CHAPTER 275: HOT SEAT

Chapter 275 – Hot Seat

He slowed the bike the moment the mansion gates came into view.

Black marble walls. Silver runes glowing faintly around the arch. Palm trees swaying like they’d been programmed for aesthetics. A lazy mist curling at the base of the driveway like a valet’s fog machine was set to "luxury level 7."

Home.

Lux let the engine idle as he rolled in, his senses already flaring.

And yep.

There it was.

Her aura.

Sira was here.

He could taste it in the air—like pride wrapped in cinnamon and dominance. Like perfume laced with ego. His core reacted before he even made it to the front step.

"Oh, good," he muttered. "The CEO of my libido has arrived."

The mansion doors opened before he touched the handle, the infernal lock spell recognizing his signature.

Inside?

Chaos.

Not bad chaos—just... more activity than usual.

Servants were darting about like bees on commission. Boxes lined the hallway—clothes, shoes, velvet-wrapped trunks stacked high enough to form a small fortress near the staircase. Everything branded with luxury seals. Gold clasps. Crest-stamped leather. Some even had anti-theft sigils glowing on the handles.

"Uh..." Lux blinked as he stepped in. "Why does this look like a tax audit’s fever dream?"

A familiar uniformed servant approached and bowed low.

"Welcome home, Sir Vaelthorn."

"Yeah," Lux said dryly, peeling off his gloves. "What’s with the boutique explosion in the hallway? You prepping to open a mall wing in my foyer?"

"These are... Lady Sira’s belongings, sir. Her wardrobe arrived."

Lux stared at the boxes.

Then kept staring.

Then turned back to the servant. "Did she ship her entire dimension?"

The servant did not blink. "The wardrobe team mentioned this was just her ’weekday loungewear.’"

Lux’s brain buffered like a bad connection. "...Weekday."

"Yes, sir."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay. I’m going to pretend that’s fine. I’m emotionally invested in pretending everything is fine."

"Would you like assistance with your belongings, sir?"

"Oh—right." Lux waved a hand and plunged it into his pocket dimension, the ether rippling like a pond disturbed by gold coins. One by one, shopping bags and suit covers spilled into the air—dozens of them. Casualwear, business suits, and silk shirts.

"Put the clean ones in my walk-in," Lux said, yanking out a final bag that had three suspiciously fluffy towels. "And yeah, the rest—get it laundered. Folded. Ironed. You know the deal. Make them smell like sin."

The servant nodded. "Of course, sir."

"Oh—one more thing," Lux added, handing over a bag with Sira’s lipstick imprint on the handles. "That one’s technically evidence."

"I... beg your pardon, sir?"

Lux smirked. "Never mind. Where is she?"

"In the dining room, sir."

Lux nodded, brushing past with the air of a man who had handled volatile market crashes and Sira’s wardrobe explosions without blinking.

The mansion was busy—servants gliding past with arms full of folded clothes, silken robes, a suspicious number of heels. Boxes being opened. Closet doors squeaking. His closet. Her luggage. Her staff. Her scent in the halls.

Sira was definitely here.

But something didn’t add up. Why were there this many boxes?

He frowned.

Did she bring the entire Pride wing with her? Was there a lion in his bathtub now?

Lux sighed and kept walking.

The faint clinking of silverware guided him toward the dining room. He adjusted the collar of his shirt and prepped himself for whatever dramatic entrance Sira had staged.

But then—

He heard it.

Laughter.

Not one.

Three.

Sira’s unmistakable low purr of amusement.

Then a bubbling, sea-glass sharp laugh that made his incubus senses spike.

And lastly... a soft, dangerously polite giggle. One that whispered of boundaries tested, credit cards maxed, and future alibis.

Lux stopped walking.

His spine tingled like someone had just shorted the market with insider information.

No.

No no no.

He hadn’t heard that combination since... ever.

He slowly—very slowly—edged closer to the dining room. His steps softened into silent audits, each one measured like the margin on a hostile takeover bid.

He peeked around the ornate doorframe.

And nearly cursed out loud.

There they were.

Sira. Reclining like she owned not just the chair but the tax records of everyone who’d ever sat in it. Legs crossed, slit high enough to cause moral debates in Heaven. She twirled her wine glass like it owed her interest. Red liquid swirling—probably blood. Or arrogance-infused Merlot.

Naomi. On Sira’s left, in a deceptively simple white summer dress. Hair curled, lips glossed, posture poised. The picture of mortal elegance. But Lux knew better—that dress was a warning. A cute, delicate one, but a warning all the same.

And Rava. Backless seafoam-green gown with subtle wet shimmer, one of her tentacles casually curled around the base of her wine bottle like it was a microphone mid-villain monologue.

They were laughing.

Lux watched in real time as Sira leaned in. Whispered. Naomi’s brows lifted. Rava’s eyes sparkled. All three of them smirked at the same time.

That was not a good sign.

Lux exhaled slowly, mentally recalculating his Risk-Adjusted Lust Exposure.

’Okay. So, this is happening.’

’The merger.’

’They’ve unionized.’

’Dear Abyss Lord, help me.’

He straightened up, fixing his cuffs like it mattered. Like anything mattered now. Then stepped into the room like a man stepping onto the trading floor with every indicator screaming crash.

"Ladies," he greeted smoothly, voice dipped in practiced charm. "Is this an intervention? Or an ambush?"

Three heads turned.

Three smiles bloomed.

Too coordinated. Way too coordinated.

"Lux~" Sira purred, like she hadn’t just organized a summit to seize his soul. "Welcome home," she added.

Naomi tilted her head. "We were just talking about you."

Rava lifted her glass. "Funny stories. Business... pleasure..."

Lux resisted the urge to facepalm. "I’ll just... sit, then?"

Naomi patted the seat between her and Sira. "We saved you the hot seat."

Of course they did.

He sat slowly, cautiously, as if the chair might bite. It didn’t. But the atmosphere definitely did.