Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

"Here's the deal," Lux said finally. "If you're here to talk, talk. If you're here to guilt-trip me, save it. I've got better things to do—like shopping for Sira."

Zavros blinked, startled by the absurdity of it.

Lux grinned, cruel and sweet. "Yeah. That's right. I'm on vacation. So unless you've got a signed apology backed by three witnesses and notarized in infernal blood, get the hell out of my windshield."

And for the first time in a very long time, Zavros had no comeback.

Zavros stood there, looking less like the gilded Lord of Greed and more like a man stripped down to raw ledger lines and unpaid balances.

Lux drummed his fingers on the wheel, sharp and impatient, like the ticking of a clock counting down the seconds until the next hostile takeover.

"Well?" Lux drawled, one brow raised. "This is the part where you usually hit me with a lecture, a threat, or some long-winded analogy about wealth. What's wrong, old man? Did the interest rate on your guilt finally balloon past due?"

Zavros didn't rise to the bait. His reflection leaned forward slightly, eyes heavy. "Lux…"

Lux huffed, leaning back in his seat, tossing one arm over the wheel like he owned the whole damn road. "Don't say my name like it's a condolence letter. If you've got something to file, file it. If not, my next song is queued and I'd rather listen to mortals cry about breakups than demons fake apologies."

Zavros' lips parted, but no words came out. Then—hesitantly, like dragging a boulder uphill—he said, "I'm… sorry."

Lux blinked. Then laughed.

"Oh, wow." He clapped once, slow, sarcastic. "There it is. A collector's item. Limited edition. The 'sorry' from Zavros Vaelthorn himself. Do I get that in writing, or is it like your other contracts—verbal, vague, and designed to screw me over later?"

The older demon flinched at the edge in his son's voice. "I mean it."

"Yeah?" Lux arched a brow. "Because last time you 'meant' something, I ended up bleeding out in a boardroom while you were too busy blowing kisses to mother across the galaxy. Forgive me if my trust fund in your sincerity is currently bankrupt."

Zavros' aura flickered, but instead of flaring into arrogance, it dimmed. His reflection looked down, and when he spoke, his voice was quieter than Lux had ever heard it. "I thought I was doing the right thing. Leaving you to learn. To grow strong."

Lux scoffed, turning the key in the ignition, though he didn't drive. The engine purred, low and steady, filling the silence. "Newsflash: throwing your kid into a pit of debt-wraiths isn't a growth strategy. It's bad parenting. You don't build character with insolvency. You build trauma."

"I know that now," Zavros said softly.

Lux rolled his eyes. "Do you? Because I still feel like this is a sales pitch. You come here, draped in guilt, drop a token apology, and I'm supposed to what—hand you back the keys to Hell's economy? Tell you it's fine, Dad, I forgive you, let's reconcile the books and call it a day? No. That invoice's too big to settle with one word."

Zavros' expression twisted, pain threading through the gold. "What do you want me to say?"

Lux leaned forward, grin razor-sharp. "Oh, I don't want you to say anything. Words are cheap. I want you to admit it."

"Admit what?"

"That you screwed up. That you left me holding the bag while you vanished. That you were a negligent bastard and I had to become CFO, CEO, janitor, and debt collector all before I was a mature demon. That you don't get to waltz in now and pretend this is about my growth. It was about you." Lux's voice dropped, dangerous and smooth. "You were chasing your dividends in lust and left me to cover the losses."

The silence burned. Even the hum of the car seemed to pause. Zavros' reflection flickered once, like his image was straining under the weight of Lux's words.

Finally, Zavros whispered, "You're right."

Lux froze. He hadn't expected that. Not in a hundred balance sheets.

His father's voice was rough, cracking like a ledger pen breaking mid-signature. "You're right. I left you. I left my post. I left my responsibility. I thought… I thought you could carry it. You were always so sharp, so hungry. But I didn't see what it was doing to you."

Lux stared, grip tightening on the wheel. His chest twisted, but his face stayed neutral, CFO-calm.

"Do you know what I did while you were bleeding in boardrooms?" Zavros went on, bitter. "I drank. I danced. I counted coins I didn't earn. And you carried what I should have."

Lux exhaled, sharp and humorless. "Wow. A full confession. Is this therapy, or are you hoping for a tax write-off on your conscience?"

"Lux—"

"No." Lux cut him off, tone steel. "Don't 'Lux' me. You want forgiveness? Earn it. Until then, all you've got is a negative balance in my trust account."

Zavros flinched again. Lux almost enjoyed it. Almost.

The incubus drummed his fingers on the wheel again, light, mocking. "You know what's funny? I don't even hate you. Hate requires energy. What I feel? It's like looking at bad debt. You just… write it off. Move on. But the damage is still on the books."

Zavros' eyes glinted, but not with anger—with sorrow. "Then let me try. Let me pay something back."

Lux tilted his head, suspicious. "And there it is. The fine print." He smirked, cruel. "What's the catch? You want me back in Hell? Want me to carry the ledgers while you take another sabbatical? Because if this is a recruitment speech, it's sloppy."

"No catch." Zavros' voice steadied. "I don't want you back. Not yet. I want you alive. That's all."

Lux blinked. Slowly, his smirk faded into something unreadable. He reclined against the seat, staring at his father's reflection with cold amusement. "Alive, huh? That's rich. You didn't care if I lived or died when I was buying time with debt-wraiths. Now suddenly my existence matters?"