chapter 2

Orion stared down at the dishcloth in his hand, his face flickering through confusion, disbelief, and despair.

"Yeah," I said, nodding. "If you don't know how to wash dishes, you can mop the floor, sweep, do the laundry—whatever other chores you can manage."

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

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

"…"

The low rumble in his throat stopped dead.

That's right. I'd bought Orion purely to do housework.

The idea came to me by accident, during a chat with a coworker. She had also bought an incubus online. She was always bragging in the break room about how diligent and obedient he was—cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, all on his own—and how every night at home was pure bliss.

The others giggled in a strange way, but me, dense as ever, latched onto one crucial phrase:

Helps with housework.

My eyes practically lit up.

I'd been drowning in work, too exhausted to clean my apartment, which had turned into a full-blown pigsty. It drove me crazy. So, the idea of owning an incubus who could handle chores? Too good to pass up.

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

Now, glancing at his tall figure in the kitchen, his face cool and distant as he washed the dishes, I felt completely at ease. I went to bed that night in perfect comfort.

Over the next week, my capable incubus devoted himself to housework.

He was a little clumsy at first, but within a few days, he got the hang of everything. He was a quick learner.

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

Lying under blankets that carried his body's faint scent and heat, I couldn't help letting out a long, contented sigh. My soul felt loose, unmoored.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

No wonder he cost so much. He was worth every penny.

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

At first, I thought it was nerves—him being new and uneasy. But a whole month passed, and he was still doing it.

Every night, he would crouch by my bedside, silent and still, not speaking, not doing anything—just watching me with those dark eyes that never blinked. His beautiful tail would sweep lightly across the floor, slow, almost sorrowful.

He looked… hurt.

Worried, I pressed my palm to his forehead. It was burning hot.

Was he sick?

Panicked, I patted the bed beside me. "Orion, 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. You can sleep beside me from now on."

Once I said that, he carefully climbed into bed, clutching his blanket.

He nestled into my pink pillow, his handsome features still perfect and sharp, not a hint of distortion even under gravity.

The sight was almost too much—it made my throat go dry.

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

"Orion," I said softly, "you should get a good rest tonight. Don't worry about making breakfast tomorrow."

"But you'll be hungry."

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

"That's not healthy," he said. "I'll make it for you."

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

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

God, how could an incubus be this thoughtful, this caring?

It was my fault, I thought. I hadn't taken good enough care of him, and now he was unwell.

Guilt surged through me. I leaned in and kissed his forehead—just lightly—to show how sorry I was.

Orion's lashes trembled.