Becoming Lailah: Married to my Twin Sister's Billionaire Husband-Chapter 216: The Predator 1

THE VIBRATION of the knife still thrumming in the mahogany table felt like a heartbeat—one that didn’t belong to Mailah, yet resonated in the soles of her feet.

Grayson’s grip was like iron wrapped in velvet; he was a contradiction of lethal intent and a hunger he clearly despised.

"Grayson," she began, her voice steady despite the way her pulse hammered against the palm he held pressed to her waist. "Before you decide I’m just a distraction or a ’biological glitch,’ there is something you need to know. Something that hasn’t been said, and if I don’t say it now, I think the weight of it will break whatever is left of this... whatever this is."

He didn’t pull away. His silver-rimed eyes narrowed, tracking the movement of her lips with a predatory focus that made her feel entirely exposed. "Humans and their ’important’ truths. Usually, they involve mundane betrayals or fragile hopes. Speak, then. Clear the air so I can return to deciding if I should burn this logistics empire to the ground."

Mailah took a breath, the scent of him filling her senses. "I’m not her. I’m not the woman you married. I’m her twin sister, Mailah. I came here after she died, pretending to be her, stepping into her life because... because I was desperate, and then because I stayed for you. I thought if you found out from anyone but me, in this state where you don’t even know your own heart, you’d—"

"Lucson already told me."

The words were flat, delivered with the casual indifference of someone discussing the weather.

Mailah froze, her mouth slightly agape. The confession she had been agonizing over for days was already out.

"He... he told you?"

"Yes," Grayson said, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate line along the silk of her waist. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping into a register that made her skin tingle. "He seemed to think I would find the deception offensive. That I would view it as a ’human stain’ on the Ashford legacy."

"And?" Mailah whispered, her heart in her throat.

"And," Grayson murmured, his gaze dropping to her mouth before snapping back to her eyes, "it is the first interesting thing I have learned about you. A fragile, loud human who has the audacity to walk into a den of demons and play a part for months? To lie to my face?"

He let out a short, sharp huff—it wasn’t quite a laugh, but it was the closest thing to amusement she had seen since they left Zurich.

"I thought you were a typical mortal—all tears and soft edges. But you’re a charlatan. A predator in a silk dress. It changes my impression of you entirely. It makes me wonder what else you’re capable of."

The intensity in the room shifted. It wasn’t just the "Beast" looking at her now; it was a Prince recognizing a fellow tactician. He didn’t let her go. If anything, he pulled her closer, his chest a solid wall against her.

"You’re not... angry?" she asked, her hands still gripping his lapels.

"Angry? Anger is for those who are surprised," Grayson replied. "I find myself... impressed. It takes a certain kind of madness to do what you did. It’s a trait I usually only see in my own kind. Perhaps that is why my body remembers you so vividly, even if my mind is a blank slate."

He reached out with his free hand, his fingers finally making contact with her cheek. His skin was cool, but where he touched her, it felt like a brand.

"You aren’t the wife I chose," he whispered, his eyes swirling with that mesmerizing mix of silver, blue, and dark grey. "You’re the interloper I can’t seem to discard. And right now, I find the interloper fascinating."

For a moment, the distance between them vanished. The suspense was a living thing, a wire pulled so tight it hummed.

Mailah saw the flicker of the "other" Grayson in the way his eyes softened for a fraction of a second—a man who wanted to kiss her. But the demon prince was still there, guarding the gate.

The moment was shattered by a sharp, rhythmic knocking at the study door.

"Mr. Ashford," Mrs. Baker’s voice came through the thick wood, as calm and steady as ever. "I hate to interrupt your..., but the chef is threatening to quit again. Apparently, someone moved his bone-handled paring knife and embedded it in a two-hundred-year-old table. He’s quite emotional about the wood grain."

Grayson closed his eyes for a heartbeat, a look of profound suffering crossing his face. He released Mailah, though the ghost of his touch remained on her skin like a physical weight.

"Tell the chef to find a hobby that doesn’t involve whining, Mrs. Baker," Grayson called back, his voice regaining its cool authority. "And tell him if he mentions the wood grain again, I’ll have him replaced by a machine that doesn’t have ’feelings.’"

He turned back to Mailah, the predatory heat replaced by a stiff, business-like distance. "Again, go to bed. Tomorrow, we begin the process of auditing the company. If I am to continue being a ’CEO,’ I will at least be one that doesn’t deal in logistics. It’s a bore."

The next morning, the estate felt different. The air was charged with a frantic, nervous energy. As Mailah descended the grand staircase, she found Mrs. Baker supervising a small army of staff who were polishing the marble floors with such ferocity it looked like they were trying to scrub away the very history of the house.

The front door chimed—a deep, resonant sound that echoed through the foyer. Moments later, the heavy atmosphere was punctured by a familiar, high-energy voice.

"Morning, Duchess! I hope you didn’t spend the night crying over Grayson’s lack of personality. I brought reinforcements!"

Carson bounded into the room, looking entirely too cheerful. He was followed by Lucson, who looked as though he had been carved out of silver and logic as always. And a third figure.

Mason.

He walked in with a lazy, predatory grace, his silver eyes flickering with the same unsettling intensity she remembered from the nights he had threatened to haunt her dreams.

Lately, he had mellowed, seemingly accepting her as Grayson’s mate, but as he leaned against the doorframe, Mailah felt the old prickle of fear. Did he still accept her? Or did he see this "new" Grayson as an opportunity to revert to their darker traditions?

"Mason," Mailah greeted, her voice slightly strained.

"Mailah," he replied, his voice a smooth, low drawl. "You look... tired. Have the nightmares been behaving, or do I need to pay a visit to your subconscious to liven things up?"

"Leave her alone, Mason," Lucson said, taking a seat and opening a folder. "We are here for business."

Carson immediately swiped a piece of toast from Mailah’s plate. "Business! Yes! The ’Ascension Gala.’ It’s one of the biggest gatherings of the year next to the Ashford Anniversary. Grayson hasn’t attended for centuries, but now that he’s back in his ’demon’ mood, he’s actually agreed to go."

Mailah felt a jolt of pure dread. She remembered the last time she had been to a "traditional" gathering at the Ashford Manor—an anniversary party that had quickly turned into a display of demonic hunger. She had seen the way they looked at the humans, the way the air grew heavy with the scent of hunger and power.

"He’s going?" Mailah whispered. "But... he knows what those parties are."

"He is what those parties are, dear," Mason said, his eyes flashing. "He’s one of the hosts. He’s a Prince. He’s finally acting like an Ashford again."

Mailah looked at the three brothers standing before her—Lucson, the silent consumer of devotion; Mason, the eater of fears; and Carson, the harbinger of chaos. She realized that by returning to the estate, she wasn’t just back in Grayson’s life; she was back in the feeding grounds.

"The Gala isn’t just a party, is it?" Mailah asked, her voice steadying. "It’s a buffet. You’re going there to feed."

Mason let out a soft, dark chuckle that seemed to vibrate in the shadows behind the bookshelves. "The human is quick. It’s an ’Ascension’ tradition, Mailah. We gather, we display our power, and we remind the lesser circles why the Ashfords sit at the head of the table. And yes... the energy at these events is quite delicious. Imagine a room full of the city’s elite, all desperate for Lucson’s nod and providing enough life force to keep us vibrating for a month."

Grayson tightened his grip on the back of the chair, his knuckles white. "It is a necessity."

"And what about me?" Mailah challenged, stepping into the center of the brothers’ circle. "Am I the entertainment? Or the dessert?"

The room went silent. Carson stopped fidgeting. Lucson threw her a glance, his silver eyes unreadable. It was Grayson who moved. He walked toward her, his presence overwhelming the space.

"You are my guest," Grayson whispered, his voice a low, lethal growl that was meant more for his brothers than for her. "Or you can stay here."

He turned to his brothers. "Prepare the arrangements. And find Ravenson. If he’s off starting a civil war somewhere, tell him he’s needed at home. The family is... reuniting."

"Oh, this is going to be fun," Carson grinned, his eyes sparking with the promise of impending disaster.

As the brothers filed out, Mason paused by Mailah. He leaned in, his voice a ghost of a thread in her ear. "Be careful, little twin. You’ll be walking into a room full of predators including your mate. He might not be your protector anymore. "

They were all gone before she could respond.

The rest of the morning was a whirlwind. Grayson had summoned the top executives of Ashford Global to the library. Mailah watched from a corner as Grayson tore through them with a cold, ruthless efficiency.

"This is not a company," Grayson’s voice boomed from below. "This is a charity for the unimaginative. Why are we shipping ’goods’ when we could be controlling the infrastructure of thought? Get out. And send me someone who doesn’t smell of fear."

The executives scrambled out, and Grayson remained standing by the window.

"You’re being a bit hard on them. Again," Mailah said, walking down the stairs.

Grayson turned. The "Beast" was still visible in the set of his jaw. "They are weak, Mailah. They have no vision." He paused, his gaze softening as it landed on her. "Lucson tells me you became my ’consultant’ for holding on to my humanity."

"Yes. Is that a problem?," she said, her voice a defiant whisper.

Grayson walked toward her, the space between them shrinking until she had to tilt her head back. He reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

He leaned in, his lips a hair’s breadth from hers, when a deep, familiar voice interrupted them.