Chapter 22 – The Dragon Heiress
He rested his elbow on the table, fingers idly tracing the edge of a polished silver fork.
His other hand tapped gently against the table—three fingers in rhythm, a familiar tempo of thought.
[Well played, sir]
Lux gave a small nod, murmuring under his breath, "Thanks."
[Though I must admit, I'm a little sad. No pheromones, no bribes, no threats. You really are on vacation.]
"I just wanted dinner," he said with a light shrug. "No complications. No divine politics. No soul-bond renegotiations mid-meal."
[And possibly another round of mortally compromising Naomi.]
Lux chuckled.
"One thing at a time."
His eyes flicked around the restaurant. Everything gleamed. Crystal, gold-accented plates, high-backed chairs that whispered elegance. The kind of ambiance that said 'we charge ten times more because we know you won't complain.'
The moonlight refracted through the tall windows, kissing the wine glasses with silver highlights. He could see the entire cityscape through the glass—flashing lights, rooftop pools, slow-moving traffic below like glowing veins across a sleeping giant.
The view was perfect.
And the devil at the table?
Smiling like he owned every light on the horizon.
The server returned, a sleek leather-bound wine list in hand.
"Here is the reserve selection, sir," she said, setting it in front of him with a little more reverence this time.
Lux didn't even blink. He flipped it open with a flick of two fingers, letting the pages fan out. His eyes moved quickly, trained from years of scanning soul rates and hellbond market fluctuations. Nothing dazzled him. Not unless it came with excessive pricing.
And then he saw it.
The last page.
The one with no description, just a name—Aeternum Rex, vintage so old the grapes were probably picked before half the empires on this continent existed. No price listed, of course. Just the delicate golden note: For exclusive clients. One bottle in stock.
He pointed.
"That one."
The server hesitated only for a second.
"…Of course, sir."
To anyone else, it might've seemed like flexing.
To Lux?
It was simply principle.
The more expensive an item was… the more satisfying it felt. Greed didn't sip cheap. Not when there was a bottle in the house that had a history soaked in blood, scandal, and four generations of bankruptcy.
The wine was a trophy.
She placed the food menu down next, smiling gently. "Shall I give you a moment to decide?"
"I'll need a few," Lux said, fingers tracing the silver lining of the menu cover. "My partner will be joining soon."
"Understood, Mr. Vaelthorn," she said, bowing slightly before turning on her heels.
The menu was heavy. Over-designed. Velvet inlays. Gold lettering. The kind of menu that wasn't just a list of food, but a resume of the chef's generational trauma and culinary ego.
Lux had just started skimming the entrees when the system chimed.
[Warning: A rich virgin heiress detected within 10 meters.]
[Incubus Pheromones Activated.]
Then he heard it.
A voice. Clipped. Sharp. Female.
Not loud.
But expensive.
Like a complaint delivered with the weight of generational wealth and a legal team on retainer.
He looked up.
There she was.
Moving through the restaurant like royalty late to a coronation. Her cheongsam was blood red with gold dragon embroidery licking up one thigh, the slit scandalously high—heels clicking with soft menace across the polished floor. Her dark hair was twisted up in a braid-turned-crown, long earrings catching the moonlight. A pair of dragon horns above her head and a dragon tail on her back.
And the scent?
Expensive. Burnt cinnamon, white lotus, and high-stakes boardroom.
Her presence wasn't loud.
But it shifted the atmosphere.
Even the fountains seemed to hush.
Lux's eyes narrowed.
Great.
Here we go.
'Wealth Scan,' he thought.
[Subject: Mira Xianlong ]
[Race: Eastern Dragon]
[Net Worth: $15.5 Billion (Includes ownership of a megabank in the Eastern region, a tech startup, and a jade vault under the sea)]
[Fortune: 98%]
[Status: "Virgin, Rich, Has Never Been Told No"]
[Financial Personality: Cold, calculating, and allergic to coupons]
[Investment Field: High-risk tech & long-term dragon bonds]
She stopped beside his table like she was about to repossess it.
Her eyes—molten gold slit-pupil stunners—raked across him. Not shy. Not flirty. Evaluating. Like he was a chess piece that somehow moved when it wasn't his turn.
"You dare sit in my seat?" she said, voice smooth and bored like she was already waiting for him to apologize.
Before Lux could speak, the staff stepped in, visibly flustered. "I-I'm sorry, Miss Xianlong, but Mr. Vaelthorn also made a reservation tonight—"
"This is a private event," Mira said, her words soft but underlined with steel. "I reserved the entire restaurant."
The server paled slightly. "Yes, we understand, but Mr. Vaelthorn's reservation was verified, and as you can see, he's seated at a table that does not interfere with—"
"I'll decide what interferes," Mira said, turning her eyes—those eyes—on the staff.
The poor girl froze.
She wilted.
And then, with clear hesitation and reluctant grace, stepped away.
"Of course, Miss Xianlong. My apologies…"
[Recommendation: Flee. Or flirt. Your call.]
'Do you think I'll flee?' Lux answered silently, lifting his wine glass that was still empty but carried all the authority in the world.
He leaned back in his seat, watching her. His smile was lazy. Deliberate.
"No need for a duel over dining space," he said smoothly. "I'm just here for dinner."
"You're sitting in my energy," she said flatly.
"Then I must have excellent taste," he replied.
She didn't laugh.
But one brow did twitch. Almost imperceptibly.
She studied him for another second, then—without invitation—pulled out the chair across from him and sat.
Lux exhaled slowly.
"So, Miss Xianlong," he said, swirling the invisible wine in his glass. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Curiosity," she said. "No one's ever booked a table the same night I reserve a venue. Not even diplomats."
"Well," Lux said, glancing toward the skyline, "I'm not a diplomat."
Her eyes narrowed. "Then who are you?"
He met her gaze directly. No charm. No warmth. Just that deep, silent hum of danger most people mistake for confidence.
"Lux Vaelthorn," he said. "CFO of Hell."
She blinked once.
Then leaned forward.
"You're joking."
Lux grinned. "I rarely do."
A beat.
Then—
"Interesting."
She didn't leave.
She didn't raise her voice.
But she stayed.
And Lux?
He leaned back, watching her across the table.
So the dragon heiress wanted to play.
Fine.
Let the stocks tremble.