Succubi Chapter 222. The Irony

Succubi Chapter 222. The Irony

I kept my cool face, but inside? Yeah, I wanted to take a selfie and send it to Queenie out of spite.

Caption: Got invited by noble lady to her huge mansion :D

Maybe add a peace sign.

For sure, I would make the mansion appeared behind me clearly.

Was that petty? Yes.

Was it emotionally healthy? Probably not.

Did my inner child want to do it anyway? Absolutely.

My sister would lose her mind.

Of course, I didn’t know the requester’s gender yet. The academy didn’t know, or wouldn’t say. But honestly? Let’s assume it was a she. Lately, my life had turned into a strange gravitational field where women with dangerous personalities kept appearing around me. Lilith. Sera. Evelyn. Kyra. Rivy. Gladia. Val. That banshee. Even Professor Callahan’s heartbreak indirectly revolved around a woman.

So yeah.

Statistically?

Female requester.

Probably trouble.

The butler didn’t speak as we walked, which honestly made the place feel even more dramatic. His shoes made almost no sound on the stone path. Mine did, because apparently I was still a peasant with audible footsteps.

I adjusted my bag strap and pretended I belonged here.

That was important.

Never let expensive buildings know you’re impressed.

Buildings could smell weakness.

The mansion doors opened before we reached them.

Inside was worse.

By worse, I meant richer.

The entry hall rose high above us, lit by chandeliers filled with mana crystals instead of candles. Polished floors reflected the light. Paintings lined the walls, portraits of people who probably had names with numbers and opinions about bloodlines. A wide staircase curved upward at the back, and the air was warm enough to feel expensive.

I wanted to whistle.

I did not.

Pride demon dignity activated.

The butler led me through the hall, not stopping in the living room. Good. Or bad. Living rooms were safe. Offices meant business. Offices meant contracts, secrets and threats.

We passed a corridor with velvet carpet. A closed dining room. A library door slightly ajar. Shelves inside. Many books. Rich people always had libraries. Half of them probably never read. Still, impressive.

My eyes kept moving.

Exit behind. Corridor left. Window right. Servant door near the wall. One side passage smelled like kitchen. Good. Food route. Important in emergencies.

Yes, mapping exits was the first rule of survival.

Second rule? Know where the food is.

Third rule? Never trust someone who says “secret mission” with no details unless the payment sounds good.

Okay, third rule needed work.

Finally, we reached a chamber at the end of the corridor.

The butler opened the door and gestured inside.

Office.

Dark wood floors. Tall bookshelves. Heavy curtains. A fireplace burning low against one wall. A massive desk stood near the far windows, polished enough to reflect the moonlight.

And behind it… A huge chair.

Turned toward the window.

Absolutely classic.

I stopped just inside the room.

Really?

A chair turned away from the door?

This was one hundred percent mafia vibe.

Whoever sat there clearly practiced dramatic reveals.

The butler stepped slightly beside me. “Do you need tea or snacks, Mr. Drakos?”

I glanced at him.

Tea or snacks?

Before a secret mission briefing?

Tempting.

But Lilith already fed me. And if I ate here, there was always a chance the snack had truth serum, sleeping powder, or rich-people seasoning.

“No thanks,” I said. “I just had dinner.”

The butler nodded. “As you wish.”

He bowed again, then left the room.

The door closed softly behind him.

-Click!

I listened carefully. No locking sound.

So now it was just me and this person.

Me, standing near the center of a rich person’s office.

Them, sitting behind the desk with their back turned dramatically toward me.

Moonlight spilled through the window, outlining the chair in silver. The fireplace crackled quietly. The room smelled like old books, expensive wood, and faint perfume.

I stayed standing.

Didn’t sit or speak first.

I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction.

The silence stretched.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Then a familiar feminine voice came from behind the chair. “You came, Rogue Mask E.”

My eyebrow twitched.

I knew it!

The chair turned slowly.

And there she was.

The banshee from last night.

The boobslap criminal.

Now dressed in black silk and moonlit elegance, seated behind the desk like a noble lady who definitely had enemies buried under the rose garden.

She smiled sweetly. Completely pleased.

I stared at her. Then sighed. “I knew it was you.”

The woman’s smile widened like she had been waiting for that exact reaction.

The banshee from the tournament. The woman who had smiled while fighting me, moaned while trying to break my rune, and slapped me with her chest hard enough to give my soul a permanent scar. Rogue Mask E versus the Boobslap Criminal. A legendary battle. Very tragic. Very educational. I learned physics that day.

And now she sat in front of me like a rich noble lady, surrounded by expensive wood, moonlight, bookshelves, and a mansion that smelled like old money and suspicious secrets.

Yup.

Another rich person.

At this point, I should just assume everyone around me was rich except me.

Even Leon was richer than me. He was supposed to be the next alpha of his clan. A small clan, sure. And yes, he absolutely did not act like a future alpha. More like a golden retriever that learned violence. But still, he always had money to buy food even while complaining about money. And some of his gear? Much better than mine. Not flashy, but quality. Durable. Clan-made. The kind that didn’t scream wealth but whispered, ‘I have family support’.

And me? Poor Pride demon.

The irony could stab me and apologize.

The woman leaned back slightly in her chair, eyes sparkling.

“Evan Drakos, huh?” she said, tasting my name slowly. “Now I know your real name.”

I kept my expression flat.

“What do you want?” I asked. “Humiliate me after what happened in the duel?”