Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

Chapter 365 – Do I Look Like a Therapist?

Sira felt it first. The urge to lean forward and push Ariel. To test what broke her. To turn the pathetic into something predatory.

Lux felt it next. The instinct to mold her like a ledger. To flip the fragile lines of her soul and rewrite them into fire.

It was old. Ancestral.

That was how it had always been.

Until Lux made a deal with the celestial realm.

Until he decided that maybe—not everything fragile needed to be sharpened.

But still. It was hard.

Hard to look at Ariel and not want to change her.

Lux cleared his throat, refocusing. ”Uh. Quick explanation—”

He pushed his chair back just slightly, giving Ariel room to breathe.

”Sira, here is my woman.”

Sira raised her glass slightly, smirking. ”Hello, darling.”

Lux continued, deadpan. ”There are others. Also mine.”

Ariel blinked. ”Others...?”

”Two others. Naomi and Rava. Another one will probably join us tonight.”

Ariel’s fork froze midair. ”Oh.”

”And if you see me,” Lux went on, voice too calm, ”doing something—let’s say... intimate...”

Ariel’s breath hitched.

”Just ignore it,” he finished, sipping his tea.

”Intimate?” Ariel asked, uncertain.

Lux leaned in, resting both elbows on the table, his smirk sharpening.

”You’ll understand.”

His voice dipped just slightly.

”You might be a bit shocked, but please...” he lifted one finger to his lips, demanding her to be quiet.

Sira laughed behind her wine glass. ”You’re such an ass.”

”I’m honest.”

”And a little dramatic,” she added, reaching up to trace a lazy finger across Lux’s jaw. Her touch was liquid pride—possessive and languid. ”Still, you’ve always had a type.”

Lux raised a brow. ”Damaged?”

”Deliciously so,” she whispered.

And then she kissed him.

It wasn’t a polite peck this time.

It was full lips, warm breath, one hand sliding to his chest like she knew exactly how much pressure made him flinch in all the right ways. Her fingers grazed his skin—open shirt collar, pulse point, smirk still blooming under her kiss.

Lux kissed her back, calm and confident, like this was a routine business meeting and not a sin unfolding over dessert.

Ariel’s heart stuttered.

Not out of jealousy. Not yet.

It was something else.

Her face flushed hot as she looked away—embarrassed, but also confused.

Because watching them didn’t feel dirty. It felt private. Like peeking into a room you weren’t ready to understand. Like hearing a language you weren’t fluent in—but one your body wanted to learn.

Her heart beat faster.

-Thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump.

Why was she reacting like this?

It wasn’t even about the kiss.

It was about him.

Lux.

The way he smirked. The way he spoke. How he made her feel like she wasn’t invisible—but also not safe. Not really. Like being around him was a gamble with her own identity. A risk she hadn’t calculated.

She clutched her fork tighter. Her throat dry. Her stomach full, but her chest oddly hollow.

Lux pulled back from the kiss with a satisfied hum. ”Sira, not in front of the intern.”

”I’ll do worse in front of her by next week,” Sira teased.

”I don’t doubt it.”

Ariel coughed awkwardly, eyes on her plate.

Sira noticed. Of course she did.

She raised a brow and said casually, ”So, do you know how to fix her?”

Lux blinked. ”Do I look like a therapist?”

”Yes.”

”Well, I’m not. I even need therapy myself.”

”I could give you one,” Sira said smoothly, eyes gleaming.

She tilted his chin again, leaning in for another kiss—this time, slower. Less playful. More claiming. Her hand splayed over his chest, right above his heart, like she owned the beat.

Ariel’s hands curled into fists in her lap.

What was this?

This emotion slithering through her chest?

Resentment?

Longing?

Jealousy?

She didn’t even know this man yesterday. And yet here she was—hurt that his lips belonged to someone else.

She swallowed the feeling like bad wine. Let it burn down her throat.

Lux noticed. Just a flicker of a glance her way. A twitch of the brow. But he didn’t say anything.

And that, somehow, was worse.

The silence returned. Not cold—but simmering. Thick like velvet you couldn’t breathe through. The clink of silverware was the only soundtrack as Ariel picked at her food again, eyes down, cheeks still warm from emotions she didn’t have the right words for.

Then—

”I feel jealousy,” Sira said, sipping her wine like she’d just commented on the weather.

Ariel’s spine stiffened. Her heart skipped.

But Sira didn’t look at her. She kept her attention on Lux, eyes narrowing with a smirk that was equal parts mischief and warning.

Ariel shook her head, forcing herself to focus on her plate again. Bite. Chew. Swallow. Pretend her stomach wasn’t in knots.

Lux leaned back in his chair, one arm casually slung over the backrest. ”You know,” he said slowly, ”we still need a therapist.”

Ariel blinked.

”I mean,” Lux added, glancing between the two women, ”obviously.”

There was a beat of hesitation in his voice. A crack. Just a small one. But it was there.

Because deep down, Lux knew something most demons didn’t care to admit.

Mortal trauma?

Was different.

Was messy.

Wasn’t something you could slap a healing rune on and call it a day.

Demons were born in fire, sin, and madness. They didn’t process. They adapted. They either grew teeth or they died. But mortals?

Mortals had scars that didn’t show.

Sira finally looked up from her glass. ”I know someone who could help her.”

Lux raised a brow. ”Who?”

”Lullaby.”

Lux tilted his head. ”Her?”

”Yep.”

He clicked his tongue. ”Yeah. She could help. Maybe. But...” he trailed off, voice lowering. ”Her mother.”

Sira rolled her eyes dramatically and refilled her wine glass. ”Oh, please. Her mother can’t do a damn thing if I’m the one asking. You know the relationship between Pride and Sloth.”

Lux didn’t respond immediately. His lips tightened. His thoughts flickered too fast to be readable.

Sloth’s royal household was peaceful. Beautiful. Serene.

And utterly bankrupt.

Not just in wealth.

But in debt.

No sin racked up more passive IOUs than Sloth.

They owed time.

They owed favors.

They owed reactions they never gave.

And Pride?

Pride kept score.

Among royal demons, Sloth owed Pride more than anyone. Not in gold. Not in souls. But in patience. In centuries of subtle indulgences and uncollected paybacks.

So if Sira wanted something from Sloth’s house?

She’d get it.

Eventually.