Chapter 3 – I Just Wanted Coffee, Not a Chair-Leg Bride
Lux pushed open the glass doors of Sovereign Grand Hotel, letting the cold rush of luxury-grade air conditioning wash over him like divine intervention.
Soft violin music humd through hidden speakers. Polished marble floors glead beneath towering chandeliers. A sll of citrus polish, expensive perfu, and denial floated faintly in the air.
He stepped into the lobby like a man who definitely belonged there—even if his vibe currently scread "billionaire CFO who just survived tax season with mild trauma."
[Velvet Brew Located – Lobby Level, West Wing Corner]
[Specialty: Single-Origin Espresso.]
The Velvet Brew café sat near the floor-to-ceiling windows, elegant and minimalistic, all pale wood and matte-black tal. Baristas wore matching dark green aprons with golden thread embroidery. There were exactly zero people in line, and yet the nearest server still frowned when she saw him approaching.
Her eyes narrowed at Lux’s current appearance—slightly disheveled shirt, blazer open, faintly glowing red eyes, and the emotional aura of soone who just flipped off a multiverse accountant and ant it.
"Sir," she said carefully. "Are you... lost?"
Lux blinked. "What? No. I’m caffeinely deprived, not directionally challenged."
She still looked skeptical.
"I’d like a triple-shot espresso. Single-origin. The one with the nutty finish. Costa Rican, maybe Ethiopian. No sugar, no syrup, just roast. And two butter croissants. Flaky. Don’t microwave them or I’ll flip this place inside out."
The server hesitated, caught off guard by the sheer specificity.
"...That’s actually our Velvet Noir," she said.
"Perfect," Lux said with a tired smile. "Please. Before I beco a public nace."
He scanned the open lounge, then picked the best seat in the café—half-hidden, cozy corner with a perfect window view. Plush single sofa, polished oak table, dim lighting. He sat down, exhaled, and nearly lted into the cushions.
Peace.
Real peace.
For the first ti in over a century, he wasn’t reviewing soul bonds or filing infernal dividend reports.
He was in a coffee shop.
As a custor.
And no one was screaming at him. Yet.
He leaned back, eyes fluttering shut for just a second. A long, shuddering breath left his lungs.
"...I deserve this," Lux whispered.
He opened one eye, looked around at the glittering lobby and golden lighting.
"I deserve this," he whispered again, almost crying in happiness.
[Warning: 2 Emotionally Unstable Rich Girls Detected Within 10 ters.]
[Incubus Pheromones Activated.]
Lux’s peace shattered like a glass stock chart during a recession.
He cringed, hissing under his breath. "I’m on vacation, dammit."
[Exactly. You act like a spawn of Greed all the ti and forget you are an incubus too.]
"Yeah, well maybe I like money more than people. People are complicated. Money doesn’t ask you what your favorite color is after one night."
[Oh. C’mon.]
Still, he couldn’t argue.
He’d been in financial manager mode for... basically forever. He hadn’t even rembered what flirting looked like unless it involved negotiating clauses.
Lux pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
"Right... Now tell where they are."
A faint shimr appeared in his vision—two subtle red outlines glowed near the back of the lounge. One of them, a tall woman in a too-tight sequined dress, was practically hanging on the arm of a wrinkled man who looked ninety and rich enough to own a small war. Yet, her gaze was on him.
Lux narrowed his eyes.
[Subject: Clarisse Montez]
[Net Worth: $12.3 Million]
[Fortune: 68%]
[Status: "Gold Digger. Bad at Investing. Worse at Emotional Boundaries."]
[Relationship: Actively Pretending To Love Her Fiancé for His Yacht Collection]
Lux made a face like he’d just sipped cold soup.
"Absolutely not," he muttered. "Skip. Nope. Hell no. I’m the son of Greed, not a damn coupon. I don’t get used by serial yacht climbers."
[Fine. You’re picky.]
The second girl stood by herself, phone in hand, striking poses in the reflection of the café window. Long fake lashes. Glossed lips. Stiletto heels that defied gravity. She looked up, saw Lux, and gave him the kind of smile usually reserved for OnlySimps thumbnails.
[Subject: Bella "LethalBabe_xoxo" Valeria]
[Net Worth: $4.5 Million]
[Fortune: 72%]
[Status: "High-End Call Girl. OnlySimps Platinum Tier. Looking for a sugar daddy."]
Lux choked on his spit. "F—No."
[Eh? She’s rich.]
"Don’t just look at their net worth! Look at their status!" he hissed under his breath. "I’ve got entire chambers of Hell full of people like this. I manage contracts for succubi who work more than her!"
[Tsk. Snob.]
The server arrived with his tray—coffee perfectly balanced, croissants golden and flaky. The rich, nutty scent of espresso hit Lux’s senses like salvation.
"Here you go, sir," the server said.
Lux offered a genuine smile this ti. "Thank you. I might survive this tiline after all."
He took a careful sip of his Velvet Noir. Bitterness blood on his tongue, followed by dark chocolate, roasted almond, and that perfect velvety texture that only ca from beans roasted by mortals who overthink everything.
He closed his eyes, savoring it.
Yes.
Yes, this was good.
Finally....
[Warning: A Troubled Heiress Detected Within 10 ters.]
[Oh wait... 8 ters...]
[5 ters...]
Lux opened one eye. "What now—?"
Then he saw her.
She ca in fast—heels clicking on marble, face pale, eyes scanning the café like she was expecting soone to jump out from behind a plant.
She wore a red silk dress that clung to her figure like it had a personal vendetta. Her platinum hair was twisted into an elegant updo that was now falling apart. Diamond earrings. Designer heels. Fancy as hell.
But she was clearly panicked.
Eyes wide. Breathing shallow. Chest rising and falling like she’d just run from an angry paparazzi swarm.
Then her eyes locked on Lux.
And without missing a beat, she marched across the table.
Lux, mid-sip, didn’t even have ti to process.
She got to his table, yanked back the edge of the tablecloth, ducked down beneath the table—and vanished under the linen.
"Shhh!" ca her voice from below. "If anyone asks, I’m a chair leg."
Lux blinked.
Stared at his coffee.
Then slowly leaned down.
A pair of wide purple eyes stared up at him.
She was curled up, tucked neatly under the table between the wooden legs, the hem of her dress pooling around her like Cinderella had anxiety.
Lux raised a brow. "You okay down there, ’Chair Leg’?"
"Please don’t give away," she whispered, eyes frantic. "I swear I’ll pay you."
"...Is it a cri situation? Should I be concerned?"
She shook her head quickly. "No—well—kinda—but it’s more of a marriage cri. I may or may not be a runaway bride."
"...Seriously?"
She nodded.
"And you picked my table?"
"You looked like you wouldn’t snitch."
Lux blinked. "Is it because I look emotionally unstable?"
"Yes."
"...Fair."
[Subject: Naomi Delacour]
[Net Worth: $3.2 Billion]
[Fortune: 89%]
[Status: "Runaway Heiress. Daughter of a hotel mogul empire. Emotionally Fried. Accidentally Stumbled Into Pheromone Zone."]
[Compatibility Score: 92%]
[Recomnd: Keep Her.]
Lux stared into his coffee for a long mont.
Then exhaled slowly.
"Well. There goes my peaceful vacation."
Note:
CFO = Chief Financial Officer
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