The Incubus System Chapter 1173. Cupcake War

The Incubus System Chapter 1173. Cupcake War

Celia was already opening the cupcake box like it contained the cure to all her trauma. “Whoa…” she whispered like she just laid eyes on buried treasure. Her eyes sparkled. She poked at the glossy tops of the cupcakes like she was checking for traps, then picked one up and took a bite.

The second that frosting hit her tongue, she melted into the couch like she had just transcended mortality. “Mmmghf,” she groaned, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk. “This is so good.”

I rolled my eyes, trying not to feel smug.

Meanwhile, the rest of the room was a mess of craving and envy. All eyes were on Celia—my pets and Foxy included.

Foxy crouched behind the couch like she was trying to resist lunging. Her nose twitched. Her ears drooped dramatically. “Master…” she whimpered, voice weak. “This is torture. You bring sweetness into the house and flaunt it like that…”

I didn’t even look up. Just pointed lazily at her. “You know you can’t eat human food. It tastes like ash to you.”

“I can still want it!” she snapped, hugging her tails like they were her emotional support pillow. “It smells so deceptively good!”

Red, my red dog, was full-on drooling, tongue lolling out as he stared at Celia’s cupcake like it was a siren song. “Just a lick. One lick.”

“No.”

“Not even the paper?”

“Red.”

“I’d settle for crumbs.”

“You know it will taste like a rotten apple for you.”

He let out a dramatic groan and flopped onto the rug, tail thumping like a rejected puppy.

Shadow his tail on the windowsill and sighed. “You know the worst part? It’s not even real sweetness to us. Just lies. Betrayal. But somehow, we still want it.”

“Welcome to the curse of having a nose,” Buni muttered from the armrest. “I can smell the sugar. I know it’s going to taste like charred regret. But my body keeps hoping.”

Foxy collapsed on the floor with a theatrical whine. “I want to be human for five minutes…”

“Absolutely not,” I muttered, adjusting in my chair.

Shadow stretched on the windowsill, eyes narrowed. “Honestly, this is just cruelty. You bring mortal sweets into the house knowing full well we can’t partake. What’s next? Hosting a barbecue in front of starving vampires?”

“Don’t tempt me,” I muttered.

Buni hopped up on the armrest beside me, twitching his nose like he could smell every molecule of frosting. “Your Highness. Look at me.” He turned his big watery bunny eyes on me. “I’m this close to evolving out of spite.”

Rave cawed, “So close.”

Celia, unfazed by the collective suffering of every non-human in the room, continued chewing like a gremlin. “Soooo,” she said through a mouthful, “did you confess that you’re a demon… you know… in ‘your standard Ethan confession style’?”

I gave her a deadpanned look. “Now I have a standard for confessing my demon identity?”

She nodded seriously and took another bite. “Kinda.”

I groaned, dragging my hand down my face. “I knew I should’ve worked on presentation slides. Like… ‘Hi, I’m Ethan. I have horns and wings sometimes. Don’t panic.’”

“Could’ve added pie charts,” Shadow chimed in.

Celia giggled. “So? Yes or no?”

“Yes,” I said, sighing. “She already knew. I told her everything.”

“And?” Celia leaned in slightly, frosting on her lip. “What did she say? Shocked? Screamed? Passed out? Or maybe…” She fluttered her eyelashes dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “‘Oh, I didn’t know that handsome and cool great demon was my own stepbrother. Please take me. I want to sleep with you!’”

I squinted at her. “You rehearsed that.”

She gave me an innocent look and took another bite of her cupcake. “Maybe.”

I gave her a long stare and said flatly, “No. I just said something like, ‘Yeah, I’m that great demon. I’m going to f*ck you like no tomorrow, Tiff.’”

Celia almost choked, slapping her chest while laughing. “Wait—are you serious?”

“No, of course not!” I said, rolling my eyes. “You think I’m that dumb?”

“Sometimes.”

I glared. She glanced away innocently, cupcake halfway to her mouth like she hadn’t just slandered me in front of an audience.

“The confession was a bit awkward at the beginning,” I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck. “But somehow… it wasn’t that bad. She wasn’t dramatic. She didn’t even seem that surprised, actually.”

Celia tilted her head. “That’s… surprisingly healthy.”

“I know, right?”

“Did Emma tell her?”

“No.”

“Ruby?”

“Nope.”

“Larry?”

“Also nope.”

“Okay, okay, but what about Mrs. Clea?”

“No. She didn’t say a word.”

I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temple like reliving the memory had given me a migraine. Celia was still hugging the cupcake box like it held her emotional support animal. She was halfway through her third one, lips dusted with powdered sugar, eyes gleaming with both judgment and the sugar high of a woman who’d been stressed out for three days straight.

“Great,” she said, licking a finger clean. “What about Mom?”

I groaned softly. “She’s fine.”

“The letter?” Celia raised her brows.

I sighed. “That ‘urgent’ letter was just about our dear stepdad being ‘sick.’”

“Don’t know if it’s real or a load of crap,” I said, tossing a small pillow up and down with one hand. “And honestly? Don’t really care. Mom wanted me and Tiffany to help her out. The trial’s coming up, and I guess she’s starting to feel the pressure.”

That silenced Celia for a moment.

Like, actual silence. From Celia. Which meant something serious was spinning behind those big eyes of hers. Either she was pretending she didn’t want to know more, or she was doing that classic Celia thing—burying the pain like a squirrel burying a cursed acorn and then forgetting where she hid it.

“I don’t care about it,” she finally said.

Liar.

But I let it slide.

She turned toward me, eyes suddenly sharper, almost manic with interest. “What I want to know,” she said, pointing a frosting-stained finger at my face, “is… did you show her?”

“Show her what?” I asked warily.

“Your identity!” she exclaimed. “Did you show her you’re a big ol’ scary demon lord who could snap his fingers and turn her to dust?”

Her enthusiasm was horrifying.