Chapter 317 – Cold
She reached for her lipstick again, checking her reflection. Perfect.
A voice crackled from the intercom as they stopped in front of the gate.
"Who is this?"
The driver stepped out and bowed slightly toward the speaker. "Miss Ninevyn. She’s here for Mr. Vaelthorn’s invitation."
There was a beat of silence.
Then—
-Click!
The gates parted without further comntary.
They were in.
The car crept up the smooth stone driveway, past a sculpture garden and an actual koi fountain that was either extrely enchanted or had the most emotionally stable fish she’d ever seen.
The mansion ca into view—tall, modern, absurdly elegant.
She stepped out of the car and the night kissed her skin with the soft, perfud breeze of rich gardens and even richer spells.
Lights glowed behind the tall windows. Shadows moved. Voices. Laughter. A party—but not the loud, chaotic kind.
This was private. Controlled. Dangerous.
Just like him.
Aelitha clutched the sleek gift box in her hand, tied with gold ribbon. Inside? Her masterpiece. The new season’s first prototype. Worth more than a few hearts—and perhaps one CFO’s loyalty.
As the door opened, she prepared her best soft smile.
Play it smooth. Not desperate. Coy, not thirsty.
And then he appeared.
Lux Vaelthorn.
Casual black shirt. Crisp white cuffs. Open collar. A hint of cologne—dark, sinful, and expensive enough to bankrupt an influencer.
He stepped into view like a god descending from a quarterly report—every movent fluid, every blink calculated, every smile sharpened like a tax audit. His aura didn’t just enter the room—it acquired it. The porch lights dimd like they were adjusting to his net worth.
Aelitha’s breath hitched. For a mont—just a mont—her fox senses short-circuited. Her tail fluffed. Her pupils dilated. Her brain tried to process the sheer ROI of the man in front of her.
"Mr. Vaelthorn," she purred, stepping out of the car like a red-carpet diva with too much ambition and not enough sha. "Good evening~"
But Lux didn’t speak.
Not imdiately.
He stood there, eyes locked on her, perfectly still.
Expression unreadable.
Posture neutral.
Mind? Racing.
Why her.
Of all the people Fiera could’ve sent. Of all the designers in the realm. Of all the walking lawsuits in fox-shaped dresses.
Fiera sent her.
Aelitha Ninevyn.
Lux recognized her scent the mont the car pulled up. Citrus and expensive desperation.
He rembered their first eting. The hotel. The fake complints. The predatory grin. The mont she realized he was the jackpot—and he promptly shut the elevator door in her face.
Back then, she saw him as leverage.
Now?
Sa damn play. Just dressed better.
Still, Lux being Lux—
He smiled.
That warm, courteous, perfectly-executed "I’m about to eat you alive in a fiscal rger" smile.
"Miss Ninevyn," he said smoothly. "Good evening."
Aelitha tilted her head, all charming innocence. "Fiera sends her regards. She asked to welco you on her behalf."
Liar.
Lux didn’t let it show.
"I see," he replied, voice calm and clean as polished obsidian.
"I brought a gift," she added, holding out a sleek box wrapped in navy silk. "A suit. Fiera hopes you’ll wear it."
Lux took it.
His fingers brushed the box.
Tailored. Handmade. High-quality fabric. But it didn’t feel like Fiera’s.
Still, he smiled.
"How thoughtful," he said. "Please, co in."
She walked forward—and with one smooth movent—linked her arm with his.
Lux stopped.
Dead in his tracks.
A subtle shift in his posture, like a shark flicking its fin.
"You aren’t my girlfriend, Miss Ninevyn."
His voice dropped slightly. Just a degree. Enough to remind a fox where the forest ends and the cliff begins.
"Let go."
Aelitha giggled. "Why not? Don’t be a party-pooper, Mr. Vaelthorn. You’re too handso to look so serious."
His smile didn’t fade.
But it didn’t reach his eyes either.
"I’m very serious when it cos to asset managent," Lux said softly. "And physical proximity—without a signed contract—counts as a risk. You don’t want to be marked as a hostile acquisition, do you?"
Aelitha blinked, feigning confusion. "You make it sound so... cold."
"It’s not cold," Lux replied. "It’s just liquidity protection."
She let go—reluctantly.
They walked. Slowly. Through the marble entrance, past glowing rune-lamps and polished obsidian tiles. Her heels clicked like an attempt to echo relevance.
Lux didn’t rush.
He let her feel the silence.
Let her hear her own heartbeat against the echo of his mansion.
The air inside was cool. Fragrant.
A blend of sandalwood, chilled bloodwine, and sothing faintly demonic—an undernote of sulfur-kissed cinnamon.
And still...
He didn’t confront her.
Not yet.
Let her perform.
She took her steps lightly, hips swaying, tail swishing like a stock ticker on caffeine. "You’ve renovated," she said, glancing around with a practiced air of interest. "Wasn’t this Carson’s old place?"
"It was," Lux said.
He didn’t elaborate.
"Quite the flip," she murmured. "I always knew you had taste."
"Not enough to wear pink snakeskin heels, apparently," Lux replied smoothly, nodding toward her very... brave choice in footwear.
She didn’t falter. Just laughed. "Fashion is about risk."
"So is walking into a lion’s den with an unverified contract," he countered.
Aelitha tilted her head. "Are you always this sharp, Mr. Vaelthorn?"
"Only when I detect fraudulent investnts."
She paused. Just slightly.
Eyes narrowing before the charm returned. "That’s not fair. I’m here to celebrate you. Fiera’s design did well, didn’t it?"
"It did," Lux said.
Then added, "Because I wore it."
Ouch.
He motioned for a servant. "Please take Miss Ninevyn’s gift to the side room. I’ll examine it later. For enchantnts."
She blinked. "I—sorry?"
Lux turned back to her, smiling kindly. "Standard protocol. Threats, surveillance, and designer curses are quite common these days."
Aelitha stared at him. "Designer... curses?"
"I’m kidding," he said.
He wasn’t.
She took a breath. Steeled herself.
Ti to switch gears.
Flirtation Level 2: Physical Tease.
She stepped forward, brushing imaginary dust from his collar. "You’re tense tonight. Let help loosen that up."
Lux raised a brow. "You’re offering financial advice now?"
"No. But I’m very good with my hands," she whispered, letting her fingertips linger. "Let prove I’m worth more than you think."
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