Chapter 473 – You Have a Fan Club Here?
He chuckled under his breath.
"You’re an," Lullaby said from her chair, nose half-buried in a croissant the size of her face. "I love it."
Sira sighed and leaned back in her chair. Her silky robe slid open slightly at the thigh—not by accident. "So," she asked lazily, swirling her juice like it was blood in a wineglass, "what’s the plan today?"
Lux tilted his head. "Technically? Nothing."
Sira quirked an eyebrow.
"I an," he added, "the court summons, the bounty fallout, the housewarming panic—it’s all later. We’ve got a full morning of nothing. So... spa?"
"Spa?" Lullaby blinked slowly. "Like... soone touching ?"
"Exactly," Lux said. "I’m thinking Ely’s place. She does the whole wellness thing. It’s kinda nice. The place is filled with MILFs."
Sira narrowed her eyes. "You want to f*ck one?"
Lux didn’t answer at first.
He leaned back. His eyes went distant for a mont, then refocused—calm, calculating, a little too honest for comfort.
"I want one," he said, "who doesn’t see as a sugar baby. Or a weapon. Or a way into Hell’s economy."
He gave a small shrug. "You know , Sira. I have a bad history of obeying things."
Sira stared at him. Her jaw clenched slightly, but not out of anger.
Sothing softer.
"I know," she said. "Too well."
Lullaby raised a hand like a sleepy student. "So... spa?"
"Spa," Lux confird. "Naomi has work to do. Mira’s probably counting her stocks or dressing like an empress. Rava’s in a conference with those sea lords. It’s just us."
Sira raised an eyebrow. "Us?"
Lux smiled. "You, ... and demon bunny."
Lullaby blinked. "Don’t call that."
They stood.
Lux was still half-seated in his chair, fingers curled around his coffee mug, when the sound of rapid footsteps broke through the velvet hush of the morning. The polished blackwood doors swung open with a soft groan, and in ca Fenrir—his sharp suit slightly rumpled, blond hair windswept, breathing like he’d just outrun a deadline.
"Lord Lux," Fenrir said, bowing with professional urgency. "Apologies. This just arrived. I thought you’d want to see it right away."
Lux raised an eyebrow, sipping calmly. "From who?"
Fenrir stepped closer and handed him a sleek black envelope sealed with gold foil. "Addressed to Lady Sira," he clarified. "Delivered through mortal courier. Arrived at the front gate ten minutes ago. I screened it. No curses, no soul traps, no celestial tracking marks. Clean. Just... weird."
"Interesting," Lux murmured, turning the envelope over. The seal shimred slightly under the dining room’s chandelier light, embossed with a swirling sigil that looked suspiciously overpriced. It had that faint, desperate glitz of mortal nouveau riche—too polished, trying too hard. He offered it to Sira without breaking eye contact. "You have a fan club here?"
Sira, who had just stretched like a jungle cat beside the breakfast spread, arched a brow as she accepted the envelope. "That’s my question too," she said slowly. "I don’t do mortals."
"You sure?" Lullaby mumbled through a croissant, powdered sugar smudging the corner of her mouth. "Not even for fun?"
Sira ignored her. She cracked the seal with a flick of her nail, the paper whispering as it unfolded in her hand.
Her eyes scanned it once. Twice.
Then her lips curled—slow and sharp, like the edge of a sin.
Lux leaned on one elbow, gaze fixed. "Delmar family. Auction event. Today. Lunch. You know them?" He was shocked.
"No," Sira said, voice light, but her pupils had narrowed. "But..."
She tilted the invitation, and Lux caught the signature scrawled at the bottom in overly confident cursive.
Jeremy Delmar.
She laughed once. Low. Amused. Dangerous.
"Oh. Oh, I know him," she purred.
Lux lifted a brow.
"He tried to flirt with once. Glossy purple. Gold chains. Too much cologne. Tried to tell he could make ’his queen’."
Lullaby winced. "Oof. That’s terminal."
"I told him," Sira said, stretching her arms lazily overhead, robe slipping further down her thigh, "that if I ever wanted to be mounted by sothing that pathetic, I’d ride a dying cal."
Lux choked on his coffee.
She shrugged. "He cried."
"Of course he did," Lullaby muttered. "He deserves to die."
"Right?" Sira laughed again, this ti louder, shaking her head as if the mory itself offended her fashion sense. "I didn’t even reply. And now he dares send this?"
She flicked the invitation again. "An auction invite. From him."
Lux reclined slightly, fingers tapping the table. "Which ans either he’s still obsessed with you—"
"—or," Sira cut in, her voice dropping just a little, "he thinks I’m weak enough now to co crawling for attention."
Her smile sharpened. "Poor thing. I’ll have to correct him."
Lullaby tilted her head, looking almost impressed. "You look like you want to kill him."
"Oh, I want it," Sira said, voice like velvet over a dagger. "I want to make his ego into a cautionary tale. I want to carve regret into the marrow of his self-esteem. I want to—"
"Okay, easy there, apex predator," Lux interrupted, amused. "You’re drooling violence."
"I’m not drooling," she snapped. "I’m sharpening."
"At least, now we know, the model of Delmar’s young master falls for, is you. That’s a nice coincidence." Lux grinned, and the air around him pulsed—just a ripple of incubus aura, like a rich cologne made of temptation and dominance. "Do we think this is a trap?"
Sira snorted. "If it is, it’s an embarrassing one. Jeremy doesn’t have that kind of power. He’s a socialite with a shipping portfolio, not a warlock."
"But the Delmars," Lux said, "They maybe know you. Us. They found this place after all. And Ariel—"
He stopped himself.
Sira’s eyes flicked to him. "What about Ariel?"
Lullaby looked up now too. Even her croissant froze.
Lux didn’t blink. "I wonder if she will be there too. With her parents. I an that auction."
Sira narrowed her gaze.
"I’m going," she said.
Lux tapped his cup. "You want company?"
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