Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

Chapter 374 – Not a Business

Mira Xianlong exhaled as her sleek black car purred softly beneath her. The windows were tinted, of course. Privacy glass. Custom. Bulletproof. And vanity-plated. It was the sort of car meant to scream ”power,” but in a refined, dragon-heiress way. Not like those nouveau-riche influencers who thought gold hubcaps were subtle.

Behind her?

Two more cars.

Full of luggage.

No, correction.

Full of Mira’s stuff.

Clothes, shoes, magical skincare, reinforced briefcases of enchanted silk with her branding embroidered in gold thread. Plus a sealed cryobox with her signature blends—draconic teas from the Xianlong mountain spring for 88 years before bottling.

She was, officially, moving in.

”Oh dear dragon gods,” she muttered under her breath. ”What the hell am I doing?”

Because yeah.

This was insane.

She was a business heiress. A dragon of class, reputation, and lineage that reached back to the cloud-temples of Shangluan.

And now she was... what?

Moving into a man’s mansion?

No.

Not a man.

A demon.

Mira dragged her fingers down her thigh, slowly. Not to hurt herself. Just to remind herself she was real. That this wasn’t some dream, or a possession, or a mid-life metamorphosis crisis.

”Lux Vaelthorn...” she murmured.

The name rolled off her tongue like a curse dressed in silk.

Her mind flashed back to him. Always perfectly dressed. Always a smirk like he’d already calculated your desire and added interest. Lux, son of Greed and Lust. A CFO of Hell and an incubus with more power in his pinky than most full-grown warlocks could summon with a whole cult and a blood moon.

And yet—he let her in.

Let her orbit his world.

Let her flirt and threaten and test boundaries like she wasn’t just another conquest.

She hated it.

She loved it.

She hated how much she loved it.

”...I’m so screwed.”

She muttered the words to no one in particular.

Her chauffeur flinched but wisely said nothing.

Because yeah, Mira Xianlong didn’t fall for people.

She acquired assets.

She negotiated contracts.

She dominated fashion circuits and corporate mergers.

This wasn’t like her.

’This isn’t about him,’ she lied to herself, clutching her purse like a lifeline. ’It’s about expansion. Access. Strategic interrealm investment. You know, a foothold in Hell’s central financial district.’

Even she didn’t believe that.

No.

This wasn’t business.

This was an obsession.

The car slowed.

Her pulse did not.

Through the front window, the gates opened like the jaws of a waiting beast. Black marble. Silver runes. A shimmer of teleport wards laced through the air like perfume.

And there—on the steps of his infernal mansion—stood the man himself.

Lux.

Waiting.

Like he knew she’d come.

Like this was all just another number in his ledger.

Fuck.

He was in casual wear. That meant tailored slacks, half-unbuttoned silk shirt, gold accents, infernal cufflinks and no tie. His jacket rested over one shoulder like a lazy king on vacation. His smirk?

Weaponized.

He opened the door and she stepped out, wind catching her dress just enough to remind everyone watching that Mira was always photo-ready. Her heels clicked with power. Her aura flexed with restrained elegance.

”You came faster than I expected,” Lux said, voice warm and cool at once.

”I finished work early,” she replied, adjusting her shades with a flick. ”Your staff did my makeup today, remember? Everything went smoother than usual. I even got three wedding proposals in one afternoon.”

He lifted a brow. ”Oh?”

”Prince from the Middle East.” She ticked off a finger. ”A duke from the Bloodborne Isles. And a literal shark from the Maritime Guild.”

”Impressive.”

She narrowed her eyes.

He grinned wider.

”But you still came to me,” he said.

She stepped closer, slow. Purposeful.

”Yes,” Mira said. ”To this prince of greed.” Her eyes flickered gold. ”I like it.”

Then, calmly, without apology—

”I hoard what I like.”

-Snap!

She clicked her fingers. Her men rushed to unload her belongings.

Lux raised a hand. ”My servants can—”

”No need,” she cut him off. ”It’s not much.”

He glanced at the caravan of fashion-obsessed chaos behind her.

Not much?

There were enough boxes to fill a boutique.

”But like the others,” Mira added, voice casual, ”I’ll still go back and forth to my place. This is more of a... secondary residence.”

Right.

Because it was totally normal to move half your wardrobe to a man’s house for a ”part-time stay.”

Lux didn’t argue.

Smart.

”Fine,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing toward the doors. ”Come in. I’ll show you your room.”

”Guest room.”

”Of course.”

”If I don’t like it—”

”I’ll redecorate,” he finished smoothly.

Mira narrowed her eyes. ”With what theme?”

”You strike me as ’draconic zen meets tyrannical luxury.’”

She blinked. ”...Okay, fair.”

They walked inside.

The foyer was absurd. Still. Every time she stepped in, it smelled like gold-dusted incense and candlelit vice. Velvet floors. Crystal chandeliers. Magic-infused glass that shimmered.

She caught the eye of a passing servant. They looked human, polite, dressed in butler uniform—probably bound to a thousand infernal contracts to Lux. All demons.

Her heels clicked as they reached the second floor. The hallway was lined with glowing artwork. She caught a glimpse of Rava’s room—marked with seaweed runes and bioluminescent coral.

Naomi’s? Neat, clean, corporate minimalist.

Sira’s? Guarded by pride sigils and a mana-lock with a sarcastic warning.

And then...

Lux stopped in front of a door.

”This one’s yours.”

The aura was different. No default magic signature. Which meant—

”You haven’t assigned this room to anyone before,” she noted.

”I haven’t,” he confirmed.

Huh.

He opened the door.

And Mira stepped inside.

The room was large. Tasteful. The walls painted with shifting clouds, echoing eastern mountaintops. There was incense burning in a lotus dish. The bed itself? Huge. Soft. Quilted with scaled patterns that shimmered faintly like dragonhide.

She turned to him.

”You researched me.”

”I optimize my investments.”

”You’re not my CFO.”

”I could be.”

That got a laugh from her. Genuine. Then—

She turned, slowly. Stepped closer. Closed the distance between them until their breaths mingled.