Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

Chapter 256 – Greed New Mansion

”Do your drama somewhere else,” he said, voice low but cutting. ”Or I’ll make sure you need to sell yourself just for a piece of bread.”

And he meant it.

With a flick of his will, Lux could ruin her. He could bind her to a debt so deep every mortal banker would salivate at the interest rate. He could freeze her accounts, blacklist her name, make her a financial ghost crawling through alleys begging for crumbs.

The way her body froze told him she believed it. Instinctively. Even without knowing who he was.

His death glare was financial death.

Lux straightened, buttoned his jacket with precise calm, and turned toward the exit. He didn’t spare her another glance.

The marble floor clicked beneath his polished shoes. The lobby smelled faintly of lemon cleanser again as he moved away, leaving the rot of Dolly’s desperation behind.

He passed through the glass doors into the sunlight, his thoughts sharp, dry, amused. ’Sira, you’re a menace. Leaving me to mop up your collateral damage while you vanish into shadows. Typical.’

Lux slipped his shades over his eyes, adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket, and walked with the kind of unhurried precision.

Down the elevator into the basement parking lot, the air cooled, stale with oil, gasoline, and faint traces of rubber. His motorcycle waited in the corner.

”Morning,” Lux muttered, patting the handlebars as though greeting an old friend. He slid the helmet on, tightened the strap, and straddled the machine in one fluid motion.

”System,” he said smoothly. ”Navigate to 9742 Elysian Ridge Drive. Beberly Hills mansion.”

[Searching routes for Beberly Hills. Three options available. One shortest route. One through the mountain. One along the beach. Which route do you want to take?]

Lux smirked. ”I’ll take a detour. Beach it is.”

[Reminder. You have visited the beach before.]

”Different beach,” Lux shot back. ”Also, my girls like the beach. Bikini probability is high. Mountain? Nice view, yes. But mountains don’t come with Naomi in a red bikini or Rava pretending not to care while wearing one. So... beach.”

[Do you want to purchase a yacht as well?]

Lux chuckled, revving the engine. ”Later. If I really want one, I’ll pull the Flying Dutchman out of storage. Rebrand it. Modern deck, champagne coolers, Wi-Fi. Make the curse part less obvious. For now, just give me the detour.”

[Understood.]

He twisted the throttle and the bike roared alive, echoing against the concrete walls, the sound vibrating through his chest.

He shot out of the parking lot and into the streets, weaving through traffic like the lanes bent for him. The wind tore through his hair under the helmet, city scents blurring past—diesel, salt from the ocean, faint whiffs of street tacos. Lux wasn’t just driving to a house; he was mapping opportunity.

Every block, his incubus instincts made mental notes.

A strip of beach property with a ”for sale” sign? Possible private retreat.

A club flashing neon at midday? Maybe worth investing, turning it into a ”demon-friendly nightlife” hub.

An old warehouse with faded paint? Perfect spot for laundering gems if the market heated up again.

Lux didn’t just see buildings—he saw balance sheets, risk assessments, leverage points. His whole ride was a profit reconnaissance mission.

”Hmm,” he muttered, cruising past a gated beachfront. ”Private enough. Rent it for a week, let the girls have a taste. If they like it, I buy it. Asset diversification, bikini edition.”

The system beeped. [Note saved. Category: Leisure Investment.]

Lux grinned under the helmet. ”Good.”

By the time he turned inland, the detour had done its job. He felt lighter. Clearer. A man riding into his next acquisition not out of necessity but out of deliberate choice.

And then, as he curved up toward the lush hills, he spotted it. A black sedan rolled out of a gated property ahead. In the backseat, a familiar face—Carson—looking pale, tired, but clinging to his luggage like it was all he had left.

Lux slowed just enough to watch the car disappear down the slope. ’Chasing his flight already. Sira really did ”relocate” him.’

Lux snorted, shook his head, and revved past the gates Carson had just exited. His new gates.

The security booth ahead stopped him, two uniformed guards stepping out. One lifted a hand. ”Sir, this is private property. Who are you?”

Lux killed the engine, pulled off his helmet, and let the sunlight catch the sharp lines of his smirk. With his other hand, he dangled a keyring—ornate, gold-edged, unmistakably symbolic.

”New owner,” Lux said simply. ”This place is mine now.”

The guards stiffened. Then nodded. ”Understood, sir.”

But Lux wasn’t finished. His gaze sharpened. ”Half an hour from now, I want every staff member in the living room. Gardeners, cleaners, butlers. Everyone. No exceptions.”

The guard blinked, hesitated, then nodded again, more firmly this time. ”Yes, sir. Understood.”

Lux slid the helmet back on, started the engine, and rolled past the gates like he’d owned them his whole life.

The driveway was absurd—lined with palm trees and fountains, manicured grass so green it looked photoshopped. He parked the motorcycle right in front of the entrance, ignoring the designated garage like rules were beneath him.

When he walked through the mansion’s double doors, a handful of staff moved instinctively to intercept him—hesitant, uncertain. He lifted the keys again, the simple gesture enough to silence every question.

”You,” he said, pointing toward an older man with silver at his temples and the stiff posture of a professional butler. ”Show me the mansion. All the rooms. Every corner.”

The butler inclined his head. ”Of course, sir. Follow me.”

Lux stepped in behind him, gaze sweeping over the vast marble foyer with its chandelier dripping crystals like frozen fire. The air smelled of lemon polish and faint garden roses drifting in from the courtyard. His shoes clicked against the floor, echoing into halls wide enough to fit a small army.

’Not bad,’ he thought. ’For mortals. But it needs wards. Protection. And less beige.’