Chapter 53. Emotional Warfare
Succubi Chapter 53. Emotional Warfare
“Queenie is your sister, right?” Rivy asked casually, spearing a roasted carrot like it personally offended her.
I nodded, chewing a forkful of truffle-glazed steak, letting the flavor melt over my tongue before answering. “Yup. Unfortunately.”
Gladia’s eyes lit up like I’d just opened a forbidden gossip door. “Oho? Sibling drama?”
I swallowed. “We’re not on great terms. I mean—we’re not stabbing each other in the hallway or anything. But we gaslight each other a lot.”
Val raised a brow. “Gaslight?”
“Emotional warfare,” I explained between bites. “Passive-aggressive comments. Petty insults. Mental gymnastics for dominance.”
“She sounds charming,” Lilith said dryly from the far end of the table as she refilled a glass of wine for herself.
“She’s annoying,” I replied, pointing my fork toward no one in particular. “Jealous all the time. Always trying to take my stuff. Clothes, devices, my pens—hell, once she tried to claim my bed while I was still using it.”
Lilith arched a brow, swirling her wine. “And you let her?”
I snorted. “I don’t let her. She somehow always finds a way to get it. Like, I’ll hide something in a lockbox inside a closet—next thing I know, she’s posting selfies with it online, tagging me.”
Val blinked. “That’s kind of impressive.”
“It’s disturbing,” I muttered, cutting another piece of meat.
Sera finally spoke, voice still soft with drowsiness as she poked at her risotto. “What about your parents? I mean… human parents. They just let it happen?”
I didn’t answer immediately.
My fork hovered.
The room got a little quieter, just for a second.
Then I put the food in my mouth, chewed, and said slowly, “Yeah.”
I glanced down at my plate. “I mean, I’m adopted. Queenie’s their biological daughter. I’m older than her. So I always heard the same lines growing up—‘you’re her big brother,’ ‘you have to understand,’ ‘she’s just a child.’”
Rivy leaned back in her seat, twirling her glass. “Ah. The older sibling clause.”
“Exactly,” I said. “They never outright treated me differently. Birthdays, gifts—they bought us the same stuff. Same everything. Only difference was Queenie always wanted everything in pink.”
Gladia grinned. “Let me guess—hers had sparkles too?”
“Always,” I sighed. “And if mine had the slightest cooler feature, she’d throw a fit until she got one better.”
Val smirked. “And your parents always took her side when you clashed?”
“Always.” I cut into my risotto now, scooping a bite with way too much buttery perfection for this conversation. “If we fought? It was my fault. Because I was older. Because I should know better. Because I should let her win.”
Evelyn, quiet up to this point, finally asked softly, “Did that… make you mad?”
I looked up.
Right into her eyes.
And nodded. “Oh yeah. I got mad. A lot.”
Gladia tilted her head. “But you didn’t do anything? That’s so uncommon for a pride demon.”
I smiled slowly. “I didn’t carry out revenge openly. That would’ve been stupid. She’d play the victim and paint me as the villain faster than I could say ‘toddler tantrum.’”
Val chuckled. “Let me guess…. So you did it quietly.”
“Petty revenge,” I confirmed, sipping my drink. “The best kind. Stuff that ruins her whole day and she never figures out why.”
Rivy grinned. “Examples. I want examples.”
I leaned back in my chair and smirked. “Mixed her hair serum with super mild glue once. Not enough to stick—but enough to make her hair slightly stiff and flat for the entire school photo day.”
Sera blinked. “That’s so subtle.”
“She cried for two hours,” I said proudly.
Lilith sipped her wine, deadpan. “Devious.”
Gladia tossed popcorn from her pocket into her mouth and beamed. “I love you.”
“I know.”
Val nudged me with her elbow, still grinning. “And here I thought you didn’t have a mean streak.”
“Oh, I have one,” I said casually. “I just prefer to save it for people who deserve it. Or who try to steal my throne.”
“Or your towel,” Gladia offered.
“Exactly.”
The table erupted into quiet laughter again. The food shimmered with heat, glasses clinked, the golden light reflected in all their mischievous expressions—and for a moment, I felt weirdly… home.
Not the kind of home where people called me by my full name in scolding tones or told you to be “the responsible one.”
This was… looser. Warmer. Stranger, definitely. But warmer.
Like all the rules of family had been rewritten in chaos and flirtation and sarcastic affection.
I was scooping another bite of risotto when Lilith spoke.
Her tone wasn’t loud or commanding like usual. It slid in between the noise like velvet under a blade.
“Evan,” she said, “your sister… Queenie.”
I blinked, looking up. “Yeah?”
She twirled her fork lightly through her salad—not looking straight at me. “Do you ever wonder why she acts that way with you?”
The table quieted a little. Not all the way. Just… enough.
Her voice wasn’t teasing. There was a hint of genuine curiosity. Maybe even concern.
I paused, mid-bite.
Because that?
That was new.
I cleared my throat. “You mean the jealousy?”
“Jealousy. Control. Possession,” she said simply. “It sounds like more than sibling rivalry.”
I didn’t know how to answer at first.
Not because I was hiding anything.
But because… I hadn’t really thought of it that way.
“I don’t know,” I said after a beat. “I mean, she’s always been like that. Ever since we were kids. Wanting what I had. Getting mad if I had something she didn’t. Or worse, if I didn’t want what she wanted and made her feel weird for liking it.”
I shrugged and set my fork down.
“I guess I just assumed that’s how siblings were.”
Lilith’s eyes stayed on me for a second longer than necessary. “And you didn’t resent her for it?”
I tilted my head slightly. “Sometimes. Not always.”
That wasn’t a lie.
I did resent her. But not for wanting things. Not even for being favored sometimes.
What always messed with my head was why I wasn’t madder about it.
Why I let it happen again and again. Why I never told her off the way she probably deserved.
“I guess I just figured… I was the older one. Adopted. She was younger. Maybe she felt like she had to fight harder to get attention, y’know?”
I paused.
A weird tangle of thoughts shifted in my chest. Not heavy. Just… unfamiliar.
Like I was peeling back layers I hadn’t noticed were there before.
“I mean, they always told me they loved me just as much. That there was no difference. But when push came to shove? They always defended her.”
Gladia let out a low whistle. “Yeah, okay. That’s not normal.”
I looked up at her, a little surprised. “It’s not?”
Val rested her chin on her hand, gaze soft for once. “I think you grew up like that, so you thought it was normal.”
I blinked. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh,” Gladia said, frowning. “That’s like… classic invisible sibling syndrome. They keep you in the frame but always slightly out of focus.”
I leaned back in my chair, poking at the edge of my plate. “…Huh.”
“Does it bother you now?” Lilith asked, still soft.
I didn’t know how to answer that either. Not directly.
I scratched the back of my neck. “I don’t know. Maybe? Not in a burning rage kind of way. More like… I keep remembering stuff lately that used to feel normal. But now I’m wondering if it ever really was.”
I tried to laugh it off. “Ugh. Okay, this feels like therapy.”
Sera, who’d gone quiet while tearing a baguette into perfect pieces, nodded. “I think it’s your Pride affinity. You rationalize everything to avoid looking wounded.”
I stared at her.
“…That’s unsettlingly accurate.”
She yawned. “It’s not a bad thing. It’s a survival thing.”
Val reached over and flicked a grain of food off my collar. “So you really are an anomaly.”
“I am the Anomaly,” I said, holding up a hand dramatically. “Now with bonus sibling trauma!”
Gladia leaned over and clinked her glass gently against mine. “Cheers to petty revenge and repressed feelings.”
We drank.
And for once, I didn’t feel awkward.
Not judged. Not pitied.
Just… heard.
Even if it was over risotto and roasted garlic potatoes.
Lilith finally smiled and leaned back. “You’re handling it better than most.”
“Pride demons suppress everything by default,” I muttered, stabbing a cherry tomato.
Evelyn, still mostly silent, finally spoke again—soft, but sure.
“I don’t think you’re broken. I just think no one ever let you feel safe enough to fall apart.”
My hand froze slightly.
Then I glanced at her and gave a small, crooked smile. “So… dinner table’s the new therapy couch?”
“Therapy bench,” Gladia corrected. “We don’t sit like normal people.”
“Speak for yourself,” Val said, lounging with one leg over her chair arm. “I sit like a queen.”
“You sit like someone asking to be unseated,” Rivy fired back, smirking.
Laughter bloomed again. And the moment lightened.
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