CHAPTER 190: PRIDE, ENVY AND WRATH

Chapter 190 – Pride, Envy and Wrath

The rest of breakfast went down smoother. No more verbal knives wrapped in etiquette. No more war tucked under napkins. Just quiet tea and eggs and infernal finance murmurs dressed as polite conversation.

Malris, to her credit, didn’t push further. She didn’t interrogate. She didn’t accuse. She let the topic settle like embers—smoldering but not flaring.

They exchanged names. Not official documents, no flaming scrolls with Hell sigils, but whispers passed like cigarettes in prison. Names of demons, dukes, viscounts who might want Lux dead. Or at the very least, replaced.

Predictably, it circled back to the old troublemakers.

Pride and Envy.

And maybe Wrath.

Because of course.

Pride didn’t like that he existed. A half-incubus money prince whose name turned up in mortal court filings and divine balance sheets.

Envy didn’t like that he thrived. That every step Lux took echoed louder than any of their grandstanding.

And Wrath? They didn’t need a reason. Just an excuse.

Still, Malris had no proof. Just whispers.

And Lux didn’t offer any back. His own investigation was deeper, messier, and touched things he wasn’t ready to lay on the breakfast table between toast and sin.

Eventually, the meal ended. She stood. He didn’t.

"Try not to get assassinated again," she said, not quite joking.

"No promises," Lux replied, raising his tea in a deadpan toast.

She vanished into the elevator, back to the infernal realm.

No theatrics. No fiery portals. Just an ordinary exit for a not-so-ordinary woman.

And Lux?

He stayed.

The second pot of tea arrived. Black, floral, faintly bitter.

He poured himself another cup and sank deeper into the booth. Eyes calm, shoulders relaxed, but his thoughts... spun like currency charts on cocaine.

Yeah. Malris had been right about some things.

Too right, maybe.

He was changing.

Power did that.

Loneliness did it faster.

And just as that thought tried to claw into something more personal, the news caught his eye.

The hotel lobby always kept the screens tuned to muted business networks. It was background noise for the rich and caffeinated—stock charts, scandal alerts, political whispers dressed in well-fitted suits.

Today?

Delacour Holdings Conference.

Naomi.

The sound was off, but the captions rolled clean.

"All statements regarding Carson Virellion’s financial collapse are separate from Delacour Group operations. His bankruptcy holds no connection to me or my family’s portfolio. I have no further comment at this time."

Naomi looked stunning. Composed. Subtle fire under diamond poise. Her makeup whispered elegance; her eyes, rebellion. And her tone?

Cold steel diplomacy.

Lux sipped his tea and tried not to smirk.

The world still didn’t know who she had left Carson for. And that mystery? That vacuum? It was driving people insane.

He was still watching when he heard it.

A familiar voice. Clipped, sultry, way too dramatic.

"Yeah, thank God I already broke up with that Carson guy."

Lux didn’t even need to glance fully.

He tilted his head slightly, using the silver spoon to catch a reflection off the tea tray.

Serelina.

Of course it was.

Same mermaid hair. Same smug posture like the world owed her a beachfront resort.

The girl across from her snorted. "Break up? Girl, he clearly dumped you."

"Ugh, don’t trample on my pride," Serelina said with a wave of her hand. "It wasn’t serious anyway. I was playing. Just trying to piss Naomi off. She’s always so smug. Acting all mighty just because she’s slightly richer than me."

Lux’s brow twitched. Slightly?

Serelina rolled her eyes. "But I’m more beautiful. I can get whatever I want. Even Carson fell for me."

Lux silently mouthed wow into his cup.

"But turns out," Serelina continued, "he just wanted Naomi as leverage. Gross. He’s poor now. Not even worth my tailfin."

Her friend giggled. "So that’s why you’re here? Hoping to steal whoever Naomi ran to next? Someone richer?"

"Exactly," Serelina said, unapologetically. "I’ve been here since yesterday. But no idea who the guy is. I asked around, but nobody’s knew him."

She paused.

"...though that guy before looked nice. Maybe him? But I’ve never seen him before among the rich regulars."

Lux blinked.

Yeah, it was him. Clearly.

The friend kept flicking her gaze from Lux to the TV screen—back and forth like a tennis match.

Then she froze.

"Wait—waitwaitwait—is that him?!"

Serelina leaned in. "What?"

The screen had shifted.

From Naomi’s press conference... to yesterday’s fashion show.

It was a re-air of Fiera Ninevyn’s summer showcase. The one where Lux had agreed to model the final devil suit as a favor-slash-bribe-slash-dare.

There he was.

Striding the runway. Sleek and silent like money itself. Fiera at his arm like a blushing empress. He didn’t smile. Didn’t wave.

He looked.

Right into the camera. Into the crowd.

Like he was about to buy them all—and sell them back at a profit.

The lights hit his face just right, cheekbones carved like a devil sculpted in gold, suit clinging to his frame like it was tailored by temptation itself. A subtle tilt of his jaw. A languid blink. The smirk that wasn’t there but almost was.

And then—

He stopped.

Mid-runway. Mid-world.

With a movement as fluid as shadow and silk, Lux turned toward Fiera.

He slipped his arm from hers and hugged her—not casually, not sweetly, but deliberately. One hand at the curve of her waist, the other sliding up her back like he was drawing her into his gravity. Her face lit up, caught between surprise and a queen’s approval. The whole room seemed to gasp.

He dipped his head low to hers, as if whispering something private—intimate—but his eyes never left the crowd. He dared them to look. To want. To envy.

It wasn’t just hot.

It was a performance. A sin wrapped in style, radiating heat and command.

A thousand flashes went off like fireworks. Viewers in the room and through the screen didn’t just see him. They felt him.

Even without sound, the video hit.

Hard.

Serelina made a strangled noise.

"That’s—"

"That’s him," her friend whispered. "That’s the same guy."

Serelina’s smile cracked.

"No way."

But the screen didn’t lie. Neither did the face sipping tea two tables down.