The Succubus Wife Discovered Her Perfect Husband Wasn’t Human Either Chapter 01

The Succubus Wife Discovered Her Perfect Husband Wasn’t Human Either Chapter 01

I was a freshly coming-of-age succubus.

Three months married. Three months starving.

My husband was cold, celibate, and hadn’t even held my hand.

I was so hungry I was ready to write my will.

Until one night, drunk out of my mind, a tail slid out from his suit pants and coiled around my ankle.

And it was thicker than mine.

I looked down and instinctively grabbed my own, completely baffled.

Then what was wrapped around my ankle?

Lucian Vane stared at my exposed little tail, his usual composure shattering. “…You too?”

Me: ???

What the hell did he mean by “you too”?

***

My name is Tessa Marlowe.

A freshly matured succubus.

According to our coven’s records, once a succubus comes of age, she needs to feed on her partner’s emotional energy to survive.

In plain English—I need to be loved, coddled, kissed, held, and carried around like a princess.

Without it? I die.

Literally. Die.

And me, Tessa Marlowe, the so-called prodigy of the Succubus coven’s newest generation, ended up marrying the richest, coldest man in Hollowbrook.

Lucian Vane. CEO of Vane Corp. The industry’s legendary iceberg-in-human-form.

Rumor had it he hadn’t laughed in thirty years.

Rumor had it his last assistant got transferred to the Hollowbrook Antarctic Research Station the day after she accidentally brushed his hand.

Rumor had it his office was permanently set to sixty degrees because he ran colder than the AC unit.

How did I end up marrying him?

A blind date.

Yeah. A succubus. On a blind date.

My mom said: “Sweetie, you just came of age. Go out into the human world, get some experience, find a husband, feed well, and come back.”

I believed her.

Not only did I believe her—I picked the best option on the market.

Six feet of lean muscle, narrow waist, long legs, and a jawline sharp enough to cut glass.

I remember thinking: Jackpot.

With a face like that, I could survive just by looking at him for half a month, right?

Wrong.

Three months of marriage.

He never touched me.

Not once.

I slept in the primary bedroom. He slept in the home office.

We sat on opposite ends of a dining table long enough to host a soccer match.

The longest sentence he’d ever said to me?

“Mm.”

The shortest?

A look.

The kind that said, “Are you done talking? I’m busy.”

As a succubus, my basic energy intake came from emotional waves my partner released during intimate contact.

What did he give me?

Zero.

Absolute dead silence.

Even my pet hamster looked at me with more warmth than he did.

Today was day ninety-one of starvation.

I looked in the mirror.

Pale face. Chapped lips. Dark circles under my eyes.

If I were human, they’d call it chronic exhaustion.

But I’m a succubus. This is called—death’s doorstep.

My mom called again today.

“Tessa, are you full yet?”

“…Almost.”

“What do you mean ‘almost’? Is your husband treating you well? Does he hold you and kiss you every day?”

I glanced at the closed home office door.

“Yeah… pretty good.”

“Good, good! Make sure you feed plenty, sweetie. Don’t hold back. When I was chasing your father—”

“Mom, I gotta go, talk later.”

I hung up and collapsed onto the couch.

Hungry.

So hungry.

That bone-deep, hollow ache. Like a person who hadn’t eaten in three days catching a whiff of pot roast from the neighbor’s kitchen.

I stared at the home office door.

That door. Always closed.

That’s it.

I had to make a move today.

I dug out my ultimate weapon—a black lace chemise nightgown.

My mom had packed it into my wedding gifts and said: “Wear this. One hit, guaranteed kill.”

I changed in front of the mirror.

Delicate collarbones. Slender waist. Black lace barely hiding anything.

Honestly? I looked good.

I gave myself a solid nine out of ten.

Minus ten points because my skin was so pale I looked like I’d just crawled out of a morgue.

Whatever. I couldn’t afford to care anymore.

If I didn’t eat soon, I’d end up in that morgue for real.

I took a deep breath and drifted to the home office door.

Knocked.

“Lucian.”

Three seconds later, the door cracked open.

He stood in the doorway, shirt buttoned all the way to the top, tie perfectly straight, a file in his hand.

His gaze landed on me.

Calmly.

Then—

Calmly looked away.

“Something wrong?”

I stood there in my mother’s one-hit-kill lace battle armor, feeling a chill rivaling Antarctica radiating off this man.

He didn’t even glance twice.

His pupils didn’t even twitch.

My confidence shattered into dust on the spot.

“N… no.”

I turned on autopilot and floated back to the primary bedroom.

Closed the door.

Slid down against it until I hit the floor.

In that moment, I didn’t feel like a succubus.

I felt like a failure.

I couldn’t even manage basic seduction.

Either this man wasn’t human.

Or he was a rock.

Antarctic ice.

An emotionless work machine.

I grabbed a pillow and bit into it.

No taste.

Yeah. Pillows don’t replace emotional energy.

That night I had a dream.

I starved to death. Lucian showed up at my funeral.

He stood over my casket, gave me a blank look, and said: “Excuse me, I need to find her credit card.”

I woke up furious.

The next morning, I made a major decision.

No more waiting around.

Time to change tactics.

If a direct approach didn’t work, I’d go the long way around.

I pulled out my phone and searched—

“What to do when your husband is too cold”

“How to make an aloof man fall for you”

“How to seduce my own husband”

The search results told me: Start small. Create physical contact.

Okay.

I can do this.

That morning, I got up extra early.

Made him a pour-over coffee and set it on the dining table.

When he sat down, I walked over with the cup, “tripped” on the table leg—

And launched the entire thing, in a perfect arc, all over his white shirt.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

I scrambled for napkins and dabbed at his chest.

Finally. Contact.

Through that thin layer of fabric, my palm pressed against his chest.

And in that split second—

I felt it.

A single, faint pulse of energy.

Like a desert traveler catching a single drop of rain on their tongue.

Before I could celebrate, his hand came up.

His fingers closed around my wrist.

Gentle pressure. But fast.

He looked down at me.

“Tessa.”

“Yeah?”

“…Don’t bother.”

He moved my hand away from his chest.

Set it aside.

Stood up, grabbed a jacket, and slipped it on over the coffee stain.

His face never cracked.

Not once.

“I’m going to the office.”

The door clicked shut.

I stood there, staring at my hand where he’d put it back.

My lip twitched.

The gap between him and me was wider than the Grand Canyon.

I’d gone that far.

And he still held back.

Unless he really wasn’t human at all.