Chapter 8 – Is That a Mini Dragon?
He stood there for a second, still in nothing but a towel, droplets of bathwater trailing lazily down his skin. The steam from the bathroom had followed him out like a loyal fog cloud, curling into the luxury suite's crisp, over-conditioned air.
His eyes scanned the room.
Huge bed? Check.
Perfectly clean sheets that hadn't been soaked in demonic contracts or cursed sweat? Check.
No screaming assistants, no fiscal emergencies, no thirty-year soul bonds needing renegotiation? Check.
He walked over to the sleek, black-glass entertainment system and casually tapped the remote.
A massive OLED screen shimmered to life.
…And immediately displayed the Global Finance Network. The news ticker was mid-panic.
"—stock in GoldHenge collapsed another 3.4% following sudden hostile takeovers in Zurich—crypto markets showing erratic volatility in response—"
Lux squinted. "Crypto, huh?"
A chart blinked into view, violently red. A little down arrow stabbed into the screen like a dagger of debt.
He tilted his head. "I could buy some. Drop a little cursed liquidity in the market, watch the panic, maybe short a few dozen altcoins and walk away with a beachside empire."
He chuckled wickedly before he paused.
Then sighed. "Wait… no. No no no."
He turned the TV off with a firm click and tossed the remote onto the couch.
"I'm on vacation," he muttered. "I'm not planning another country's financial collapse. Not this week."
Still shirtless, he stretched lazily and crossed to the floor-to-ceiling windows, towel riding dangerously low. The skyline sparkled back at him, tall and proud and deeply unaware of the demonic chaos lounging in the penthouse above.
He smirked to himself.
Then raised his hand.
Lux lifted a hand lazily, fingers trailing through the air like he was swiping at imaginary contracts.
"Corvus," he called, voice smooth but tired.
The temperature dipped.
A gust of wind rustled through the suite despite the windows being closed. Shadows near the ceiling flickered unnaturally, like something old and clever was stirring.
And then—fwump.
Feathers. Sharp, black, iridescent.
The raven dropped into reality like a sarcastic glitch, wings flaring out before neatly folding in. It perched on the backrest of one of the sleek bar stools with a haughty shake of its head.
[Skill Activated: Raven Protocol – Corvus]
[Summon Complete ]
"You rang, Boss?" Corvus croaked, his voice somewhere between a weathered aristocrat and a caffeinated hacker.
Lux stretched a little, still shirtless, towel barely hanging on like it was clinging to relevance. "Yeah. I need an ID. A legal one. Plus a mortal bank, a few cards, and real estate. Something… impressive."
Corvus preened a wing. "You want cash, clout, and curb appeal. Got it. Any aesthetic requirements? Or do we just steal a politician's credentials and change the name to 'Sir D. Moneybags' again?"
Lux chuckled. "No, not this time. Just use my name. Real estate, preferably a full mansion. Furnished. Something ripped out of a billionaire's cold, tax-evading hands. Oh—Carson's stuff, actually. He won't be needing it anymore."
The raven's head tilted. "Ah. Wonderful taste."
"Perfect. Take over for me."
"You're not coming?" Corvus asked, blinking slowly.
Lux waved a hand as he wandered toward the bed. "Mortal world. Vacation rules. I have zero responsibility here."
Corvus sighed like a disappointed accountant. "You are the only demon I know who'd outsource evil admin to a bird and call it luxury."
Lux grinned over his shoulder. "And you're the only raven I know who live-hacked Heaven's neutral bank just to get a better view of the ledger fonts."
"Touche."
Corvus flapped his wings once, then launched himself into the air.
[Corvus: Initiating Hacking Flight Sequence…]
[Target: Mortal Banking Network, Global Real Estate Index, and Department of Whatever Lets Rich People Get Away With This Stuff]
[Expected Completion Time: 3 Hours, 11 Minutes]
[Side Quests Accepted: Mock Every Security Protocol While Doing It]
His voice echoed faintly as he phased through the ceiling.
"Caaawwwww. Capitalism suuucks!"
And then… silence.
Lux stood in the middle of the suite, staring at the giant bed like it just challenged him to a fight.
He blinked once.
Twice.
Tilted his head.
Then let the towel drop to the floor with the kind of casual confidence that made ancient deities blush.
He flopped face-first onto the bed like a corpse made of pure satisfaction, stretching out with a groan that sounded more relieved than demonic.
The sheets were ridiculously soft. Silken, perfectly pressed, and not even enchanted with blood runes. Just plain luxury.
"…This is the best idea I've had in centuries," Lux mumbled into the pillow.
Two hours later.
The suite door eased open with a soft click.
Naomi stepped inside with quiet purpose, her arms nearly overflowing with branded paper bags. Brand names that practically whispered old money and judgment. A few boxes even had those elite boutique stickers. The kind where people weren't allowed to ask for the price out loud.
Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor as she stepped further inside, the city's dying sunlight pouring through the tall windows in gold-dusted streaks.
"Lux?" she called.
No answer.
The suite was quiet.
She hesitated for a moment, then tiptoed deeper, adjusting her grip on the bags. The air in here smelled warm and expensive. Soap. Musk. Something darker—like crushed spices and midnight sins.
Then she turned the corner into the bedroom.
And stopped.
Lux was asleep.
Still.
Face-down on the king-sized bed, his head half-buried in a pillow like it had personally wronged him. His back was bare, skin glowing under the amber light. Hair still a little damp and perfectly tousled, like a shampoo commercial gone rogue. One arm was flopped above his head, the other stretched toward the edge like he'd passed out mid-conquest.
The thin blanket was askew.
Very askew.
And now he was completely—
Naomi blinked.
And blinked again.
"Oh," she whispered. "Oh, wow."
Her breath caught.
That wasn't a curve.
That was a whole… situation.
Was it rude to stare at a sleeping man's cock?
'Don't look.'
She looked.
"…Hell," she whispered again.
Her face flamed.
"Is that a mini dragon?"
She slapped her own forehead.
Out loud? Really?!
Naomi turned around so fast she nearly fell over. She placed the bags down gently—like offering tribute to some ancient, half-naked, unfairly attractive deity.
But she didn't run this time.
Her fingers hovered over one of the smaller bags. Inside was a little skincare set. Fancy stuff. High-end brand. Gold-accented containers. Eye creams, moisturizers, a toner that promised to erase generational trauma.
She'd bought it half on impulse, half on instinct. Lux had that look. That sleep-deprived chaos demon disguised as a CEO look.
And… she kind of wanted to see what he looked like well-rested.
Naomi turned back.
He hadn't moved. Still breathing slow. Still blissfully asleep.
"…This is probably a bad idea," she murmured.
She knelt carefully beside the bed, opening the eye cream first. Her hands trembled a little as she scooped out a tiny dab with the gold applicator.
"Okay. Just… gentle."
She leaned in.
Lux's face was calm. Almost boyish in his sleep. The sharpness of his jaw softened. His lashes—longer than hers, which was deeply unfair—rested against his cheeks.
Carefully, slowly, she touched his skin.
He didn't flinch.
She dabbed under one eye, then the other. Then the cream on his temples, smoothing it in with slow circles.
"…There," she whispered. "Now you don't look like you've fought six lawsuits and made a pact with caffeine in the last twenty-four hours."
She stared a second longer. Then, on a whim, reached for the moisturizer. Just a little. She pressed it into his skin with careful fingers, trying not to giggle as she imagined him waking up and demanding to know if she used SPF or not.
Finally, the toner. A light spritz. Cool and soft on his face.
He shifted slightly. Muscles rippled.
She froze. Watched. Waited.
Nothing.
She exhaled slowly.
Her eyes drifted lower again—against her will, of course—and her thoughts spun into total chaos.
How was this guy real?
He slept like a worn-out god, looked like a sin, and acted like he'd skipped every human emotional tutorial. Even unconscious, he radiated heat and effortless danger. The kind that made smart girls run and stupid girls fall.
So why wasn't she running?
She looked at his face again. At the small hint of exhaustion still clinging to him, even now.
She whispered, "You need this vacation more than you admit."
Lux murmured something unintelligible. One arm stretched beneath him. He groaned softly.