Chapter 128 – Ride and Flirt
His phone vibrated once in his pocket. He pulled it out, thumb gliding across the screen.
Rava: No need to pick up. I’ll et you there. Already registered your na at the venue. You’re good to go. Don’t be late. Or do. I’ll look good either way.
Sharing the location now—
A soft chi followed as the map pin dropped into Lux’s chat window.
[Shared Location: Vieux Sang Auction Hall – Elite District, East Spire]
Tagline: "Where cursed luxury ets questionable ethics."
Lux snorted through his nose, amused. Of course that’s where she’d pick.
He typed back quickly.
Lux: Fine. See you there, Miss Prepared. If anyone faints when I show up, it’s your fault.
He slid the phone into his coat pocket, already ntally noting the address. Elite district. Naturally. The Vieux Sang wasn’t just an auction house—it was a flex.
A high-end cursed estate bazaar ets fashion runway, where outfits cost more than minor houses and the champagne ca pre-blessed by money spirits.
Still smirking, he made his way to the parking garage beneath the Sovereign Grand. His footsteps echoed against polished stone, the scent of high-octane luxury engines and overpriced polish thick in the air. Rows of cars lined the underground lot—sleek black sedans, low-slung exotics, glowing limos.
And then—there was his ride.
A deep black motorcycle leaned like sin in steel form. Mortal-made, of course.
He straddled the machine, rolled his neck once, and muttered, "Alright, baby. Let’s cause so minor traffic violations."
The engine purred awake under his touch, a deep throaty growl that vibrated through his legs like a prelude to chaos. He revved it once—loud enough to trigger at least one security cara alert—and kicked off from the stand with one smooth motion.
Riding through the city as Lux Vaelthorn was a performance. A rolling flirtation with asphalt and vanity.
The wind hit him imdiately—warm, slightly floral from the passing greenery, with undertones of exhaust and ambition. His coat flared behind him like a cape, flapping against his back. The perfu he wore mixed with the scent of leather and speed.
He weaved through lanes like the road owed him space.
Downtown lights shimred above him—neon signs, digital billboards, high-rise reflections flickering across the curve of his visor.
Yeah, he wore a helt.
Not because of rules—those were optional—but because it matched the look. Matte black, sleek, aerodynamically, with a tinted visor that made him look more outlaw than commuter. The kind of helt that said ’I might save your life, or ruin it first.’
The rest of him still dripped danger. Black coat flaring behind him, perfu lingering in the wind, and a presence on the bike that made people check their morality twice and still stare.
By the ti he reached the edge of the elite district, the cars around him had changed. No more basic mortal sedans. Here, it was all gold-trimd SUVs, vintage foreign imports with glow-tinted windows. Drivers in tailored suits. Passengers in designer dresses and danger-red lipstick.
And weaving through all of them—
Was him.
A helted shadow with devil’s posture and CEO confidence, slipping between lanes like sin on wheels.
Every ti he stopped at a red light, heads turned.
Lux didn’t just ride.
He posed.
One leg cocked against the bike. Elbow resting lazily on the handlebar. Wind teasing through his hair. A faint smile dancing on his lips like he was already bored of your existence.
A couple in a white stretch car rolled their window down just to stare.
The girl in the passenger seat leaned forward, biting her lip like she was about to commit a felony.
Lux raised two fingers in a lazy wave.
She blushed.
The boyfriend noticed, looked furious, and tried to speed up when the light turned green.
Lux didn’t even race him. He just looked at the guy through the mirror and let the engine growl once—soft and nacing—before pulling away like a storm that didn’t have ti for pleasantries.
Another stoplight. Another set of eyes.
This ti, two elite girls in a wine-toned coupe. One adjusted her necklace. The other outright licked her lips.
Lux winked.
She dropped her phone in her lap.
The light turned green.
He disappeared into the curve before they could recover.
"I should charge for this," he muttered under his breath. "One smirk per mortgage."
He turned the final corner into the auction block’s private entrance. The building stood like a temple for the obscenely wealthy—glass, marble, and security that probably cost more than a city block. A valet in a sleek uniform stepped forward, posture poised and ready to greet the next platinum-tier vehicle—only to stop short when he realized the sound wasn’t from a luxury car.
It was a motorcycle.
The valet blinked, a little thrown. "Uh... Sir?"
Lux coasted to a stop right in front of him, one leg easing down with a slow, confident grace. He removed his helt one-handed, a smooth slide up and off—like he’d rehearsed it for maximum impact. His hair, sohow, still perfect underneath. Face shadowed, eyes glowing faintly with that smug devilish heat that made mortals either blush or panic.
He held out the helt with one hand and the keys with the other.
"Lux Vaelthorn," he said, voice velvet and fla. "Take care of my bike."
The valet stared at him for a beat too long before snapping into action, catching the keys and the helt with both hands and a startled nod. "Y-Yes, sir!"
Lux didn’t wait.
He adjusted the hem of his jacket, turned on his heel, and strode toward the glass entrance like he was walking into a courtroom, a red carpet event, and a battlefield all at once.
Inside, everything slled like money, wine, and ancient furniture polish. The floor was pristine marble, veins of gold running through it like a flex. Crystal chandeliers. Whispered conversations. Not a hair out of place.
He stepped up to the registration desk, where a woman in a sharply cut suit looked up from her tablet.
"Na?" she asked without looking.
"Lux Vaelthorn."
Her hands paused mid-scroll.
She looked up—eyes widening just a little before she masked it with professionalism. "Ah. Yes. You’re on the list. Miss Bluewave has already checked you in. Auction Room Seven. Top floor."
"Good," Lux replied with a nod, already turning toward the elevator.
He passed a wall of abstract sculpture and glowing wall panels, catching his reflection briefly in the chro lining of the elevator doors. He smirked.
Still perfect.
Still trouble.
He stepped in.
And the doors closed behind him with a soft hiss—carrying him straight toward Rava, fine wine, heirlooms, and whatever chaos ca next.
At least, that’s what Lux thought.
He had barely taken two steps into the main atrium—just enough for the golden lighting to catch the shimr on his collarbone—when a hand grabbed his wrist.
Not just tapped.
Grabbed.
Lux turned, brows already arching with mild offense, expecting maybe so flustered staff or a lost heiress.
But what he got—
Was a girl.
"You!" she said, and her voice—smooth, sultry, not slurred at all.
"How much is your price~?"
User Comments
0 comments from readers