The Incubus System Chapter 1380. I Want You to be Happy

The Incubus System Chapter 1380. I Want You to be Happy

She cupped my face with both hands, pulling back just enough so I could see the honesty in her eyes, so I could feel it.

“I want you to be happy. With us. Here.”

And that…

That hit something deep.

Something that hadn’t stopped burning since the Eye whispered his empty promises.

I smiled. For real this time.

Not the charming one. Not the ‘I’m okay’ smirk.

Just a small, real smile that broke softly across my lips as I leaned in again and whispered, “I will.”

We kissed.

Not like earlier. Not the desperate, hungry kind. This was slower. Surer. A seal. A pact with no magic. No system ping. No glowing contract.

Just lips against lips, warmth against warmth, shared breath in a steam-filled bathroom that had somehow become sacred.

Her body curled against mine again, and I held her.

Tighter this time.

Because no Eye, no prophecy, no holy decree or demonic curse could undo this moment.

And as the lavender faded into a calmer scent, and the world quieted down outside the tile walls, we just breathed.

I didn’t need to say anything. Neither did she.

Just the warmth of her body molded to mine, her breath ghosting my skin, was enough. The water had gone lukewarm, the steam faded, and the chaos of earlier felt like it belonged to a different lifetime.

Eventually, she shifted, sighed against my shoulder, and whispered, “We should get out before our skin turns to soup.”

I chuckled, running my fingers slowly along her back one more time. “Fine. But you’re drying me.”

She smacked my chest lightly. “Dry yourself, demon.”

Still, she handed me a towel first.

Tch. She spoiled me.

We stepped out of the tub, and yeah, the mirror was completely fogged. I looked like a blurry ghost with devil smirk energy. She toweled off with elegant grace like she hadn’t just been riding me half-moaning in holy filth a few minutes ago. I, on the other hand, was still watching her from the side, admiring the curves of her body as she bent to pick up her clothes.

“You’re staring again,” she murmured without turning.

“You’re naked,” I replied. “It would be a crime not to.”

She glanced over her shoulder with a faint smile and flushed cheeks. “Pervert.”

“I’m the king of pervert,” I said.

We dressed up.

Well, she did.

I took my time, partly because I liked watching her, partly because I had no damn idea where I’d thrown my pants earlier. They were stuck behind the laundry basket. Not important.

Eventually, we headed out into the house, and yeah, the second I opened the door, I could feel it.

The shift. The vibe.

Someone was home.

No, two someones.

Celia. And Foxy.

And I remembered.

The plate.

The damn noodles.

My masterpiece.

My mess.

My culinary war crime.

I walked into the dining room like a soldier going back to the battlefield to collect dog tags. And yeah, there she was, Celia. Already sitting. Already staring down at the dish like it might curse her future kids.

Foxy was leaned back in the chair beside her, one leg crossed, ears twitching, watching Celia with the same expression you’d wear at a funeral.

I made my way toward her before she noticed me. I didn’t say anything at first. Just watched.

She was eating it.

No. Wait.

She was trying to eat it. Forcing it, really. Her face was neutral, too neutral. The kind of look you make when you’ve tasted something awful and you’re trying not to offend the cook.

Foxy leaned on the counter nearby, one brow arched so high it could qualify as a question mark.

She saw me. Shook her head once. No words. No insults. Just that disappointed older-sister energy that hit harder than actual mockery.

Celia noticed me then.

“Oh, hey,” she said, with the most suspiciously casual smile I’ve ever seen. “You’re up.”

“Yeah,” I said slowly, crossing my arms. “So are you. Eating my masterpiece, I see.”

She blinked, chewed, then gave a thumbs-up. “It’s… something.”

I winced. “You can throw it away, you know.”

She shook her head, stubborn. “You made it for me.”

“Celia—”

“I said I’ll eat it.” She took another bite, visibly bracing herself. I could hear the crunch of burnt edges. The sauce had solidified again into something that might’ve been legally classified as a glaze.

“Celia,” Foxy finally muttered, “he’s an incubus, not a chef. You’re not gonna impress him by surviving his cooking.”

“It’s not that bad,” Celia defended.

My guilt kicked in like a freight train.

“I swear to hell,” I muttered, walking over, “I’m gonna poison someone one day. That plate’s basically a war crime. I should be sued.”

Celia snorted. “Too late. I survived. That’s legally immunity now.”

When Celia finally finished it, yes, finished the whole goddamn plate, I just slumped in my chair.

“Okay. New rule,” I declared. “I’m never cooking for others again. I’ll end up accidentally assassinating half the house.”

Foxy giggled. “Master, you already declared war on cuisine. This is just surrender.”

I laughed despite myself. Celia wiped her mouth with a napkin and gave me a thumbs-up like a trooper who survived the frontlines.

Evening came fast.

The air outside cooled, shadows stretching across the windows as the sun dipped behind the horizon.

My pets, yeah, they stirred.

Foxy stood beside me at the doorway. Her tails flicked once. Her fox ears twitched like radar.

“The breach is small,” she reported. “Five wild demons. Northern perimeter.”

I exhaled. “Then make them regret it.”

Foxy smiled, teeth flashing. “Of course, Master.”

“Take Red, Shadow, Rave and Buni with you. Also, inform Miranda in case she wants to join you.”

“Got it.”

She saluted, tails flicking once more, then vanished into the shadows like a whisper.

Yeah, she knew what to do.

And tonight, Foxy led.

That left me here.

And the house?

Felt a little too quiet all of a sudden.

So I did what any demon prince with too many thoughts and a human façade would do.

I walked next door.

Mrs. Clea’s house.

I pressed the bell once.

The door opened before I could press the bell again.

“Ethan.”