Succubi Chapter 224. Fake Boyfriend
Succubi Chapter 224. Fake Boyfriend
Three thousand.
For one night?
Fake boyfriend. Banquet. Possible duel. Political headache.
That was three missions. Maybe more. That was equipment money. Living money. Freedom money.
Still, I kept my voice steady. “Base payment?”
Her smile widened. “Yes.”
“What about duel bonus?”
“Oh?”
“If someone challenges me because of your ex, I’m not fighting for free.”
She laughed. Actually laughed, pleased and bright.
“Five hundred per duel.”
“Win bonus?”
“You’re bold.”
“I was invited to be convincing.”
She leaned forward slightly.
“Another five hundred per win.”
I considered.
Not bad.
“What if it’s a noble heir and beating him causes political trouble?”
“Then you receive hazard compensation.”
“How much?”
“One thousand.”
My Pride sat up.
My poverty cried.
My common sense looked suspicious.
“Contracted through academy?”
“Yes.”
“No humiliating conditions?”
Her eyes sparkled.
“You are my boyfriend for the evening. Some public affection may be required.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Define public affection.”
“Hand holding. Arm around waist. Dancing. Perhaps a kiss if necessary.”
“Necessary?”
“If my ex becomes annoying.”
I stared at her.
She stared back.
This woman was trouble.
[Mission Details Updated]
[Role: Temporary Romantic Escort]
[Objective: Attend Banquet as Requester’s Partner]
[Secondary Objective: Preserve Requester’s Status]
[Combat Clause: Duel Response Authorized if Challenged]
[Base Reward: 3,000 Creds]
[Duel Participation Bonus: 500 Creds]
[Duel Victory Bonus: 500 Creds]
[Political Hazard Compensation: 1,000 Creds]
[Accept Formal Contract? Y/N]
I stared at the screen.
Then at her. “What’s your name?”
Her smile softened slightly.
Finally.
“Alyra Veyne.”
[Veyne Household Registered]
[Regional Influence: High]
[Requester Identity Confirmed]
Now she was less “boobslap criminal” and more “Alyra, boobslap criminal with a mansion.”
Progress.
I leaned back in the chair. “Alyra.”
She seemed pleased when I said it.
“I’ll accept under one condition.”
Her eyes sharpened. “What condition?”
“No making me look like a fool.”
Her smile faded slightly.
I continued, “I can play boyfriend. I can play rough if needed. I can fight if challenged. But I won’t be used as a toy for your revenge.”
Silence.
The fireplace crackled beside us.
Then Alyra’s expression changed.
The amusement lowered. The noble mask thinned.
And for one second, she looked… genuinely satisfied.
“Good,” she said softly.
I frowned. “Good?”
“I was hoping you would say something like that.”
“Why?”
“Because if you accepted too easily, I would have replaced you.”
I stared.
She smiled again. “Pride suits you, Evan Drakos.”
My chest warmed.
I clicked accept.
[Formal Contract Accepted]
[Mission Status: Active]
[Current Objective: Prepare for Banquet Attendance]
[Time Until Departure: 22 Minutes]
Alyra stood fully from the desk and walked toward me again.
This time, slower.
Less predator.
More partner.
Still dangerous though.
“We need to dress you properly,” she said. She stopped in front of me, eyes moving over my face with open assessment.
“If I am going to walk into that banquet with you, Evan Drakos, I want every noble there to understand exactly what my ex failed to become.”
I stared at her. Then slowly sighed. “You rich people are exhausting.”
Alyra smiled sweetly. “And yet you accepted.”
I stood from the chair, adjusting my cloak. “For three thousand Creds.”
Alyra turned toward the door. “Then come, fake boyfriend.”
I followed, already regretting and anticipating the night in equal measure.
Because apparently tonight, I wasn’t hunting ghosts.
I was hunting noble pride.
And honestly?
I wasn’t sure which one moaned more dramatically when hit.
Alyra walked ahead of me through the mansion corridor like she owned not just the house, but the air inside it. Which, considering the way every lamp seemed to glow slightly brighter when she passed, maybe she did. The butler followed a few steps behind us, silent enough that I kept wanting to check if he was still there. He was. Always. Like a shadow with pension benefits.
We didn’t go upstairs.
We went deeper into the mansion, through a side hall lined with mirrors, past a display of old swords mounted on dark velvet, then into a large chamber that looked like rich people invented it purely to make poor people feel underdressed.
Dress chamber.
No, actually, calling it a dressing room felt disrespectful.
This was a battlefield preparation chamber for fashion warfare.
Tall mirrors stood on three sides. Wardrobes stretched across one wall. A polished table held accessories arranged by category. Watches, cufflinks, rings, silk handkerchiefs, tie pins, chains, gloves, and other tiny expensive objects whose purpose was apparently to say, ‘I have never compared prices in my life’.
In the center of the room stood a mannequin wearing a suit.
A black suit.
Rich black. Deep black. The kind of black that looked like it had been harvested from midnight, filtered through arrogance, and tailored by someone who hated wrinkles personally.
The shirt beneath was dark silver. The vest had subtle embroidered patterns that only became visible when light touched it. The coat was fitted, long, elegant, with a faintly militaristic cut around the shoulders.
I stared.
My inner Pride demon sat up immediately.
Oh, this was good.
Alyra stopped beside the mannequin and glanced at me with visible satisfaction. “I chose everything for you.”
I looked at her.
Then back at the suit.
Then back at her.
“You had this prepared before I accepted?”
“Of course.”
“That’s terrifying.”
The butler stepped forward calmly. “The measurements were estimated from tournament recordings and last night’s observation.”
I slowly turned toward him.
“…From what?”
“Your posture, shoulder width, gait, and combat stance, Mr. Drakos.”
I stared.
He stared back professionally.
I pointed at him. “You are scarier than the ghosts.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Alyra laughed softly and gestured toward the side. “You’ll change here.”
Before I could answer, two women entered through another door.
One carried makeup tools.
The other carried hair equipment.
I took one step back. “I need makeup?”
“Just a tiny bit. To make sure you look perfect.”
“I already look fine.”
“Yes,” she said smoothly. “Fine. I need perfect.”
My Pride liked that. My survival instinct did not.
The makeup artist smiled at me politely.
I stared at the brushes in her hand like they were assassination tools. “I’m going to a banquet, not becoming a bride.”
Alyra’s lips twitched. “Do not tempt the nobles. Some may prefer that.”
I turned to the butler. “Is she joking?”
The butler paused. “Partially, sir.”