Chapter 191 – The Devil in a Tailored Suit
She looked from the TV—still looping the Fiera Ninevyn fashion show replay—back to the man himself.
The devil in a tailored suit.
Legs crossed, eyes calm, back leaned casually into the velvet booth as if he was the main character of every stock market scandal and forbidden romance ever written. A soft breeze from the air conditioning fluttered the tips of his collar. The sunlight hit his jawline just right, catching the slight gleam of his cufflinks and that devil-may-care glow he wore like cologne.
He didn’t look at them.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t acknowledge.
Just... sipped his tea and watched the city outside like he owned it.
Even the way he held the cup was rude. Like elegance had personally enrolled him in finishing school just to be humiliated.
Serelina swallowed, hard.
The resemblance wasn’t just close. It was him. The sa man who turned a fashion show into a slow-motion sin. Who hugged Fiera like she was both an accessory and a prize. The man whose face now lived in every desperate influencer’s folder under do not compete.
"So," Serelina said slowly, voice syrup-thick and gleaming with false innocence. "He’s rich, right?"
The friend, Roselle, nodded vaguely. "Should be. I an, Fiera doesn’t date normal people. That whole suit was custom, and did you see the fabric? That was couture hand-stitched by artisans."
Serelina narrowed her eyes. "But he hasn’t been spotted before. No appearances at fundraisers. No runway credits. Not even tagged in those celebrity mingles."
She flipped open her phone and began scrolling, searching.
Nothing.
No full na. No tags. No background. Just a few grainy uploads from the fashion show and so thirsty forum threads trying to figure out his identity. Most speculated he was Fiera’s private guard or cursed sugar baby.
But Serelina?
She was smarter than that.
"Maybe he’s new money," she murmured. "Or hiding his na. So rich scion playing incognito."
She turned to her friend, lowering her voice. "Fiera never had a male model before, right?"
The girl shrugged. "Never. She’s known for her all-female designs. Like, militant about it. Said she doesn’t ’trust the silhouette of n’ or whatever."
She paused. "But this guy? She designed a whole set just for him."
Serelina sat back. The math clicked.
"So he’s not just so model."
"Nope."
"He’s Fiera’s new boyfriend."
Her friend blinked. "That’s a leap."
Serelina waved it off. "Don’t care. Close enough. He’s hot, loaded, mysterious—and clearly likes attention."
"Or hates it," the friend said, eyes flicking back to Lux, who was now flipping through a leather-bound finance magazine like he hadn’t just broken the internet.
Serelina’s gaze sharpened. "Either way. I want him."
"Subtle."
She tapped her glossy nail against the glass. "If he’s already taken, I’ll just... remind him he’s in public. With witnesses. I could always imply sothing to Fiera. A little misunderstanding. If he doesn’t want to talk, I’ll make sure she knows he’s chatting up random girls behind her back."
Her friend tilted her head. "That other woman he talked to earlier... she didn’t look like a date."
"Exactly." Serelina smiled. "Could’ve been a business eting. Or a sister. That ans he’s not fully locked in. But enough to make her as an excuse."
She sipped her overpriced lychee soda, eyes gleaming. "We just need to approach right. I’ll play sweet, a little desperate. You back up. If he resists, we gently imply Fiera might not like—"
But Serelina didn’t get to finish.
Because what she didn’t know?
Lux had heard every. damn. word.
He wasn’t eavesdropping. He didn’t need to.
The mont their conversation passed the threshold of petty manipulation, his system perked up like a bloodhound.
[Subject: Serelina Maren.]
[Behavioral Forecast: 67% probability of public scene. 89% probability of manipulation attempt.]
"Of course you do," Lux murmured under his breath.
[Audio Sync Established.]
[Monitoring: Complete. Discretion Mode – Engaged.]
He didn’t look at them. Didn’t flinch.
He just kept sipping his tea.
Because yeah... he liked pretty girls. Soft lips, sharp minds, power in stilettos.
But this?
This desperate clout-chasing energy wrapped in pastel perfu and entitlent?
It reeked.
Cunning girls were fun if they had vision. Taste. Strategy.
But using Fiera’s na as a bargaining chip?
That was where Lux drew the line.
Because if they wanted to play?
He’d play.
And turn it into their most expensive lesson.
Slowly, deliberately, he set his cup down.
Then tilted his head.
And smiled.
The friend choked on her drink.
"Is he looking at us?!"
Serelina perked. Her confidence rushed back in like a broken dam. "He noticed."
Yeah, Lux noticed.
He even stood up.
Every eye in the café shifted as he did.
A magnetic hum rippled across the room. The sound of chairs stopping. Conversations quieting. Even the chandelier above seed to dim slightly, as if surrendering the spotlight.
He didn’t walk.
He glided.
Two steps. Three.
Every woman in the room glanced up. A few actually gasped softly.
Even the waitress tripped on her pen when he passed.
His cologne trailed behind him like sin dressed in designer leather and citrus. His eyes glead just faintly—Hellfire dipped in gold, touched with black undertones no mortal could na but every soul recognized.
He stopped at Serelina’s table.
Smiled.
"Ladies," he said. Smooth. Cold. Wicked.
They blinked like he’d just descended from the stock market version of Olympus.
Serelina managed to recover first.
"Oh—hi. We were just talking about you."
"I know," Lux said with a polite tilt of his head. "Quite a bit of ambition for a Thursday morning."
She flushed but didn’t back down. "You must get that a lot."
"Less than I’d like. More than I tolerate."
He smiled again, sharp this ti. "Would you like to sit at my table?"
Her eyes lit up.
"Yes, I—"
"With your lawyer."
That silenced her.
"I believe," Lux continued, voice smooth as silk and twice as cruel, "you were about to threaten with rumors?"
Serelina’s expression froze.
Her friend blinked, then turned to her. "Wait, you were serious?!"
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