Succubi Chapter 241. Expensive Poor Guy

Succubi Chapter 241. Expensive Poor Guy

I looked her in the eyes and smirked. “You can’t.”

Alyra’s brow lifted slightly.

“I’m a very expensive poor guy.”

Her lips parted, maybe to laugh, maybe to bite back, maybe to say something sharp enough to cut the leather seat between us. I didn’t give her time.

I leaned closer.

Slowly.

Just enough for the car’s dim mana light to catch the shift in her expression. Just enough for her hand on my wrist to still. Just enough for her breath to pause between us.

Her eyes dropped to my mouth.

My Pride purred like a spoiled royal beast stretched across velvet.

I leaned more, until my lips almost touched hers.

Almost.

Alyra’s eyes fluttered closed.

For one sharp second, the whole night narrowed into that inch of space between us. The soft movement of the car. The faint scent of her perfume. The warmth of her breath. The memory of her in my arms on the dance floor. The way her voice had dropped in the car when she said maybe she could afford me.

A kiss would be easy.

Which was why I stopped.

One inch away.

Close enough to make the promise cruel.

Far enough to keep it unpaid.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

Her lashes trembled.

“You need to pay me for that.”

Her eyes opened.

Slowly.

Then narrowed.

“I can’t give you for free,” I added.

For a heartbeat, she just stared at me.

Then her frown arrived, elegant and offended and honestly very pretty. “You…”

I smiled.

“Is everything with you always about money?”

“Yes.”

Her frown deepened.

“For tonight,” I added.

That softened nothing, but it sharpened her attention.

I leaned back enough to breathe like a reasonable person again. My body strongly disagreed with this decision. My body was filing complaints to management. Unfortunately for my body, management was broke, stubborn, and bound by academy rules.

“Since I came here because of the mission the academy gave me,” I said. “Tonight, I’m your hired boyfriend. Your escort. Your very handsome invoice.”

Her mouth twitched despite herself.

“But,” I continued, letting my voice drop just a little, “if I came to you as Evan…”

Alyra went still.

“Or Rogue Mask E…”

Her fingers tightened lightly around my wrist.

“That would be different.”

The car grew quieter.

Or maybe I just stopped hearing the wheels.

“I wouldn’t hold myself back.”

Alyra didn’t reply.

She turned her face toward the window, and the passing lights slid over her cheek, her jaw, the delicate line of her neck. Her expression became unreadable again, or tried to. But I caught the blush.

Faint.

Warm.

Stubborn.

Ah… She fell for me, huh?

I wanted to say shocking.

I really did.

A humble man would be surprised.

A normal man might panic.

But hell, I knew I was charming in some points if someone eliminated my questionable decisions, my sometimes reckless behavior and whatever emotional nonsense made women look at me like I was both a stray puppy and a disaster prince.

See?

Very charming.

Under strict conditions.

Pride demon logic.

Alyra kept looking out the window, but her reflection betrayed her. Her eyes weren’t cold anymore. They were lowered slightly, focused somewhere beyond the glass but clearly not seeing the road. Her lips pressed together like she was trying not to smile, or trying not to admit she had almost leaned into the kiss before remembering dignity existed.

Dignity.

We both needed that tonight.

The rest of the journey stayed mostly silent after that.

Not empty silent.

Loaded silent.

The kind of silence that had too much perfume, too much moonlight, and one almost-kiss sitting between us like an unpaid debt with interest.

Alyra checked her phone once or twice, but not with the same cold focus as before.

Cassian’s calls had stopped, or maybe she had blocked him from disturbing the atmosphere. Good. That man had already received enough attention for one night. Any more and he might start believing he was the protagonist of suffering.

Outside, the road curved back toward her estate. Brimwood’s distant lights appeared and disappeared behind rows of trees. The mansion gate opened before the car reached it, because apparently rich houses had better manners than most nobles. We rolled through the yard, past the glowing lanterns, the trimmed hedges, the fountain that still looked expensive enough to insult my bank account.

The car stopped at the entrance.

The butler opened the door.

Professional. Silent. Deadly. Probably already knew everything somehow.

Alyra stepped out first, and I followed, adjusting my coat and pretending the backseat had not just become a battlefield of restraint.

We returned inside the mansion, and the warmth of polished halls swallowed the night air. The chandeliers still glowed. The portraits still judged. The carpets remained softer than my childhood. The whole place looked untouched, like the world outside could not enter unless properly introduced.

The butler led us back to the dressing chamber.

My original academy clothes had been prepared neatly, cleaned and folded as if servants had personally removed any trace of common struggle from them. The suit, meanwhile, waited to be taken from me like a temporary crown.

And that was the strangest part.

Taking it off felt… weird.

Not sad exactly.

But something close.

For a few hours, I had worn a version of myself the world didn’t question. Evan Blackthorn. Expensive boyfriend. Dangerous noble guest. A man who could enter banquets, win duels, reject green tea traps, and make women blush in cars without looking like he didn’t belong.

Then the suit came off.

Piece by piece.

Coat.

Vest.

Tie.

Cufflinks.

Each one placed carefully aside by the butler and attendants, returning me to Evan Drakos, academy student, broke Pride demon royal nobody knew was royal.

But when I looked at myself in the mirror again after changing back into my uniform, the old version didn’t look smaller anymore.

That surprised me.

The uniform was simpler. Less devastating. Less expensive. Definitely less “I ruin nobles as a hobby.”

But my posture remained.

The expression stayed.

Maybe the suit hadn’t created anything. It had only shown me where to look.

Alyra watched from near the doorway, arms folded lightly, her gaze thoughtful. She had changed nothing. Still elegant. Still rich. Still dangerous. But her face was softer than before.

“You look disappointed,” she said.

“I’m grieving the suit.”

Her smile returned, small and pleased.

The butler cleared his throat lightly. “Lady Veyne has prepared refreshments for you to take back.”

I blinked. “Refreshments?”