Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

Chapter 257 – You’re Fired

The butler began leading him through corridors lined with art. Lux tilted his head at one particularly large painting of some forgotten duke.

”How much?” Lux asked casually.

The butler blinked. ”Pardon, sir?”

”The painting. Auction value?”

The man hesitated, flustered. ”I... I’m not certain, sir. Perhaps a few hundred thousand.”

Lux smirked faintly. ”It’s a fake. It’s worth about five hundred in reality. I need to replace it with something that doesn’t look like he’s judging me for my investment portfolio.”

The butler swallowed. ”Yes, sir.”

They moved on. Room by room, Lux catalogued with precision.

Guest suites: decent, but needed soundproofing.

Kitchen: too mortal, but upgradeable.

Wine cellar: valuable but vulnerable. Needed both wards and insurance.

Pool: fine. Needed expansion. Maybe an underwater lounge for Rava.

Everywhere they walked, Lux’s mind clicked numbers into place. Costs. Risks. Upside. He wasn’t just moving into a house—he was rebalancing a portfolio, one chandelier at a time.

Finally, they looped back toward the central living room. Wide glass walls looked out onto the garden, light pouring in, dust motes drifting like lazy stars. The butler paused. ”Will this room suffice for your meeting with the staff, sir?”

Lux nodded. ”Yes. Half an hour, remember. Everyone. And don’t bother polishing excuses—I want the gardeners and the maids, not just the suits.”

”Yes, sir,” the butler said, bowing slightly before hurrying off.

Lux stood alone for a moment, gazing out at the lush green slope of the property, Beberly Hills sprawled below in gleaming sunlight. His reflection in the glass looked back at him—polished, calm, dangerous.

’Welcome to your new home, Lux,’ he thought. ’Let’s see how profitable you can be.’

The reflection of the hills shimmered against the wide glass windows.

The mansion stretched around him—sunlight caught in marble veins, a chandelier overhead scattering light like loose diamonds.

Everything screamed wealth, but Lux knew better. Wealth wasn’t just about property or pretty chandeliers. It was liquidity. Control. Leverage.

And right now? The staff of this house were liabilities he hadn’t vetted.

Lux slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a crisp hundred-dollar bill. Mortal money. Nothing big—barely a scratch on his morning coffee budget. But his lips curved as he whispered, ”Money Multiply.”

The note shimmered, blooming like ink across its surface before it burst into a stack.

[$100 -> $100,000]

The bills toppled in a satisfying cascade onto the low glass table in the center of the room. The smell of fresh ink and paper filled the air, sharp and clean, a mortal perfume of power.

He rolled his shoulders back, and said, ”More.”

[$100,000 -> $10,000,000]

The air cracked with energy, and suddenly the table bowed under the weight of cash. Neat stacks, bound and flawless, a mountain of mortal green.

Lux ran a hand over the nearest bundle, tapping it like he was checking the firmness of fruit at a market.

”That should be enough to pay them all,” he murmured.

It wasn’t even thirty minutes before the staff arrived. He’d said half an hour, but greed and curiosity were faster than clocks. They trickled in, one by one, eyes darting not at him but at the money piled in plain view.

Lux counted six total.

A butler with a posture so stiff it could have been carved.

A housekeeper clutching her apron.

A gardener who still smelled faintly of soil and rosemary.

A security guard, broad-shouldered, his uniform freshly pressed but his eyes flicking nervously between Lux and the pile of cash on the table.

A chef with flour still dusting his sleeve.

And finally, a younger maid, trying hard not to stare too openly at the incubus in a tailored suit standing like the lord of the manor.

Not much. Manageable.

They lined up, waiting, tense. Lux gave them a long look before speaking, voice smooth, detached.

”Tell me how much your salary is. With the bonus. One by one.”

The room went silent, the only sound the faint hum of the AC and the soft rustle of someone’s nervous shifting. Finally, the butler stepped forward, clearing his throat.

”Sir, my base salary is seventy-five thousand a year. With bonuses... perhaps closer to ninety.”

Lux nodded once, already slotting numbers into place in his head.

The chef spoke next, hesitantly. ”Sixty-five, sir. With bonus and overtime, closer to eighty.”

The housekeeper wrung her hands. ”Forty-five, sir. Fifty-five with bonus.”

The gardener scratched the back of his neck. ”Thirty-two, sir. Thirty-eight with bonus, if we count seasonal work.”

The security guard straightened, his tone firm but betraying a hint of defensiveness. ”Fifty-five base, sir. With overtime and hazard pay, closer to seventy.”

Lux’s eyes flicked to him, amused. ’Hazard pay. In Beberly Hills. Cute.’

Finally, the maid blushed, voice small. ”Thirty, sir. Without bonus. Thirty-five with it.”

Lux listened without interruption, his expression calm, almost bored, but inside his mind ticked like a calculator. ’Total annual payroll? Around four hundred thousand. Over five years with bonuses? Two million, maybe a little more. Petty cash. Peanuts.’

When the last voice fell silent, Lux let the pause stretch. Then, slowly, he smiled.

”Thank you,” he said, smooth as glass. ”You’re fired.”

The words landed like stones dropped into still water. Shock rippled across the room. Mouths fell open. The maid gasped outright.

The butler stiffened, face paling. ”F-fired, sir? Forgive me, but surely—”

Lux lifted a hand, silencing him. His smirk deepened.

”Don’t misunderstand. This isn’t punishment. I’ll write each of you a recommendation letter. And...” He gestured lazily toward the mountain of cash on the table. ”I’ll pay you five years’ salary. Upfront. Plus bonuses.”

The silence that followed wasn’t shocked—it was stunned.

The chef’s eyes bulged. The gardeners exchanged looks like children told Santa Claus was real. The maid’s hand flew to her mouth.

The butler managed to stammer, ”Five? You mean—five years, sir?”

”Yes. I said it five years, not months,” Lux leaned back against the edge of the table, crossing his arms with the casual confidence of a man who could crush empires between meetings.

”That’s why I brought the money here. Not because you’re bad at your jobs—you’ve kept this place running well enough. But I have my own staff. People I trust. People who understand... my world. You deserve to be compensated for your time, but your time here is finished.”