Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation-Chapter 408: Priority
Chapter 408 – Priority
"I don’t wait," she said, already walking off, her skirt slicing the air like a guillotine. "I’ll browse. Maybe pick a fight. Mortals are so delightfully fragile."
"Try not to cause an international incident."
"No promises."
Lux ran a hand through his hair and veered toward the men’s section, muttering, "Let’s see if I can find a jacket that screams ’don’t mess with my chaotic harem.’"
Meanwhile, Ariel stood frozen as three stylists danced around her with fabrics.
Her heart pounded in her chest like a drum out of sync with her body. Her breath came fast. Too fast.
She’d never done this before.
Never been the center of attention. Never had people complimenting her bone structure. Never had hands fluttering around her like she was something rare and precious.
Her body tensed every time someone reached to measure her waist or brush her shoulder.
But she didn’t flinch.
Not visibly.
Just—internally—there was a scream echoing under her ribs. A panic that clutched her spine and whispered, ’Smile pretty. Don’t resist. Don’t speak. Don’t cry—’
"Are you okay, sweetheart?" one stylist asked gently, mistaking the stiffness for nerves.
"I... I’m fine," Ariel managed.
"You’re doing great," another said kindly. "We’re just going to try a few looks and see what sings."
Ariel didn’t know what singing had to do with fashion, but she nodded anyway.
They tried a long navy dress first. It shimmered like starlight and clung to her like water. Beautiful, yes. But too elegant. Too exposed. Ariel looked in the mirror and couldn’t find herself inside the shine.
They tried a suit next. Tailored blazer, high-waist slacks. She felt... powerful. But it didn’t fit her heartbeat. It felt like armor stolen from someone else’s war.
Then they tried something softer. A flowy dress with flutter sleeves and a watercolor floral pattern. Ariel liked the fabric. It was gentle. Kind. Like a memory of spring.
She didn’t speak much as they moved around her.
She let them pick. Let them guide. Let them tell her what looked right.
And yet—her chest felt hollow.
Like she was playing dress-up in someone else’s dream.
Then—
The door opened.
Not to Lux.
Not to Sira.
But to her.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Heels that rang louder than thunder.
A young woman stepped in, sharp-jawed and sharp-tongued. Ice-blonde hair curled at the ends. Lipstick like blood. Designer everything.
And those eyes.
Cold. Familiar.
Too familiar.
One of the Delmars.
A real Delmar. Still blessed with her family’s status. Still bathing in pearls that weren’t hers.
Mariell.
She stopped mid-step, lips curling the moment she saw Ariel.
"Oh," she said. "I thought I heard something pathetic. And here it is."
Ariel stiffened. Her pulse went berserk.
"Did they start letting strays in now?" the Delmar girl asked, cocking her head. "Or is this part of a charity program? Should I donate a coin?"
The stylists froze.
Ariel swallowed hard. "I... I was invited—"
"Oh, invited," the girl drawled. "By who? A janitor? Or are you pretending to have money now?"
"I—"
"I mean, just look at you. That dress is clearly borrowed. And your face—please, don’t tell me someone actually tried to style you. How embarrassing."
Ariel’s hands clenched at her sides.
She wanted to say something.
She really wanted to say something.
But her tongue refused to move.
The girl stepped closer, voice like poison. "You shouldn’t be here, fake girl. You don’t belong in a place like this."
Ariel felt something snap in her.
Not break.
-Snap!
A different sound. A warning.
"I’m not part of the Delmars anymore," she whispered, voice shaking.
The girl’s grin widened. "Obviously. We threw you away like the trash you are."
That hurt.
God, it hurt.
Even after all this time.
Even after Lux’s warmth.
It still got to her.
Because trauma doesn’t just fade. It lingers. It waits.
And right now—it was winning.
She took a step back, eyes wet, chest heaving.
The stylists moved—one of them actually stepped between her and the Delmar girl.
"That’s enough," the older one said, voice stern. "This client has priority. If you’re not here to shop, you can leave."
But the girl just rolled her eyes. "Please. I have appointments here every week. This peasant can’t even afford the tax on a shoebox."
"She doesn’t have to," another stylist snapped. "Because he brought her."
The words cut the air like a clean knife, sharp enough to stop the whispers that had started spreading through the boutique.
For a second, Ariel thought maybe—just maybe—it would silence Mariell too.
But Mariell Delmar had never been the type to let silence win.
"Oh, he brought her?" Mariell’s voice dripped with venom, mocking every syllable. She tilted her head toward Ariel, eyes narrowing. "And who is he, exactly? Hm?" 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚
Ariel froze.
Her throat tightened, the room suddenly shrinking, the walls pressing closer.
Mariell’s gaze dropped, sharp and cutting, raking Ariel up and down like she was some stain. Then her lips curved, cruel and knowing. "Oh... wait. I see it now." She laughed, short and bitter. "You’re selling yourself, aren’t you?"
Ariel’s chest caved in. Her body remembered. Too much. Too fast.
The laughter of girls around her when she was small. The yank of her hair. The sting of her cheek when Mariell’s hand had struck her over and over again until she stopped crying.
"Oh my gods," Mariell went on, voice loud enough for the stylists to flinch, "you actually found yourself a sugar daddy? Is that it? Don’t tell me this old man is so desperate he picked you up off the streets."
Ariel’s lips trembled. "N-no—"
Mariell cut her off, circling her like a predator savoring the chase. "The one you caught looks like he’s nearly ready for a coffin. But hey, having a pretty face has its perks, doesn’t it? You were always good at crying on command. I suppose it finally paid off."
The stylists stiffened, muttering between themselves. One of them, a braver man in a sleek grey vest, said quietly, "He’s that new model, ma’am. He’s not—"
Mariell spun on him, eyes flaring. "Shut up."
