Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

Kaelmor's static voice slithered through the chamber, light and mocking, almost sing-song. "Do you fear him now, Zavros?"

The words hung like smoke. The chamber wasn't lit by fire, but by contracts—dozens of them, glowing faintly from the walls, humming with trapped screams and promises.

Zavros exhaled slowly, his grin gone, his gold aura dim. "No," he said at last, voice heavier than usual. "Not fear. Lux is… rebellious, yes. But—" he faltered, his own arrogance betraying him. For once, he didn't look untouchable. "I remember his postcards. His messages." His voice cracked into bitterness. "He begged me to come back. To help him. But I never listened. I thought…" He clenched his fists. "I thought I was doing the right thing."

Kaelmor leaned back, his grin stretching like a radio signal caught between two channels. "You thought leaving him alone would make him strong. That by denying him, you were forging him into iron."

Zavros looked down, hair glinting under the chamber's pale glow. "We are demons. What doesn't kill us makes us stronger. That's what I believed. He was a miracle, born of two sins. Greed and Lust. I thought—"

Lucaris cut him off with a low, contemptuous laugh, his voice smooth as velvet soaked in venom. "You thought wrong. You gave him numbers, vaults, spreadsheets to play with while you vanished. But do you even realize what that meant? To manage the finance department of Hell requires more than formulas."

Zavros met his gaze with rare hesitation.

Lucaris sneered. "He nearly got himself killed a dozen times. And for what? Cleaning your mess. Covering your absence." His wine glass tilted, red liquid dripping lazily. "Once, he came to me bandaged head to toe. Half-dead. He had been mauled by debt wraiths from the Abyss. Took the hits himself. Three fatal ones." Lucaris' eyes narrowed. "No barrier. No armor. No protection. Just him. All because your vaults were empty, and you promised wraiths money for their territory."

The chamber went dead silent.

Lucaris leaned forward, his tone sharp enough to cut. "And the very next day, he showed up in a negotiation with me. Smiling. Polite. Professional. Like a perfect little executive. While his wounds still smoked."

Zavros froze. Words failed him.

Kaelmor chuckled, a burst of static laughter. "Now, now. Let's not crush our dear friend under the weight of his paternal negligence. The problem isn't what he's done—" his smile widened unnaturally—"the problem is what we should do. Should we send someone to protect him? Or let him burn?"

The chamber door creaked.

A sharp click of heels echoed, cutting across the tension.

Red hair spilled like fire down a tall, sinuous figure. A black uniform lined in silver sigils hugged her body, crisp and formal. Eyes like polished garnet scanned the lords with military precision. She stopped at the edge of the table and bowed.

"Officer Malris Korr, Deputy Director, Infernal Threat Prevention & Surveillance," she announced smoothly. "Reporting as requested."

Varakan raised a brow, amused. "Ah. The watchdog."

Lucaris' lips curved. "The spy mistress."

Kaelmor's static hummed like a delighted radio. "The red flame in the archives. Welcome."

Zavros didn't move. He just watched her, stone still.

Malris flicked her gaze between them, then straightened. "As for the matter of Lord Lux Vaelthorn's protection…" She hesitated, then let her words drop like a blade. "I already asked him in person."

Lucaris leaned forward, intrigued. "And?"

Her lips curved into the faintest smirk. "He refused."

The silence hit like a whip.

Then Lucaris laughed, sharp and low. "Of course he did. Pride runs in the blood, it seems."

Varakan slammed a hand on the table, laughing louder. "Refused protection from her? That boy really has no fear."

Kaelmor's grin crackled. "Or maybe no sense."

Malris turned to them, unfazed. She bowed again, though her tone carried quiet steel. "But I will say this. He doesn't refuse out of arrogance. He refuses because he doesn't trust anyone else to handle the enemies he's already drawing. He trusts only himself. It is his way."

Her eyes flicked to Zavros, sharp and cutting. "Just as it was yours. Once."

Zavros' jaw tightened.

Kaelmor's grin stretched, static whining again. "Delicious irony, isn't it? The son who begged for your help now refuses it from anyone else. And here you sit, Zavros, not father of the year but a ghost haunting his shadow."

Zavros' knuckles turned white.

He remembered. Lux's letters. His pleas.

"Father, I need you. Father, come back. Father, the vaults are bleeding, I can't hold them forever."

Letters Zavros left unanswered. Postcards he tossed aside with a smirk, telling himself it was good training.

Now the truth bit deep. Lux hadn't just survived. He'd thrived. Built himself from blood and fire. And Zavros… hadn't even seen it happen.

Lucaris sipped his wine again, lips curling into something cruel. "Your boy isn't just rewriting rules, Zavros. He's rewriting you."

Zavros said nothing.

For the first time in centuries, the Lord of Greed looked small.

The chamber didn't allow silence to rest. It pressed, it pulsed, it mocked. The contracts on the walls hissed faintly, as though whispering his shame back at him.

Kaelmor's crackle laugh filled the void. "Oh, how rare. The golden merchant struck mute. Don't fret, Zavros. Words are overrated. It's the currency that speaks, and right now…" His grin widened unnaturally, teeth too sharp. "…your son's speaks louder than yours."

Lucaris leaned back, adjusting his velvet cuffs. "Let's not waste time wallowing in paternal guilt. Malris." His gaze slid toward her like a blade being unsheathed. "Tell us. How loud is this boy's name echoing in the gutters?"

Malris did not flinch. Her crimson hair gleamed under the glow of cursed glass as she clasped her hands behind her back. "InfernalNet is… unstable. The chatter about Lux Vaelthorn has jumped from the common feeds into the restricted ones. His name is trending among lower demons—merchants, mercenaries, even thieves. They post clips. They argue. They speculate."