Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation-Chapter 531: Helplessness

Chapter 531 – Helplessness

He took another long drink, the rich liquid tasting like ash on his tongue despite its quality.

[You are experiencing elevated stress, increasing heart rate, and elevated cortisol levels. This is primarily caused by a perceived lack of control.]

"You think?" Lux said tiredly, running a hand roughly through his dark, slightly damp hair. "You’re telling me I’m mad because I can’t control this?"

[Affirmative, Sir.]

A long silence followed.

"I am..." he confessed, the word a weary whisper. "I can’t control this. I can’t control the risk. I can’t control what happens in case my cursed uncle somehow wins..."

"Like the bounty..."

Lux’s voice softened, losing its sharp edge and becoming laced with genuine, deep melancholy. He felt trapped, his infinite demonic power rendered impotent by a bureaucratic technicality and an ancient, powerful spell.

His expression was hard and cold.

He picked up the bottle again, and poured a significant amount of wine into the already half-full glass.

"That bounty on my head..."

He took another searing gulp of wine, chasing away the bitter taste of helplessness.

"I knew it was him. Zoltarin. Even sealed, even restricted, he’s leveraging his old contacts, his ancient whispers. He’s reaching out through the economic shadows to hire some idiot mortal or demon mercenary. It’s a low-effort attack, but it’s brilliant. It forces me to use resources, it forces me to look over my shoulder."

Lux slammed the bottle down onto the table. "But even though I know it’s him, I can’t kill him. He is sealed. And the seal acts like a barrier. A shield. I can’t touch him. I can’t negotiate. I can’t even threaten him without breaking an ancient contract I never signed for."

He huffed, his chest rising and falling heavily. "This is frustrating."

He finished the drink in one last, desperate swallow. The wine was strong, but it didn’t touch the cold, hard lump of fury sitting in his gut.

[You should calm down, sir. This isn’t like you.]

Lux closed his eyes. The system was right. This wasn’t like him at all.

But this frustration...

This anger.

This rage.

He didn’t know what to do with it.

There was a fear in his heart. In his mind.

That he would be reduced to that old Lux. The old him. The one when he was the first time took over the Greed tower and sat on the Greed throne to replace his dad. Temporary. Which ended up lasting for more than a century.

That trauma...

When he felt like a blind person who tried to figure out what to do.

Getting backlash for what he had never done.

Taking a heavy decision with massive consequences.

All of them were like returning to him now...

He took a deep breath.

"Yeah, I know... I know this isn’t like me." His voice was soft. "I don’t like this either. But yeah... I guess I also have my limit."

Lux wasn’t a screamer. He wasn’t the flip-the-table kind of demon. He’d grown past that phase centuries ago. Now, his rage simmered. It dripped slow like poison in wine. But even poison could burn.

And right now?

He was burning.

He set the glass down, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and dragged his fingers through his hair... still damp from sex, from sweat, from everything he was trying to drown under Naomi’s body and her warmth and her breathy little "Lux"s that made the world stop.

But even she couldn’t make this stop.

Not Zoltarin.

Not the seal.

Not the helplessness.

[Sir, it is worth stating, on the record, of course. that I have never observed you in this state. Not even during the early tower consolidation years. This... deviation is notable.]

Lux huffed out a humorless sound. "You mean I’m cracking."

[You are... metaphorically spiderwebbed, sir. Cracking would imply imminent structural collapse. You are, for now, holding.]

Lux snorted. "Reassuring."

[My specialty.]

There was silence for a beat.

[May I speak plainly?]

Lux raised a brow, turning slightly toward Naomi’s sleeping form. Her chest rose and fell slowly, peacefully. The contrast between her serenity and his storm felt... cruel.

"Go ahead," he murmured.

[You are angry and it’s not the useful kind or your usual anger. Not the kind that fuels drive or ambition or planning. This is the kind that carves holes. This is erosion, not propulsion.]

Lux didn’t answer. He just ran his thumb along the rim of the wine glass.

[Furthermore, I am detecting an unfamiliar emotional cocktail. Highly potent. Highly unproductive. Not rage alone. But... guilt. Fear. A strong drive for permanence combined with an equally strong fear of loss.]

"Of course I’m scared," Lux said, voice sharp now, low and biting. "Do you think I built all this. My contracts, my empire, my women, my influence, because I wasn’t afraid? I’m always afraid. But I make it productive."

He looked up at the darkened ceiling like he could stare down Hell itself. "But this? It’s different. It’s rigged. There’s no negotiation table. No loophole. No counter-offer. He’s sealed, and I’m boxed out."

[And thus, sir, you are experiencing helplessness. An emotion I’ve flagged you as historically allergic to.]

Lux’s laugh cracked like glass. "Yeah. That checks out."

He leaned back in the velvet chair beside the bed, the robe clinging to his shoulders. He reached over and adjusted the blanket over Naomi’s thigh, covering her gently, almost absentmindedly. His hand lingered there, warm against her skin.

[Sir... may I ask something unconventional?]

Lux blinked. "That’s new. Shoot."

[Would you describe this current state as... loneliness too? You mentioned feeling hollow before.]

He went still.

Naomi shifted in her sleep, murmuring something that didn’t form a word.

Lux looked at her. At her peaceful face. Her flushed cheeks. The mess they’d made of the bed. The marks. The proof that she wanted him.

"No," he whispered. "This is helplessness... I’m experiencing something I hate. That’s why I’m mad."

[Thank you for your honesty, sir. Would you like me to attempt a solution?]

Lux gave a tired smirk. "Unless your patch notes include ’kill my uncle through a loophole’ or ’erase my father’s bloodline trauma,’ I doubt it."