Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

Chapter 271 – Packed

The poolside restaurant sprawled out in a sun-drenched terrace overlooking the city, umbrellas casting dappled shade across gleaming tables. It smelled like seared tuna, charred steak fat, mango sorbet, and sunscreen with too much coconut in it. The chatter was light, lazy—until they stepped in.

Then silence.

Well, not silence exactly. But a shift. Heads turned. Eyes followed. Laughter dipped just enough to feel like a market crash before it picked up again—sharper, thinner, threaded with whispers.

Ely’s gut twisted.

Of course. Of course.

It was packed. Women everywhere. Mostly housewives, lounging like cats in expensive bikinis, the type who treated their diamonds like pool toys. A few recognizable celebrities, faces made for magazines, tossing their hair like they were perpetually on camera. And the rest? Models, influencers, or maybe someone’s affair imported straight from a weekday lunch break.

And Ely could guess why.

Because women like this always had their networks. Their group chats labeled ”Book Club” or ”Pilates Crew” that had nothing to do with books or Pilates. And in those chats? News traveled faster than stock tips.

Lux Vaelthorn, half-naked CFO-from-hell-lookalike, had just swum laps at Echelon Apex’s rooftop pool.

Within thirty minutes, the terrace had filled with thirsty voyeurs in sunglasses.

And now? All eyes locked on them.

Or rather—locked on him.

More specifically? Below him.

Ely cursed herself. ’That damned trunk. Why didn’t I listen to him?’

Her face went hot as she fumbled for a solution. She shoved her towel into his hands. ”Wear it.”

Lux raised an eyebrow, amused. ”Thanks.”

He threw it over his shoulders. Like a cape. Like some majestic robe of water-stained cotton.

The crowd noticed.

Ely pinched the bridge of her nose. ”I mean below. Cover your—at least make it less obvious.”

His smirk was pure sin. ”Believe me, Ely, it won’t help.”

”Just—do it!” she hissed.

He chuckled, but relented, wrapping the towel around his waist. It did help. A little. Though now he looked like he had nothing underneath. Which, in some ways, was worse.

Gods above and below. This was a reputational nightmare.

She turned to the nearest staff member, her voice steady despite the chaos in her pulse. ”I need robes. Two. One for me, one for him.”

The young attendant nodded eagerly and bolted, relief in every step like he’d just been handed a side quest to save the world.

Ely exhaled and walked on, side by side with Lux. His aura was magnetic, drawing eyes even when he wasn’t trying. And he knew it. Oh, he knew.

The waiter approached them quickly, smiling too wide. ”Welcome, sir, miss. May I take your order?”

Lux slid into his chair like he owned the place, towel still draped with infuriating confidence. He didn’t even glance at the menu. ”Protein,” he said simply. ”Steak. Medium rare. Eggs. Any form. Salmon, grilled. Extra greens.”

The waiter scribbled furiously.

”And coffee—” Lux started, then stopped. His lips pressed together. His eyes flicked to Ely.

Her brows arched.

”...Wait,” Lux said, sighing. ”Not coffee. Tea. Bitter. Herbal. But tea.”

Ely blinked. Then laughed softly, shaking her head. ”Oh, you really are trying to lower your intake.”

”Discipline,” Lux said, as though he’d just made a multi-billion credit decision.

”Or desperation,” she muttered, handing her own order to the waiter—some light fish and fruit, something clean.

When the server left, Ely leaned back, watching Lux. His wet hair clung to his temples, the line of his throat catching sunlight, his lips curved in that lazy, infuriating smile. The towel wasn’t helping—because he wore it like fashion. Not coverage. Not modesty. Just another asset in his arsenal.

”So... is that what you usually eat? Protein? Steak, salmon, eggs—all of that?”

Lux chuckled, shaking his head. ”Not really. Normally I stick to my meal plan from the office. Balanced nutrition. Calculated macros. Enough to keep me running like a well-oiled machine.”

She arched a brow. ”Of course you do. Efficiency on a plate.”

He smirked faintly. ”With some... coffee. Always coffee.” He paused, softer now. ”But sometimes, when I’m working late—three in the morning, usually—I’ll eat instant noodles.”

Her lips parted, a small laugh escaping. ”Instant noodles? You?”

Lux leaned back, unbothered. ”No judging. They’re good. Especially when something breaks my heart.”

Her smile faltered, her chest tightening at the quiet honesty under his words. He wasn’t joking. Not really.

For a heartbeat, she almost forgot who he was—the smirking menace in the pool, the man who could bankrupt a city with a grin. In that moment, he looked more like someone quietly carrying too much weight, covering the cracks with charm because that was easier than letting anyone see the break.

She diverted her gaze to calm her heart and realized the women around them were still watching. Whispers still rising.

Her protective instincts were screaming again, because if she left him alone for five seconds, he’d probably be swarmed by a league of divorcees with prenups and plastic surgeons on speed dial.

Lux leaned forward suddenly, voice low, eyes sharp. ”You realize you’re glaring at every woman here like they’re trying to poach your investment.”

Her face went hot. ”I am not.”

”You are,” he murmured, gaze glinting. ”And I like it.”

Her stomach dropped. ”Lux—”

But then the waiter returned with drinks, saving her—for now.

Two tall glasses. His tea steaming, bitter and sharp-smelling. Her fruit water chilled, citrus clinging to the rim.

Lux lifted his tea, sipped, and grimaced. ”Still tastes like boiled grass.”

Ely smirked, relief cracking through her tension. ”Good. Maybe it’ll keep you alive longer.”

Lux chuckled, setting the cup down. ”Alive, yes. Awake? Jury’s still out.”

He leaned back in his chair, gaze flicking over the terrace like he was appraising it for purchase. And help her, Ely knew that look—half enjoyment, half conquest.

And then, just for a moment, that tired softness flickered again. The one that made her chest ache. The one that whispered he was more than the smirk, more than the body, more than the CFO armor.