Chapter 309 – Sinners Welco
Lux stepped out of the elevator with all the casual confidence of a demon prince who had just emotionally sabotaged three goddesses and finished a glass of milk like it was vintage wine.
The transition was smooth—no flash of light, no trumpet of judgnt, no dramatic explosion of feathers and fire. Just a soft ding, and the doors opened like they always did.
Only—
Lux blinked.
The sll hit first.
Not incense. Not divine lotus oil.
Nope.
It was stale tequila. Bleach. And regret.
He stared.
No stained-glass windows. No holy statues. No floating priestesses singing ethereal hymns of mortal redemption.
Nope.
Just—
"Hot... Pussy?" Lux read aloud.
He stared up at the still-dark neon sign, flickering weakly in the daylight. The club was clearly closed, but even in its off-hours, the aura it gave off was very much sinners welco.
He stepped out fully, the soles of his white dress shoes clicking softly against the sticky sidewalk.
The sky was still bright. Midday sun glaring down like the heavens themselves were mocking him.
He looked left.
Then right.
An alley. A dumpster. A poorly drawn mural of a succubus with anatomically questionable wings.
Lux just stood there.
"This... is where they dropped ? I thought they’d throw into a temple," Lux muttered. "Or a cathedral. Or like... a mountaintop shrine guarded by doves."
He glanced at the door behind him—half-sared with lipstick prints and what he hoped was glitter. The windows were dark, the bouncer booth empty. A sad flyer hung from the door handle, curling at the corners.
"LADIES NIGHT: THROWDOWN THURSDAY," it read in bold pink font.
Below it, in hand-scrawled marker: "CLOSED FOR CLEANING. AGAIN."
Lux sighed.
Then chuckled. "But... I guess I get it."
His smirk curled like smoke. "Guess the goddesses caught feelings, and I scrambled their thoughts so bad they dropped here instead of a temple."
He rolled his neck, the muscles shifting under the crisp white fabric of his suit.
Yeah. He had flirted. Shalessly. Honestly. Confusingly.
And judging by the stunned faces he left behind?
Yeah, he definitely broke sothing upstairs.
"Three goddesses, one devil. And they say I’m the problem."
He stepped away from the club entrance, adjusting his cuffs, and considered walking the rest of the way.
Then grimaced.
"Nope. I’m not walking through downtown in this suit—people will think I’m about to start preaching."
He lifted a hand, letting his fingers swirl lightly through the air. The tips glowed faint gold—Greed-tinged runes weaving into shape like lazy coins lting in motion.
"Portal," he said casually.
[You have opened a portal.]
[Destination: Vaelthorn Mansion, Living Room.]
The air shimred in front of him, bending like heat over asphalt. A soft ring of infernal symbols rotated outward, forming a rippling doorway frad in black-gold.
Lux stepped through—
And landed smoothly onto polished obsidian tiles.
His mansion.
Spacious. Gleaming. Just warm enough to feel expensive. Cool enough to feel untouchable.
Gold filigree etched the walls. The faint scent of bergamot, cedarwood, and sinfully expensive leather lingered in the air.
He exhaled, relaxing into it.
"Ho sweet hedge fund," he murmured.
Then called out, "Sira... I’m ho."
Silence.
No sharp heels clicking from the stairs. No sultry ’You’re late, darling.’
Not even a lazy sigh from the upper hallways.
Huh.
Lux blinked again. "Lyra?"
Still nothing.
Then, after a few seconds, the sound of light footsteps.
Three servants—uniford in tailored black and crimson—approached from the hallway, bows crisp, eyes politely lowered.
"Welco ho, Lord Vaelthorn," one of them said. "Lady Sira and Miss Lyra have gone shopping."
Lux exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Of course they did."
The servant continued, voice calm. "They left like half an hour ago with a hellforged chariot," the servant said calmly. "Estimated return... unknown. But Lady Sira did transform it into a car before departure."
He grimaced. "Please don’t say that like it’s normal."
"Understood, sir."
Lux looked around the quiet room.
No chaos. No scandal. No moaning. No velvet ropes tied to the chandelier.
Weirdly peaceful.
The sa servant bowed. "Your lunch is ready. Shall we serve your al in the terrace lounge, sir?"
"Yes," Lux said imdiately. "And herbal tea. Strong. Preferably sothing that can seduce my bloodstream."
"Of course, sir."
They vanished like well-paid ghosts.
He sank onto the plush, dark gray couch, the cushions conforming to his fra like the furniture recognized its owner.
The silence that followed was... too calm.
No Rava.
No Naomi.
No Sira.
Just stillness.
It was the kind of silence that made Lux uncomfortable in the worst way.
It made him feel...
Lonely.
Which was stupid. He’d just emotionally destabilized Heaven. He’d flirted with goddesses. He’d conquered a pride daughter. He was planning a housewarming party.
He had power.
He had money.
He had a mansion that could double as a diplomatic fortress.
But right now?
He felt weirdly cold.
Disconnected.
He rubbed his chest. "What the hell is wrong with ?"
The air around him was warm, comfortable, even scented with slow-roasted beef and a hint of truffle oil from the kitchen—but inside?
It felt like static.
That low, aimless hum of emptiness that ca when his brain wasn’t sprinting across ten problems at once.
He leaned back against the couch, legs splayed out, one ankle resting lazily on the opposite knee. His white suit, still perfect, sohow looked too clean for the mont. Too formal for soone sitting in stillness.
It hit him.
Oh.
This feeling?
This restlessness?
This weird buzz under his skin like sothing was off?
It was boredom.
Not the fun kind. Not the flirty kind. Not the "let’s tease a goddess and see what happens" kind.
No, this was the kind of boredom that sat like a ghost on his chest.
"I’m doing nothing," he murmured. "That’s the problem."
Lux let his head fall back, eyes staring up at the skylight.
Because yeah.
He knew this feeling.
This wasn’t new.
It was the sa feeling he got when he tried "self-care" and ended up reorganizing every contract archive in the seventh circle.
He wasn’t just restless.
He was... unused to rest.
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