Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

Chapter 597 – The CFO of Hell Has Fallen

”The CFO of Hell has fallen!”

The headline flashed across a dozen Hell tier market boards, stitched in blood red type across obsidian glass screens that hovered midair in the Infernal capital. The letters bled into themselves, glitching slightly, as if even the fonts were unsure about the truth of the matter. No official seal. No source cited. No confirmation from the Prime Nexus. But still...

The rumor had detonated like a cursed bomb.

In Hell’s Central Finance Department, no one said it out loud anymore. But it was there. In the way everyone sipped their coffee too fast. In the dark circles that had sunk deeper than usual under the analysts’ eyes. In the shakier signature lines, the late filings, the nervous scrolls through investor reports.

”Just another day,” said one demon with two fountain pens clipped to his horns. ”Just another day of soul inventory backlog, and processing late contracts, and—”

”—and no goddamn Lux Vaelthorn,” hissed the succubus at the next desk, slamming her ledger shut. ”He’s always the one who fixes these crashes. He’d already have the algorithm patched and the board screaming about bonuses.”

The lights above flickered.

”Maybe he’s just busy,” muttered a junior devildesk imp in the corner. ”I mean, he’s the CFO. He’s not exactly a blogger.”

”He’s never gone this long without a statement,” another cut in. ”A whole week. No updates. No memos. Not even a sarcastic quote sent by crow.”

”Not even a system ping,” whispered a satyr accountant, who hadn’t looked up from her tenth cup of black infernal espresso.

”That’s what’s weird,” muttered the ink clerk three desks over, tail twitching nervously as he reviewed soul bond amortization schedules. ”He always pings. Even when he’s busy, he still sends memos.”

A silence followed. Everyone quietly remembered the ”Overtime Is A Kink” policy update from last quarter and grimaced.

Then a rough snort came from the back, where a horned veteran auditor leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head like he didn’t give a single damn.

”He’s on vacation,” the old demon said, rolling his eyes. ”That’s it. What did you expect? Probably tied to a silk headboard somewhere, letting his harem drain his mana in ways the tax code can’t cover. You think a little silence means he’s dead? Cowards. Rumor-mongering worms. He probably turned off his notifications on purpose so he wouldn’t have to deal with nervous idiots biting nails every time the market hiccups.”

”But the market is crashing,” someone pointed out.

The auditor shrugged. ”Then maybe it deserves to. A few decimal points dip and everyone loses their minds. Lord Lux doesn’t babysit. He owns the playground.”

Another demon huffed, clearly not convinced. ”Still. He could’ve said something. Instead it’s all silence. Feels cursed.” 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ

”Feels dramatic,” the older demon snapped. ”Like always. If Lux wanted you to know something, you’d know. If you don’t, then stay in your lane. The man’s a demon prince, not your assistant.”

”And if he really is gone?”

The room fell quiet again.

The fear didn’t vanish.

Because all the demons could feel it... a week ago. They felt someone... who held a strong Greed power had fallen. Died...

The economic fear index floated midair in the center of the room, an angry red bar chart pulsing like a migraine. Negative fluctuations. Liquidity dives. Projected losses that dripped digital blood onto the central floor sigil.

The market was bearish. And not the sexy kind. The terrified kind.

”Look,” a pale-skinned demon with gold-chain piercings hissed, scrolling through an ether-feed. ”They’re reporting it in the Celestial economy channels too. Like... actual angels. Even they don’t know what’s happening.”

”And Lord Zavros?” someone asked quietly.

Silence.

Everyone turned to look toward the gold-etched door at the far end of the department.

Lord Zavros of Greed. Demon Lord. Keeper of the Ledger of Infinity.

He was still working.

Still dictating revisions, reviewing infernal equity requests, recalculating vault percentages. Still sipping his coffee black, his eyes rimmed with exhaustion but sharp. Busy. But not mourning. Not even tense.

”Does he know?” the junior imp whispered. ”Or... is he pretending nothing happened?”

No one answered.

Because that was the problem.

If Zavros knew Lux was fine, why wouldn’t he say anything?

If Zavros knew Lux was dead... why wasn’t the world burning yet?

”I heard he and Lux didn’t get along,” someone whispered. ”That’s why he hasn’t made a statement. Doesn’t care.”

”You try raising a sinborn mix of Lust and Greed and tell me how much you say in public.”

But beneath all the buzz, all the half-truths and market speculations, the fear still grew. Investors began pulling from projects tied to Lux. Infernal startups were frozen. Vault transactions slowed. Trade between realms stuttered like a dying heartbeat.

And for every supporter who believed the silence was a strategic move...

There were haters.

”I knew he’d break,” muttered one power trader at a smoke lounge, stroking her tail like a pet snake. ”All that obsession with ’interrealm diplomacy’ crap. This is what happens when you try to mix profit and pillow talk.”

”Good riddance,” another demon muttered over his drink. ”Maybe now the board’ll stop giving him special treatment.”

”He should’ve died ages ago,” one jealous voice whispered. ”Tch. Greed wasn’t meant to wear lace gloves.”

But their voices stayed behind closed doors. No one dared speak openly, not while Zavros still worked. Not while Lux’s accounts were still online. Not while there was even a chance that he’d return.

Because that was the thing about Lux.

He always returned.

Up above, in the high reaches of the Celestial Realm, the tension rippled through the silver clouds like cracked glass under velvet.

Celestaria sat at the long table of the Seven Accord Representatives, her spine straight, her robes immaculate, her hands clasped tightly enough to leave bruises in her palms. Her hair glowed faintly, but her face... was pale.

”The rumors are unconfirmed,” she said again. ”I have sent inquiries through every formal channel.”

Solara, seated beside her in a sun-blessed shift of glowing thread, frowned. ”It’s not just Hell. Our interrealm trade windows flickered twice yesterday. Twice.”

”The markets delayed their rebalance for the first time in centuries,” Selena murmured, her voice quiet like moonlight dripping on cold marble. ”This isn’t coincidence.”

”He’s not dead,” Celestaria snapped, standing. ”I would know.”