In the languid haze of a midday tryst with my boyfriend. A sudden, violent thud echoed from the front door.

I blinked my eyes open, drowsy and content. “Is someone knocking?” But the man just nipped my earlobe, his voice a husky, intoxicating murmur. “No, baby.

You’re just hearing things.” Then, lines of text scrolled across my vision— 【Hey, succubabe, maybe you should take a closer look at who’s in bed with you?】 【LMAO, the main character thinks his magical contract means he’s the only one, but he has no idea he has an identical twin brother!】 【Hehe, a brotherly buffet!

No more starving for our girl. She’s eating good now!】 Before I could even process it, a furious, trembling roar came from outside the bedroom. “Damien, you son of a bitch, get the hell out here!”

1 I was a little succubus Patrick had picked up off the street.

And because I’d supposedly bullied Stacy, he hadn’t fed me in two weeks. “I didn’t bully her!” I insisted, my voice stubborn. “I just asked her to stop calling you in the middle of the night.

I never get to eat my fill…” The man’s eyes lifted, cold as a winter sky. “And you think you’re in the right?” He glanced at the text on his phone from Stacy, the one where she dramatically declared she was cutting all ties with him, and his tone grew even sharper. “You’ve been with me this long and you haven’t learned a thing, except how to weaponize money to humiliate people.” “I wasn’t trying to humiliate her,” I said.

His gaze was a blade, but I held my ground. “If she thinks money is humiliating, that’s her problem. I happen to think money is the best thing in the world.” Besides, it was clearly her fault.

My feeding time was strictly once a week, on Sunday nights. For an SSSrank succubus, that was barely enough to survive. And she was constantly interrupting it with her calls.

Every time he answered, she was either being harassed by thugs at a restaurant or too drunk to get home. Patrick would leave in a heartbeat, leaving me halfstarved every single time. So, I sought her out privately.

I offered her some cash and asked if she could please call at a different time. She reacted as if I’d spat in her face.

She gritted her teeth, stomped on the bills with her heel, and enunciated every word with venom. “Miss, you can rest assured, I have absolutely no interest in your boyfriend. I wouldn't touch a highandmighty rich boy like him with a tenfoot pole.

I rejected him more than ten times before you even met.” “He was the one who said we could be friends. I had no idea you’d be so insecure about it.” Her eyes were rimmed with red as she sneered, “Honestly, you’re acting like I did something shameful.

Please, do me a favor and tell him I will never ask him for help again. Wouldn’t want to be mistaken for a homewrecker.” With that, she turned and stalked away, her back ramrod straight, a perfect picture of wounded pride.

The kind of defiant posture that awakens a man’s desire to conquer. I mulled over her words and came to one happy conclusion: she wouldn’t be interrupting my meals anymore. But my happiness was shortlived. The story got back to Patrick.

And for the first time, the man who was always so calm and elegant was furious with me.

He was convinced I had bullied Stacy and was refusing to admit it. “She’s a proud person,” he said, his voice tight with anger. “For her to even ask for help is a huge deal. And you?

You just destroyed the last shred of dignity she had.” My own eyes welled with tears, but I repeated stubbornly, “...But it wasn’t my fault.” I had always been obedient, but on this, I wouldn’t back down.

After a few more rounds of this, his patience snapped. “It seems you won’t understand your place until you’re taught a lesson.” He loosened his tie and rose to his feet. “The manor on South Hill is sitting empty.

It’ll be the perfect place for you to reflect on your actions,” he said, his voice void of emotion. “And until you learn to behave, you can starve.

Who else do you think is going to feed you if you leave me?” I met the warning in his dark eyes and fought back tears. “Fine! Starve me! I don’t want you to feed me anyway!” I’m an SSSrank succubus! I can have any man I want!

He just scoffed, unimpressed. No one knew better than him what our magical contract meant.

2 A stubborn fire burned in my chest. I held out for three days, and then another three. I was so hungry I was dizzy, my legs threatening to buckle, but I refused to call him.

The best way to tame your prey is to corner it, wait for it to exhaust itself, and then appear as its savior. Patrick had always been a patient hunter. The summer was a sweltering, humid affair, punctuated by violent thunderstorms.

On my tenth day locked in the manor, a storm broke. The wind howled, and lightning tore across the sky. I curled into a tight ball on the sofa, burying my face in my knees, my body weak with fatigue.

My tearfilled eyes kept darting toward the floortoceiling windows. If Patrick showed up now, I thought, I could bring myself to forgive him. Just a little.

Whenever it stormed, he used to pull me into his arms, chiding me for being “pathetic” while gently wiping the tears from my eyes. But now, the manor was dead silent. Not even a phone call. I sniffled, burying my face deeper, trying to disappear.

Suddenly, a deafening clap of thunder and a flash of lightning illuminated the living room. The front door blew open with a gust of cold, rainsoaked wind. I lifted my head, stunned.

A figure in a crimson racing suit stood there, appearing out of nowhere. Tall and lean, with rainslicked black hair. His face was both strange and familiar. My body’s need overrode my mind’s logic. The tears I’d been holding back finally fell.

I tossed the pillow aside and ran to him barefoot, throwing myself into his arms. “Patrick!”

3 I was still furious with him.

But the moment my arms wrapped around his waist, an overwhelming wave of misery washed over me. “I hate you…” I sobbed, my small fists pounding weakly against his chest. “I really, really hate you…” A cool, wet hand suddenly clamped around my wrist.

The man pulled me back, creating a space between us. His voice was lazy, teasing. “Well, hello. Throwing yourself at me?” Maybe it was the wet hair plastered to his forehead, obscuring his sharp brow. He seemed less… cold.

The crimson racing suit gave him a reckless, devilmaycare air. Something about this Patrick felt different. But I was too hungry, my head too fuzzy to place it.

I just looked at him, confused. “Why are you dressed like that?” I remembered Patrick sneering at motorsports, calling them vulgar.

He circled my feverish wrist with his fingers, his brow furrowed. “You’re here all alone?” That was a strange question. “Didn’t you tell me to stay here and ‘reflect’?” He scanned the cavernous villa, then placed the back of his hand on my forehead.

I leaned back instinctively. He clicked his tongue. “Tsk. You’re burning up and you don’t even know it?” Was I? I touched my own cheek, dazed.

4 I’ve always loved the cold. Even in the middle of a rainstorm, I had the air conditioning blasting throughout the house. The first thing he did was find the remote and shut it all off. The manor was barely furnished, with no medicine to speak of.

All he could do was place a damp towel on my forehead to bring the fever down. His phone rang for a long time before someone picked up.

The voice on the other end was clipped. “What?” This man—this Patrick—got straight to the point, his tone lazy and arrogant. “Can’t a guy call his brother just to say hi?

Anyway, that little succubus you’ve got locked up at the South Hill manor is running a fever.

Aren’t you going to come check on her?” “What are you doing there?” The voice on the other end—the real Patrick—was instantly hostile. “My car broke down nearby.

Came in to get out of the rain.” The sound of a GPS voice could be heard in the background, announcing a turn into an older neighborhood. The man here chuckled, his voice laced with mockery. “Oh, heading to your little damsel’s place, are we?

Playing the white knight again?” In the background, Stacy’s icy voice cut in, tinged with a hint of petulance. “You don’t have to go out of your way. You can just drop me at the next corner.” “Be quiet,” Patrick snapped.

Then, to the man in the room with me, his voice turned colder still. “Damien. Get her a doctor.

I’m not coming over.” The man—Damien—looked out at the torrential rain, his long fingers tapping against the windowpane. “I’m just curious, brother,” he said, his tone dangerously smooth. “You’re ignoring your own girlfriend who’s burning up with a fever to drive Stacy all the way home.

Is she really that precious? Or are you planning on cheating?” The words were blunt and ugly. “We’re just friends,” Patrick corrected him, his voice rigid. “Stacy got caught in the rain. She looked terrible.

I couldn’t just leave her.” “And Elara?” “She’s been inside all day, what could possibly be wrong with her? A succubus’s constitution is strong. She can handle being hungry and running a fever for a few days.

How else will she learn her lesson?” Damien actually laughed at that. “Goes to show,” he mused, “playing the other woman really gets you all the sympathy these days.” That must have struck a nerve with Stacy.

Her voice suddenly broke in. “Patrick, it’s fine, really. I can manage on my own.” “Sit still,” Patrick commanded her. Then, back into the phone, his voice was ice. “Damien, I told you, we are just friends.

One more word out of you and I’ll have your racing team disbanded by tomorrow.” “Get her a doctor, then leave the manor. I’ll go see her in a few days.” With that, he hung up. Damien’s lips curled into a playful smirk. Friends.

Such a wonderfully ambiguous, yet conveniently proper word. He turned and his eyes landed on me, delirious with fever. My skin was flushed pink, my almondshaped eyes glazed over with a layer of mist as I stared at him, confused and lost.

His Adam’s apple bobbed. A slow smile spread across his face. He wanted to be ‘friends’ with this little succubus, too. The kind of friends who sleep together.

5 The rain outside only intensified, showing no signs of stopping. After a while, the man checked my temperature again and replaced the damp towel on my forehead. His phone rang.

He answered it and was about to step out of the bedroom when I grabbed his wrist. “Don’t go…” I knew this scene all too well. A latenight call. It was always either work or Stacy.

Maybe it was the fever making me fragile, but my eyes filled with tears. I unconsciously rubbed my head against his wrist bone. “Patrick… stay with me, please?” The person on the other end of the line was still talking.

His throat moved, a subtle swallow. Outside, the thunder cracked and the rain beat a soft rhythm against the glass. The hunger crept back, a silent, gnawing ache.

I sniffled, widening my eyes to look as pitiful as possible. “Don’t go… I’ll starve to death.” The man looked at me, his expression unreadable. In the heavy silence, the hope in my eyes slowly died.

I remembered what he—what Patrick—had said once when he pushed me away. “Is kissing and cuddling all you ever think about?” I mumbled, my lip trembling, “But I’m so hungry…” “Can’t you control yourself? Isn’t once a week enough?

If you can’t learn to manage your desires, what’s the difference between you and some stray animal on the street?” His words had been sharp, impatient, each one a stab to my heart.

Tears had streamed down my face then, but I’d bitten my lip to keep from sobbing, afraid of annoying him even more. He wanted me to have selfrespect. But a succubus’s instincts are not governed by logic.

Prolonged starvation devours all thought, leaving only the most primitive, desperate will to survive. That’s why the first time I couldn’t bear it and snuck out to feed, he had laughed, a cold, furious sound, before coaxing me into the contract.

He said it was to restrain me, but also to protect me. “The men out there are dirty.” He didn’t like me being with anyone else, yet he never fed me enough. Just like tonight.

The man in front of me hung up the phone and looked down at me with a soft click of his tongue. “Tsk. Such a handful.” His tone was just as cold as ever. I watched him walk out of the bedroom, and the tears I’d been holding back finally began to fall.

6 But my sadness lasted less than five minutes. The man returned, reappearing in my blurry vision. A glass of warm, sweet milk was held to my lips.

I looked up, my eyes swimming with tears, and just stared at him. “What are you looking at?” his voice was light, teasing. “Aren’t you hungry?” I parted my lips. The warm, sweet milk slid down my throat, but my gaze never left his face.

He held the glass for me, letting me drink half of it before he looked away, a hint of awkwardness in his posture. “Hold it yourself,” he commanded. “Okay,” I sniffled, taking the glass obediently.

A fat teardrop clinging to my lashes rolled down my cheek and fell into the milk. Then another, and another. He seemed unable to watch.

He reached out and gently wiped my cheek, his voice softer now. “What are you crying for?” My lower lip trembled. “I thought you were leaving.” “You want me to stay that badly?” He looked down, his gaze meeting mine. I nodded, my eyes red. “Yes.

Very much.” He was always so busy. Ever since we’d signed the contract, he rarely spent any time on me. Maybe he had his career to focus on, or maybe he just felt our relationship no longer required any effort. He never cared about how I felt.

But I couldn't help but hope. Just like now. “Are you going to leave tonight?” “No,” he said, his eyes on the tears shimmering on my lashes. He glanced at the downpour outside. “Can’t you see it’s storming?”

7 The rain was too heavy and the manor too remote. It took over an hour for the fever medicine to finally arrive. The man checked my temperature again, then held a glass of water to my lips and helped me take the pills.

As he turned to leave, I got bold. I grabbed the collar of his shirt, my eyes pleading. “Hungry… so hungry…” I reminded him again.

He paused, his brow creasing. “Still hungry?” “Hungry,” I said, my gaze earnest and pathetic. “I need kisses.” His eyes darkened, but he didn't move.

I tried to coax him. “Please, honey?” My succubus tail, beyond my control, slipped out from beneath my clothes and tentatively brushed against his hip. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

He pulled my hand away. “Patrick…” I started to panic, about to say that a hug would be fine if he didn’t want to kiss. But he set the glass down, turned back, and grabbed my wrist, pushing me down onto the bed.

Unlike the cool, crisp scent of cedar that usually clung to Patrick, this man’s scent was deep and scorching hot. The bridge of his nose brushed against my cheek as he pressed a kiss to my damp eyelashes.

That simple touch ignited a deeper, more ferocious hunger inside me. This heat… it felt strangely familiar.

I instinctively pressed closer, my voice a soft, trembling plea. “Honey, kiss me…” He easily pinned my hips, his lazy voice laced with amusement. “Don’t move.” The desire in my eyes was about to spill over.

He poked my cheek, one eyebrow raised. “This hungry?” “You haven’t fed me in so long,” I whimpered. “And a kiss will be enough?” he asked. Of course not. I swallowed hard. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest.

He released me, then pulled me up to straddle his waist as he lay back against the pillows. “If you want it,” he said, his voice a low drawl, “you’ll have to take it yourself.” My face flushed as I reached out with trembling fingers to unzip his racing suit.

But the zipper was heavy, the teeth tightly interlocked. I couldn’t get it down. I looked up at him, helpless.

He stroked my hot cheek and sighed. “Still so clumsy, aren't you?” He pulled me down for a deep kiss, and in the same smooth motion, his hand found the zipper I’d been struggling with and slid it all the way down.