Chapter 6 – Pay Me with Your Body
The elevator kept rising. Smooth. Silent. Not even a hum.
Naomi leaned against the mirror-paneled wall, arms crossed loosely over her chest, trying not to stare too hard at the man standing beside her.
Lux Vaelthorn.
What a name.
What a… presence.
He stood there like the world owed him something. But not in the arrogant, chest-puffed, entitled way Carson did. No. Lux looked like he already collected what the world owed him. Spent it. Burned the receipt. And now he was just cruising through existence in a caffeine haze, daring anyone to ask questions.
He wasn't dressed like a peasant. Obviously. Tailored slacks, shoes that looked custom-fit even if scuffed, and that half-untucked shirt that was doing criminal things to her concentration. He carried himself like an exiled prince who decided thrones were boring and settled for financial war instead.
Handsome? Oh gods, yes.
Like model-handsome. Dangerously so.
That kind of sharp, knife-edged bone structure that looked like it'd been sculpted during a divine budget crisis. His black hair was tousled and a little damp from heat. The kind of mess that made it look like he'd just gotten out of bed—probably someone else's.
His eyes were red. Literally. She noticed that earlier but hadn't processed it until now.
Deep crimson. Sharp. Narrowed slightly with exhaustion but still alert. Watching everything. Like he was always half a step away from calculating your market value and selling you to the highest bidder.
And still… they didn't scare her.
He didn't scare her.
He should, probably. But there was something about him. Something interesting.
Like a mystery box you know has something dangerous inside, but your hand reaches out anyway.
She should be afraid. She should've already made an excuse to leave.
Instead, she was standing beside him in a luxury elevator, heading to a presidential suite, and her heart was doing this annoying little flutter that made her feel like a schoolgirl with a crush on the class rebel.
What the hell was wrong with her?
"Done analyzing me?" Lux asked suddenly, voice smooth as espresso, still not looking at her.
Naomi blinked. "Not really," she admitted.
He grinned faintly. "Fair."
The elevator chimed. Top floor. The doors glided open with a whisper.
The penthouse hall was so quiet she could hear her own heartbeat. Velvet carpeting. Sculpted walls. A view through frosted glass that screamed 'you are not poor anymore, welcome.'
Lux walked like he belonged here.
She followed him down the corridor, her heels sinking into the carpet just enough to remind her this wasn't some dream. Her hands were still slightly clammy. Her mind couldn't stop replaying what had just happened in the café. Carson. The crash. The collapse. The way Lux didn't even flinch.
They reached the door.
Lux tapped the card. It opened with a soft beep.
Inside?
Gorgeous.
Floor-to-ceiling windows. A skyline view that made the city look like a jewelry display. Marble countertops. Gold trim. A living room that belonged in a billionaire's retirement fantasy. There was a wine rack. A piano. An indoor koi pond.
Naomi stepped in like she was afraid to leave footprints.
Lux tossed the key onto the counter, casually shrugged off his blazer, and turned toward her.
"Now," he said, voice lower. "About that payment."
Naomi blinked. "Huh?"
He took a slow step toward her.
Her heart stopped.
"You said you'd pay me back," he murmured. "Right?"
She nodded warily. "Y-yeah…"
He stepped closer. Not touching. Just… looming in that perfect, calculated way. The air around him warmed. She could smell the faint spice of his cologne—rich, dark, and totally unfair.
"You don't have money," he said softly. "So, pay me with your body."
Naomi's mouth dropped open. "W-what?!"
He smirked.
And then casually pulled his shirt off.
The movement was effortless. Sinful.
Muscles underneath like poetry and mortal sin wrapped in perfect skin.
She gasped. Stared. Froze.
[System Alert: You are Shirtless. Incubus Pheromones Increased by 20%.]
[Naomi Delacour – Status: Stunned. Heart Rate + Elevated. Mental Focus: 37% and dropping.]
[You're going to cause a scene if she passes out.]
Lux, of course, looked entirely unbothered.
He handed her the folded shirt like he'd just asked her to hold his briefcase. "Dry clean this. It's a limited edition piece. I liked it."
Naomi blinked down at the bundle in her arms. "…You want me to…?"
"I don't know the city," Lux said casually. "You do. I trust your taste. Buy me some new clothes. Casual, but not peasant-tier. No polyester."
Then he plucked another thick stack of bills and placed it in her other hand. "Also, grab something for yourself. And if you need more, just tell me."
Naomi stared at the cash.
Then at the stained shirt.
Then at shirtless Lux.
He hadn't moved. He just stood there, looking like a supermodel caught between business meetings and a perfume ad shoot.
His abs weren't even obnoxious. They were… logical. Like every line was drawn by someone with an architecture degree. Even his collarbone looked like it had been kissed by soft lighting.
She couldn't stop staring.
And then she realized—he knew she was staring.
He wasn't doing anything about it.
He just let it happen.
That smug bastard.
"I…" she croaked. "You're serious?"
Lux tilted his head. "What gave it away? The cash? Or the fact that you've been staring at my chest for the past forty seconds?"
"I wasn't—!"
He raised a brow.
"Okay. I was." Naomi muttered. "But that's not the point."
Naomi dragged her gaze to the shirt, the money, then back to Lux's face.
He didn't leer. He didn't make a joke. He just watched.
Still dangerous.
Still tired-looking.
But something in those red eyes made her trust him. Just a little.
Maybe more than she should.
"…Okay," she said softly. "But I'm picking the color of your new shirt."
"Pick whatever makes you feel less awkward," he replied, already walking toward the bedroom. "Also, get me a nice watch and a phone. I forgot that, too."
She snorted.
As she turned to leave, her hand lingering on the door, she looked back one last time.
Lux had just disappeared behind the bathroom door, still shirtless, still unbothered. Like he hadn't just tilted her entire day off its axis.
She clutched the shirt tighter.
"…What are you?" she whispered.