Chapter 1

I drained my savings account for a monster.

Specifically, an Incubus.

The website description was practically glowing: Devastatingly handsome, aloof temperament, sculpted eight-pack abs, and a waist built for power.

But the line that sold me? The one that made me click "Buy Now" without a second thought?

Extremely capable. Endless stamina. Will serve until the job is done.

That was it. That was exactly what I needed. I transferred the funds with trembling fingers.

Almost immediately, a chat window popped up from Customer Service.

[Support Agent]: Hi there! Just saw your order. Quick check-in?

[Me]: Yeah? Is there a problem?

[Support Agent]: Not exactly. It’s just… the model you chose, No. 001, is a bit special. He’s a fully mature male with a rather… cold personality. And his stamina is frankly terrifying. If you’re a beginner, he might be too intense for you. We have gentler models if you want to switch?

[Me]: Absolutely not. I need intense. I need someone cold and efficient who won’t stop until the work is finished.

There was a long pause on the other end. I could almost feel the agent blinking at the screen.

[Support Agent]: …Alright then. If you’re sure you can handle him. He’ll be delivered to your door shortly. Have fun. A lot of fun.

Three days later, there was a knock on my door.

I opened it and forgot how to breathe.

I knew the Incubus race was supposed to be unnaturally beautiful, but this was ridiculous. The man standing in my hallway didn’t look like a product. He looked like a fallen king who had just stepped off a throne made of shadows.

Broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his black shirt. His waist was tapered and lethal. And his face… it was a masterpiece of cold, aristocratic indifference.

"Master."

His voice was a low rumble, like distant thunder vibrating through the floorboards. It brushed against my eardrums, teasing and heavy.

I waved my hands frantically, my face heating up. "Whoa, no. Don't call me that. It sounds weird. Just call me Nova. Do you… have a name?"

He stared down at me with dark, unreadable eyes. "Draven Thorne."

As he spoke, something shifted behind him. A long, sleek tail with a spade-shaped tip uncurled from behind his back, hovering in the air between us.

"Protocol dictates you must hold my tail to confirm receipt of delivery," Draven said, his tone devoid of emotion.

"Oh. Right. Protocol."

I reached out.

The moment my palm closed around his tail, I was surprised. I expected scales or cold skin, but it was warm. Soft. It felt like velvet over steel muscle. It was strangely addictive to touch.

Without thinking, I gave it a gentle squeeze.

"…Ngh."

A low, strangled sound escaped Draven’s throat. It wasn't a word. It was a vibration—deep, rhythmic, and dangerously like a purr.

I snatched my hand back as if I’d been burned. "I am so sorry! Did I hurt you?"

Draven lowered his gaze. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. The rumbling in his chest didn't stop; it only got deeper.

"No," he rasped, his voice dropping an octave. "I just… wasn't prepared for your touch."

"Oh, good." I let out a breath of relief. He was just nervous. Poor guy. New environment and all. "Don't be nervous, okay? You can rest for a bit if you want. You’re going to need a lot of energy for what I have planned."

His pupils blew wide. "If you wish… we can start now."

"Now?" I checked my watch. "Well, I guess there’s no time like the present. Efficiency. I like it."

"Good." The purring sound grew louder, vibrating in the small hallway.

I reached out and gently took his arm—his muscles were rock hard under my fingers. "Why are you so tense? Relax. Once you get the hang of the rhythm, it won’t be hard. Come with me."

He followed me obediently, his movements predatory and silent.

I led him straight into the kitchen.

Draven stopped dead in his tracks. He looked around at the dirty counters, the pile of dishes, and the unmopped floor.

"The… kitchen?" he asked, his voice laced with confusion.

"Yeah, the kitchen. Where else would we start?" I asked, genuinely puzzled. "Unless you wanted to start in the bedroom? The sheets are a mess in there, too."

His eyes darkened. Heat flared behind that cold mask. "…The kitchen is fine."

"Great."

I turned around, grabbed a brand-new, yellow microfiber dishcloth, and slapped it into his large, elegant hand.

"Alright, Draven," I said, giving him an encouraging smile. "I’m counting on you. You’re the expensive, capable model, right? So show me what you’ve got."

He stared at the yellow cloth in his hand like it was an alien artifact.

"Nova," he said slowly, "you want me to… wash dishes?"