Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation-Chapter 478: Same Hunger

Chapter 478 – Same Hunger

"And?" Sira said, a flicker of something sliding through her voice.

"She likes me," Lux said simply.

Sira didn’t blink. "So?"

He shrugged. "I mean. It’s a thing."

She turned toward him slightly. "Are you going to take her into your harem?"

Lux didn’t answer right away.

He tapped his fingers on the wheel, eyes still on the road ahead. The traffic cleared as the Delmar tower rose in the distance—tall, modern, too polished for its own good.

"I don’t know," he admitted. "She’s interesting. Powerful. Elegant. Ambitious. The way she talks—it’s calculated. Not fake. Like she understands the weight of words."

Sira frowned. "So... what’s the problem?"

He hesitated.

Then— 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

"She smells like me."

"...What."

"Like Greed," he said. "The way she looks at people. The way she calculates presence and cost and value—it’s familiar. Too familiar. She’s a Greed-adjacent. If I’m money, she’s legacy. If I’m power, she’s territory. Same hunger. Different diet."

Sira raised a brow. "And that’s bad?"

"I don’t know," he muttered. "I hesitate. She might mirror me too much. Might clash."

"Or challenge you," Sira offered.

"Maybe."

"Or eat you alive."

"Also maybe."

Sira leaned in, a slow smile forming on her lips. "Fine. I’ll take a look. See if she’s worth keeping."

"Appreciate it," he said smoothly, eyes still locked on the road. "Your taste is decent."

"Don’t flatter me," she warned.

"I wasn’t. I’m Greed. I compliment with interest."

She smirked.

They arrived.

The Delmar Auction House was tall, obnoxious, and trying too hard to scream prestige. Floor-to-ceiling tinted glass panels reflected the skyline like a mirror, and the entrance had that over-designed, under-souled look of new money desperation. The valet circle was already buzzing—sleek cars, liveried staff, champagne trays, and a dozen mortals who thought luxury equaled relevance.

But the moment Lux and Sira stepped out?

All heads turned.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It was total.

Sira exited first, one long leg sliding out of the car like a sin wrapped in velvet. Her heels struck the stone with the crisp rhythm of confidence. Then came Lux—adjusting his cufflinks with calm precision, emerald suit gleaming with subtle menace. He tossed the key to the valet without looking.

"Be careful," he said flatly. "The car bites."

The valet caught it. "Yes, sir!"

The crowd whispered.

They didn’t need introductions.

They were the event.

Inside, the main doors were manned by staff in black-and-silver uniforms, wearing the Delmar crest like honor. One stepped forward, tablet in hand.

"Invitation, please."

Sira extended hers without a word, her expression bored and hot enough to incinerate.

The staff scanned it. Beep. Flash green.

Then he looked at Lux.

"I’m sorry, sir. This invitation only grants entry to Miss Sira. You’re not listed."

Sira frowned.

Lux didn’t even flinch.

"He’s with me," Sira said, her tone sharp.

"Apologies," the staff said, stiffly polite. "But this is a private auction. Invitation-only. And the registry doesn’t show a +1 for you."

Sira turned her gaze to Lux.

Lux raised one brow.

He stepped forward, voice still cool.

"You sure?" he asked, tone casual. "Because Jeremy Delmar contacted me this morning. Direct message. Said I’d be expected."

The staff hesitated, checking the tab again. "I’m sorry, sir. There’s no listing under your name."

Lux extended a hand. "May I?"

The staff blinked. Then reluctantly handed over the tab.

Lux’s fingers closed around the device.

He exhaled slowly.

And whispered.

"TechnoGreed."

[System Override – Add Asset ID: Vaelthorn, Lux.]

The screen shimmered. Code twisted. The system blinked once.

Then his name appeared.

[Registered. Authorized. Priority Level: VIP Guest.]

Lux handed the tab back, his face unreadable.

"This is my name," he said softly.

The staff looked stunned. "I—I see it now. I apologize. Please... go right ahead."

Sira just smirked.

The doors opened.

And as they stepped through the entry hall—polished marble, velvet-lined security partitions, gold-lit chandeliers—every mortal inside turned to look.

No music played. No dramatic spotlight. Just silence and awareness.

The kind of hush that fell when real power entered a room full of people pretending to have it.

Sira didn’t flinch under the weight of attention.

She thrived on it. Her stride was slow and deliberate, heels cutting the floor with precise tempo.

Her slit gown shimmered like a threat, leg peeking with every step, and her arm looped through Lux’s like he was a trophy she’d won in battle.

Lux?

Lux didn’t smile.

Didn’t wave.

Didn’t need to.

His presence was a slow-moving ripple—cool, composed, refined with a razor’s edge.

A staff member in a black velvet vest rushed over, clearly briefed but slightly panicked.

"Right this way, Lady Sira. We’ll escort you to your seats immediately."

They were led down the central aisle, eyes following them like spotlights. Lux kept walking, nodding faintly when he recognized a few faces.

And oh yes.

He definitely recognized some.

That woman in the blood-red dress near the platform? MILF. Ely’s spa. One of the high-tier regulars. She’d tried to flirt with him.

The one with the long silver braid and icy blue heels? MILF. Tried to "accidentally" fall into his lap once. Failed.

The gold-laced siren at the third row? MILF. Asked him once if she could buy him.

Now they all stared, lips parted, eyes wide.

And Sira?

She saw them.

Her lips curled—not in jealousy. No, she was amused. Like a lioness strutting through a den of housecats who just realized the zoo gates were open.

Their guide paused awkwardly at the VIP section. There were plush velvet chairs arranged in two tiers, but...

Only one nameplate stood at the front: Lady Sira Shadowborn, Guest of Honor.

No Lux Vaelthorn.

The staff went pale.

"Oh no," the usher mumbled. "Apologies, Mr.Vaelthorn. It seems there’s been a seating—error. We weren’t informed—your name just showed up—"

"It’s fine," Lux said coolly.

He didn’t wait.

He walked forward, pulled the closest ornate velvet chair next to Sira’s throne-like seat, and sat down like he’d just bought the entire building.

Sira followed, graceful as always, and crossed one leg over the other, gown whispering against her thigh.

Behind them, the staff scrambled in a hushed panic. Someone ran off to grab an extra nameplate. Someone else whispered into a communicator. It was chaos, but polite chaos—the kind you serve with champagne and fear.