Unwanted, But Not Unloved

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, succu-babe, 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 SSS-rank 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 half-starved 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 high-and-mighty rich boy like him with a ten-foot 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 happ...