Chapter 52. Gaslighting at Its Fittest
Succubi Chapter 52. Gaslighting at Its Fittest
The door clicked shut behind me, finally—finally—giving me a moment of peace from the parade of succubus chaos that had been shadowing my very damp, very overstimulated existence.
Steam still clung to my skin, but the room was cooler—airy with the soft hum of enchanted ventilation charms. I dropped the towel bag onto the corner chair, loosened the knot at my waist, and began drying off with the one towel that wasn’t already emotionally compromised.
I wiped down my chest, arms, the back of my neck. My legs still felt like they were running low on batteries, but hey, at least I wasn’t limping. That would’ve been a look.
Tossing the damp towel onto the rack, I grabbed a plain dark T-shirt and some jogger-style pants. No frills. Just something clean and comfy. Still Pride-approved, of course—there’s a certain level of casual badass that has to be maintained, even at dinner.
I glanced at the mirror—better. Less wrecked. More smug.
Then my phone buzzed on the side table.
Queenie.
Of course.
I already knew it was her before I even picked it up. That annoying little gremlin had a sixth sense for moments she shouldn’t be texting me. But did that stop her? Absolutely not.
I opened the message.
It was a picture.
Of her.
Flexing in her newly redecorated room like she was starring in a magical interior design reality show.
Gold-tinted drapes. A crystal-glass lamp that was probably fake. Pillows fluffed within an inch of their life. And her stupid smug grin in the mirror like, “Look at me, peasant. This is royalty.”
The caption?
Queenie: Just finished redesigning MY room
Queenie: Isn’t she beautiful? I’m calling her ‘The Throne of Queenie’.
Queenie: Not like you’ll need a dorm room much longer anyway. Must be nice to know you’ll be kicked out after graduation.
I stared at it.
Then at the glittery gold pillow behind her.
Then back at her smug little face.
Did it make me mad?
No.
Absolutely not.
It made me inspired.
I adjusted my shirt collar, stepped back just enough to catch my side of the room in the frame—the elegant, enchanted lighting glowing soft on my obsidian shelves, my polished desk, the floating crystal clock ticking quietly in the background.
And of course, my face.
Smug as hell.
One eyebrow slightly raised.
Perfect lighting.
I snapped the photo. Uploaded it.
Evan: Must be nice to play princess. But y’know what’s nicer? Owning the castle.
Evan: How’s the wallpaper glue doing, by the way? Still peeling? PS: My throne’s heated. Yours?
Sent.
‘Gaslighting at its fittest.’
Muahahaha.
She’d probably combust.
I tucked the phone away with all the grace of a villain flicking their cape over one shoulder and preparing to monologue. Honestly, I thought I had time to relax, maybe lounge on the bed a bit and savor the mental image of her screeching.
But then— Lilith’s voice came from the intercom.
“Dinner is served, everyone.”
…Already?
I looked at the clock.
5:42 PM.
Early?
Either way—
Opportunity.
I grabbed my phone again, rolled my neck once, and smirked. “Let’s make Queenie really suffer.”
I walked out of my room.
The hallway was still empty, and the scent of food hadn't fully hit yet, but I could hear faint movement ahead—the clatter of plates, the hum of conversation, Gladia's popcorn crunch echoing like a metronome of chaos.
The dining hall doors stood open.
Gladia was already seated, legs casually thrown over the side of her chair like she owned the place, popcorn bowl perched on her thigh. She looked way too comfortable.
“You’re early,” I said, sliding into my usual seat.
“I live here,” she said, tossing a kernel into her mouth without breaking eye contact. “Also, I wanted front-row seats to the post-shower fallout. And dinner. But mostly the fallout.”
I just grunted and leaned back in my chair, stretching my legs under the table.
Moments later, Rivy strode in, all hip sway and sharp smiles. She plopped down across from me, one brow already raised. “So, how’s Prince Charming’s stamina today? Still standing?”
Before I could even answer, Evelyn slipped in behind her—quiet, almost sneaky. She tried to make it to her seat unnoticed.
She failed.
My eyes met hers for a second. She looked away instantly, cheeks dusted with pink.
Rivy noticed too. “Well well. Someone’s blushing.”
“I’m not,” Evelyn said quickly, sitting two chairs down from me and folding her hands like she was trying to disappear into the table.
“You kinda are,” Gladia grinned.
Before the teasing could go deeper, the last to arrive shuffled in like she hadn’t slept since the last century.
Sera.
Half-lidded eyes. Hair a mess, with one sock half-falling off her foot. She dropped into her chair with a groan and rubbed her temple.
“Someone wake me when the food lands,” she muttered.
And then—
Val.
Of course.
She walked in like she hadn’t just been the reason I’d nearly short-circuited earlier. Her hair still slightly damp, skin glowing, expression smug. She wore a loose black off-shoulder top and tight pants that left very little to imagination.
She didn’t just sit beside me.
She glided into the seat. Pressed her leg lightly against mine. Then leaned in and said, low enough for only me to hear, “You know what? I wouldn’t mind a redo after dinner.”
I blinked.
So did Rivy.
Evelyn’s head snapped up.
Gladia choked on a popcorn kernel.
Sera opened one eye, squinting at her. “You just had your turn with Anomaly, Val.”
“Exactly,” Val grinned. “Which is why I’m saying I’m open to a second.”
“That’s not how turn-based systems work,” Rivy muttered.
Gladia narrowed her eyes. “What are you, a mana hog?”
Val leaned her cheek on her hand, still smirking. “I’m just honest.”
Evelyn tried very hard to focus on her napkin.
Sera muttered, “I swear to the devil, I’m gonna start drawing lots if this keeps up.”
“I’m flattered, really,” I said dryly, glancing between them. “Didn’t realize dinner came with a custody battle.”
Val smirked wider. “No battle. Just letting the world know I call dibs.”
“You already got your dibs,” Gladia snapped, shoving her bowl aside and finally sitting up straight. “I haven’t even gotten a sniff yet.”
“That sounds way more disturbing than you think it does,” I said.
“Is it?” she asked, leaning toward me with a slow grin, her hand grazing my forearm. “I happen to be very scent-driven.”
Rivy reached across the table and flicked Gladia’s forehead. “Down, you cryptid.”
Gladia hissed, rubbing her head.
Evelyn said nothing.
But her eyes?
They betrayed everything.
Val leaned toward me again and whispered, “You’re enjoying this.”
I let out a small sigh. “I wasn’t. Now? Maybe a little.”
Right on cue, the doors swung open—this time, with a theatrical flair that could only belong to one woman.
Lilith.
Hair tied back. Apron over her sexy velvet dress. Eyes gleaming like she’d just pulled a 3-star Michelin dish out of a cursed oven and knew exactly how good it smelled.
Behind her, plates floated in mid-air like obedient soldiers. Steak medallions seared to perfection. Saffron risotto glowing like edible gold. Roasted asparagus drizzled with garlic butter. A large ceramic pot of rich, simmering stew followed at the center. Chunks of beef so tender they were falling apart, golden potatoes soaking in thick, spiced broth, flecks of herbs still dancing in the heat. The scent alone made my stomach curl with hunger.
Baskets of warm bread with melted herb butter trailed behind it like loyal sidekicks. And to top it all off, a crystal bowl of fruit glazed in some kind of sugary shimmer that probably had an 80% chance of being illegal.
“Dinner is served,” Lilith said, her voice smooth and proud. “Behave yourselves. Or don’t. I don’t care.”
She flicked her fingers and the food landed softly in place, the aroma hitting us like a divine uppercut.
The girls’ eyes lit up.
Gladia leaned forward so fast her chair creaked.
Sera actually sat up straight and whispered, “Is that truffle oil?”
Rivy picked up her fork like a weapon ready for war.
Evelyn glanced around for the serving spoons like she was planning an entire plate architecture.
Val was already licking her lips, knife in hand.
But before anyone could dig in, I cleared my throat and held up my hand.
“Hold up.”
They all froze.
I reached for my phone again.
Gladia groaned. “You’re not seriously—”
“I am,” I said, adjusting the angle. “The lighting is too good. And my step sis needs to suffer.”
I stood, tilted the camera down at the table.
The warm lighting. The food layout. The succubi frozen mid-murder-glare.
And me, leaning slightly in with my smug, freshly post-shower face in the corner of the shot.
Click.
Caption?
Evan: Dinner came early. Guess some of us are just built for royalty.
Sent.
Then I sat back down.
“Okay,” I said, grabbing my fork. “Now we can eat.”
The chaos resumed instantly.
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