Chapter 2

Lucian looked down at the dishcloth in his hand, his expression cycling through confusion, disbelief, and despair.

"Yep," I said with a nod. "If you can't wash dishes, you can mop, sweep, do the laundry—any other chores you can handle."

He blinked at me, stunned. "Wait. You bought me... to do housework?"

I blinked right back. "Yeah. What else would I buy you for?"

"..."

The low rumble in his throat cut off abruptly.

Right. I had bought Lucian purely for housework.

The idea had come to me by accident, in a chat with a coworker. She'd bought an incubus online too. In the break room she constantly bragged about how hardworking and obedient he was—he cooked, cleaned, and did laundry all by himself, and every night at home was pure bliss.

The others giggled in an odd way, but I, clueless as ever, seized on one key phrase:

Helps with housework.

My eyes lit up.

Work had been swamping me, leaving me too worn out to tidy my apartment, which had become a total pigsty. It was driving me nuts. So an incubus who could take care of the chores? Far too good to pass up.

That's why I went straight for the most capable one on the site—Lucian.

Now, looking at his tall figure in the kitchen, his face cool and remote as he washed the dishes, I felt completely at ease. I went to bed that night perfectly content.

Over the following week, my capable incubus threw himself into the housework.

He was a bit clumsy at first, but within a few days he'd mastered everything. He learned fast.

When I woke, he folded my blanket. When I washed up, he passed me a towel. When I got home from work, dinner was already on the table. And before bed, there was even a bed-warming service.

Lying beneath blankets that held his faint scent and warmth, I couldn't help releasing a long, satisfied sigh. My soul felt loose and unmoored.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

No wonder he'd cost so much. Every penny was justified.

The only thing that baffled me was that he kept... making that sound. A low, steady rumble in his throat, like a purr that never stopped.

At first I assumed it was nerves—he was new and ill at ease. But a whole month went by and he was still doing it.

Every night he'd crouch beside my bed, silent and motionless, saying nothing, doing nothing—just watching me with dark eyes that never blinked. His lovely tail swept slowly across the floor, almost mournfully.

He looked... hurt.

Worried, I laid my palm on his forehead. It was scorching.

Was he ill?

Panicking, I patted the mattress beside me. "Lucian, don't sleep on the floor tonight. Come up here."

"I can sleep on the bed?"

He froze, surprised.

I took his hand, my heart aching. "Of course you can. From now on, sleep next to me."

As soon as I said it, he carefully climbed onto the bed, clutching his blanket.

He settled into my pink pillow, his handsome features still flawless and sharp, with no hint of distortion even lying down.

The sight was almost too much—my throat went dry.

But he was still making that sound. His temperature felt even higher.

"Lucian," I said softly, "get a good rest tonight. Don't bother making breakfast tomorrow."

"But you'll go hungry."

"I'll just grab a bun on my way to work."

"That's unhealthy," he said. "I'll make it for you."

He was staring at me—no, at my mouth as I spoke, his eyes dark and heavy with something I couldn't name.

All I could think was how sweet and considerate he was.

God, how could an incubus be so thoughtful and caring?

It was my fault, I decided. I hadn't looked after him well enough, and now he was unwell.

Guilt flooded me. I leaned over and kissed his forehead—just a light touch—to show how sorry I was.