Chapter 41 – Possession and Abandonment
Breakfast ended too fast after that.
Naomi dabbed her lips with a napkin, smoothed her dress, and stood up like it was just another casual exit after a cute date.
But Lux... stayed seated. Arms on the table. Coffee cup untouched.
She turned to him, gently brushing her hair over one shoulder.
"I’ll text you. As soon as I get to the house. I have saved your number."
Lux nodded.
Cool.
Smooth.
Except—he wasn’t.
He stood. Slowly.
And before she could step away—he reached out and gripped her hand.
Not tight.
But not light either.
It wasn’t possessive.
It was a silent protest.
His hand wrapped around hers like he was anchoring himself. Like if he let go, the day would move without him. She would move without him.
And that idea?
Didn’t sit right at all.
His brows furrowed, just a little.
She looked at him—really looked—and her eyes softened.
"Lux..."
Her voice was quiet. Gentle. Even confused. Because yeah, why was the confident, dominant, smug-as-hell demon prince acting like a kicked puppy because she had to go home for three days?
They met yesterday.
Logically? This was ridiculous.
Emotionally? This was war.
There was something hot and annoying boiling beneath his skin. Not rage. Not jealousy. Something more pathetic.
Helplessness.
The kind you feel when someone you like walks away—even if it’s just to grab a phone charger. That stupid ache that says mine even when your brain says ’calm down, dude, she’s not vanishing into a void.’
[Sir.]
The system’s voice was colder than usual.
[You are allowing your emotions to override your reasoning. This separation is temporary. Non-hostile. Not a breach of contract. Please re-center your logic framework.]
That hit like a slap.
His jaw clenched.
Because dammit, the system was right.
And he hated that.
He let her hand go, fingers slowly uncurling.
Then shoved his usual smirk back onto his face like armor. Like makeup for broken ego.
He lifted his chin just enough and said, "Take care."
Naomi hesitated. Just a second.
Then she nodded.
Soft smile. Just for him.
And she left.
No drama.
No tears.
Just the faint click of her heels against polished marble and the quiet closing of the restaurant door behind her.
Lux didn’t sit back down right away.
He stood there for a second. Then dropped into his chair like the air got heavier the moment she walked out.
He reached for his third cup of coffee—the one he hadn’t even touched—and downed it in three gulps.
Still warm.
Still bitter.
Still not helping.
He set the cup down a little too hard.
Didn’t say a word.
Didn’t smirk.
Didn’t even blink.
The taste lingered on his tongue. But so did something else.
A memory.
One that hadn’t surfaced in a long time.
He didn’t want it. But it came anyway. Crashing in like a flood breaking through glass.
He was twenty-five. Freshly graduated. Top of his class in both infernal royal academies—Finance and Economics with a double minor in Contractual Warfare and Applied Doom.
Also top marks from the Underworld’s Military College. Of course.
Because that’s what his parents expected.
They were legends.
Seraphyne of Lust. Zavros of Greed.
Beautiful. Dangerous. Unstoppable.
He adored them.
Worshipped them, really.
Until they handed him a stack of interrealm reports, smiled, and said—
"We’re going on honeymoon. One week. You’ll handle things here, right?"
Lux blinked at the mountain of duties. The blinking infernal currency graphs. The literal GDP of Hell on his tablet. He was twenty-five.
"A week?" he asked.
They kissed his forehead and vanished.
That was the last time he saw them in person. At least, until yesterday.
The week passed. Then two. Then a month. No word. No messages. No summons.
Lux handled everything—barely. The Greed Sector almost collapsed. An inflation demon tried to stage a coup. Several debt-spirits rioted after interest rates became self-aware.
No mentor. No backup. No help. Just him. And the legacy they dumped on his shoulders like it weighed nothing.
He worked twenty-hours a day, signed documents until his claws bled, and cried once—only once—alone in the Vault of Worth while eating instant soul-noodles at 3 AM.
Meanwhile, royal demons his age enjoyed their lives. Some worked, sure, but they had their parents by their side, guiding them.
He? He held meetings with their parents. The real ones. The kind where one mistake couldn’t be fixed with a simple "sorry." Sometimes, he had to take the consequences on his own.
A decade passed. Still no parents.
Then a century.
By then, Lux had rebuilt the economy from scratch. He standardized the sin-tax systems, designed a new contract template for demonic loans, and created the first multi-planar credit ranking.
He did it all. Alone.
He never asked where they were, because asking would’ve meant he cared.
And caring?
That hurt too much.
Lux stared into his empty cup.
The restaurant had cleared out. Even Mira and the girls were gone, scattered like birds pretending not to gossip.
Lux just sat.
A single bead of sweat slipped down his temple.
He wiped it away with the back of his hand. Slowly. As if any sudden movement would shatter him.
[Sir.]
He didn’t respond.
[Your heart rate has elevated. Mana spike minimal. Emotional stress load at 72%. Do you wish to initiate meditation protocol?]
Lux finally blinked.
Then laughed once. Dry.
"No," he muttered. "I want her back."
[She is not lost.]
"I know."
But it didn’t feel that way.
Because for Lux—Spawn of Greed, CFO of Hell, sin-forged prodigy raised by legends and abandoned by the same...
Anything he loved that walked away?
Felt like it wouldn’t come back.
Even if she promised.
Even if she smiled.
Even if she kissed him and said three days.
His greed didn’t understand time.
Only possession.
Lux exhaled, the weight of it pressing down on him.
His thoughts spiraled, but the feeling was clear.
It was all temporary. He needed more. And so, he ordered a fourth coffee.