps it's time you stop underestimating my bloodline."

His grin widened, teeth sharp enough to carve silence. "I also knew my son just fucked your daughter. I saw he took her to the mortal realm."

The words hit like a thunderclap.

Lucaris froze mid-sip of his wine, crimson dripping down the glass stem like blood. For a split second his perfect mask cracked, a flash of raw fury streaking across those arrogant eyes. Then—slowly, deliberately—he smiled, wider than before.

"You mean," Lucaris purred, voice dripping venom, "the scene where your son slammed the elevator doors in your face while hugging her? Didn't even let you speak? Yes. I saw it. He's fed up with you, Zavros. Fed up with your centuries of irresponsibility. My daughter didn't even need to seduce him for that. He did it himself."

The room went tight. Even Varakan leaned back in his throne, grin stretching but eyes glinting with interest.

Zavros' smirk faltered. Not much. But enough. The cruelty dimmed around the edges, like someone put a crack in his armor.

Kaelmor, ever the mediator, ever the smiling devil, raised both hands as if conducting an invisible orchestra. His voice carried that musical lilt.

"Now, now. Let's calm ourselves. I didn't summon you for a soap opera. This isn't the Infernal Gossip Hour." His eyes flickered neon red, sharp. "I want to talk about that bounty. We all know—despite his recklessness—the Greed prince holds a significant position. We can't afford to lose him."

Lucaris tilted his head back, sipping his wine again like none of this mattered. "Significant, yes. But also dangerous."

"Dangerous is useful," Varakan rumbled, a grin splitting his brutal jawline. "And fun."

Lucaris waved a dismissive hand. "My spy tells me most of that ridiculous sum—the eighty-eight point eight billion—comes not from us, but from up there."

Zavros blinked, finally looking thrown. "From the celestials? I thought Lux had deals with them. Peaceful ones."

At that?

All three of them laughed.

Varakan's was thunder, booming and cruel.

Lucaris' was sharp and mocking, like a knife dragged across glass.

And Kaelmor's? Static-riddled laughter, echoing in the walls as if the boardroom itself found Zavros pathetic.

Lucaris smirked, eyes gleaming. "See? Even his father doesn't know. You've been on honeymoon so long, Zavros, you've gone deaf and blind."

Varakan leaned forward, grin feral. "Is centuries of indulgence making your head soft, old friend? Or maybe you were always this stupid?"

Zavros bristled, the glow of Greed flaring off his skin like molten sunlight breaking through cracks in obsidian. His hands curled into fists against the obsidian table.

The easy smirk he always wore—mocking, untouchable—fractured into something uglier, teeth bared in a snarl that sent sparks of avarice into the air like coins bursting from a broken vault.

"Watch your tongue," he growled, his voice heavy with centuries of hoarded wealth and the promise of ruin.

The temperature shifted. Wrath answered.

Varakan leaned forward, his throne groaning under his bulk. Fire surged along his shoulders, infernal flames licking upward like serpents. The air around him rippled with heat, the smell of ash and scorched iron filling the boardroom.

His grin was no longer amusement but challenge—feral, bloodthirsty, daring.

"Or what?" he snarled, his voice booming like a battlefield war drum. "You'll ignore me, like you ignored your son?"

The table between them shook, caught between gold-fire avarice and wrathful inferno.

Kaelmor hummed, letting the tension hang before slicing it with a single line.

"Seems you are… clueless." His grin sharpened, static whining in the background. "Your son has signed agreements with them, yes. But the old order up there? They detest it. They detest him. They detest us. They believe what belongs in Hell should stay in Hell."

Lucaris' smirk turned predatory. "And the new order? They're more… dynamic. Opportunistic. They see potential. They see deals. The old ones hate that too."

Varakan's grin turned sharper, eyes glinting with wrathful glee. "And some demons… demons like us? They want what your son has. Those contracts between Hell and Heaven. Soul-bound deals that can throw the entire economy off balance. They want that power. They salivate for it."

Zavros' eyes widened, the gleam of Greed flickering with something else—fear. He shook his head slowly, as if denying the words would make them untrue.

"Lux…" His voice dropped, lower than before. "He's using his soul as collateral?"

Kaelmor tilted his head, smile stretching unnaturally wide. "You don't know?" His laugh crackled like a bad radio signal. "Yes, Zavros. Your son is that crazy. He binds his own soul into his contracts. Collateral in the purest sense."

Varakan barked a laugh that rattled the table. "That's why he gets compliments from up there! The celestials respect him. And us? Ha! Some of us respect him too. He's mad. Bold. Too bold. But he's doing what you never dared."

Lucaris sneered, though even his pride couldn't hide the gleam of acknowledgment. "He's reckless. He's insane. He's dangerous. And yet…" He swirled his glass again. "He's effective."

Zavros went silent.

For the first time in centuries, the Lord of Greed didn't have a comeback. Didn't have a smirk, or a coin-flip phrase, or a cruel laugh. He just… sat there.

Because the truth cut deeper than any insult.

He never knew.

Lux never told him…

Or maybe, just maybe…

Kaelmor leaned forward, voice low and humming with static malice. "Really, Zavros. Did your son never tell you? Or did you… simply never listen?"

The boardroom went quiet.

Zavros clenched his fists under the table, aura dimming. His mind spun with images—Lux slamming that elevator door in his face, Lux's sharp grin, Lux's calm defiance. Lux choosing mortals over demons. Lux carving his own empire without asking, without waiting.

And Zavros realized something that tasted like bile.

He never listened. He never thought he needed to. He assumed Lux was fine. Always fine. Always managing. Always beneath him.

But now?

Now his son was rewriting the rules of Hell itself.

And Zavros wasn't even holding the pen.