CHAPTER 458: MY HELL

Chapter 458 – My Hell

And then she vanished.

No exit spell. No dramatic line. No "bye."

Just that soft flash of teleportation energy and a faint ripple of warmth—like a kiss that lingered on the skin too long after it was gone.

One blink, and Sira—Pride’s heir, his headache, his partner in sins both financial and carnal—was gone.

Lux stood there, the shower still beating against his chest like it hadn’t gotten the memo. The steam curled around his horns, the mist clung to his lashes, and he blinked again just to confirm it.

Still alone.

He tilted his head, hair slick and dripping, and muttered, "Seriously? You left just like that?"

Nothing answered but the hiss of hot water and the sigh of a house too expensive to argue.

He didn’t even bother moving. Just let the spray hit his collarbones while his mind spun.

It wasn’t even the sex. That was incredible, as usual—Sira didn’t know how to not dominate a room with her heat and pressure. But her words had weight. Not the teasing kind. Not the "Lux you bastard, I hope you drown in champagne" kind.

It was fear in her voice.

Not about Lust.

Not even about Hell.

But about change.

About him changing.

Lux exhaled slowly and leaned a palm against the shower wall, his toned shoulder bunching with tension. Water flowed down his spine, heat loosening muscle, but his mind? His mind was a mess.

Celestaria.

Of course Sira would bring her up. The woman wasn’t just a goddess. She was the goddess. Order, harmony, the embodiment of celestial diplomacy wrapped in silk, strategy, and passive-aggressive smiles. She didn’t just play the game.

Lux didn’t need to read divine energy to know she saw him as more than just the Infernal CFO. Her glances lingered too long. Her tone bent differently when she spoke just to him. And she always offered him tea he liked.

The kind of tea you only remember when you actually care about the person drinking it.

Lux could smell it now, just thinking about her—rosehip and something holy, like a clean sky after a sin-storm. The memory made his stomach twist a little. Not in disgust. Not even in temptation.

Just... awareness.

He reached up and dragged a hand through his hair, slicking it back with a sigh.

"She’s not gonna try to redeem me," he mumbled. "That’s not her style."

Was it?

Celestaria didn’t need to preach. She didn’t quote sermons or condemn with light beams. She made you want to believe you were good. Or that you could be, with enough... polishing.

And wasn’t that worse?

Lux had done his share of filth.

Hell, he ran Greed’s investment division. His portfolio was mostly bad decisions made profitable. He built luxury hotels on haunted land and sold vanity NFTs to billionaire sorcerers. He made people’s worst traits into high-yield dividends.

That wasn’t corruption.

That was capitalism.

So yeah, no holy crown was ever going to sit comfortably on his horns.

And yet—

Sira was right.

Celestaria could do it. Not force him with magic or chains. But convince him. Reframe it. Tempt him with peace, with dignity, with that half-smile that whispered, "You can stop fighting now. Be whole."

And the scariest part?

Lux knew how dangerous that kind of mercy was.

Because demons weren’t afraid of death.

They were afraid of forgetting who they were.

He looked down at his body, still gleaming wet and flushed from earlier—Sira’s lipstick faintly smeared near his pelvis, bite marks on his shoulder, a blooming purple bruise at his ribs where she had pinned him against the marble.

He chuckled darkly, low in his throat. "This body? This sin? You really think I’d let anyone turn this into some holy choir boy?"

But the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

His head dropped back against the tile. The water traced his throat, slid down his chest, curved around each scar and shadow. He wasn’t scared. Just... cornered. Maybe that’s why Sira looked at him like that before vanishing.

Like she was bracing to lose him.

Not to Hell.

But to hope.

Lux grimaced. "Ugh. That’s worse than damnation."

Because redemption wasn’t romantic. It was erasure. It was saying "You were broken before, but now you’re fixed."

But what if he liked being a little cracked?

What if the hunger in him was the point?

He pushed away from the wall and stood fully under the spray, letting the thoughts melt off his skin like sweat. Muscles flexed, core tightened, and for a second, he imagined it.

Celestaria, in some silk-glow sanctuary, whispering.

"You don’t need to carry all that weight anymore."

And him?

Playing a piano.

Wearing white.

With a child on his knee and a tax-exempt smile.

"Oh wait," Lux muttered, "I did that once, didn’t I?"

He froze.

His jaw tightened.

His memory betrayed him.

A flash of a charity gala, some PR stunt for celestial realm, a children’s hospital and a stage piano he’d half-assed a ballad on. He wore a cream suit. There was no alcohol.

Lux shuddered. "That was my hell."

He turned the water hotter. Punishment, maybe. Or therapy.

But deep down...

A voice inside whispered:

You liked it, didn’t you?

Not the holiness.

Not the charity.

But the idea... of being seen as worthy.

He swore under his breath and scrubbed a hand down his face. That was the trap. The ultimate temptation.

Not lust.

Not money.

But acceptance.

Celestaria didn’t want to ruin him.

She wanted to fix him.

And Sira?

Sira wanted to worship the cracks.

She never asked him to be better. Never tried to clip his horns. She bit them. Rode them. Named him her ruin and wore him like jewelry.

She didn’t want the redeemed.

She wanted the real.

And now...

She was afraid he’d forget.

Lux shut off the water.

The silence hit like judgment.

He stepped out, steam curling around him, his breath calm but his pulse louder than he’d admit. He dried off slowly, letting the towel linger where her hands had been. The marks she left. The war she started in his heart.

"Be myself, huh?" he whispered.