Becoming Lailah: Married to my Twin Sister's Billionaire Husband-Chapter 254: The Surprise Guest

THE SOUND WAS TINY, but in the heavy silence of the bedroom, it sounded like a saw against wood.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

Mailah froze.

Her hand, which had been reaching for the heavy brass door handle, pulled back as if the metal had suddenly turned white-hot.

Her mind raced through a list of monsters.

Was it the "Basement Ghoul" Carson joked about? Or maybe a spy sent by Valerius to finish what his cold stare had started?

She held her breath.

The music from downstairs—a haunting, cello-heavy melody—seemed to pulse in time with the scratching. Then, a sound broke through her terror.

"Meow."

It was a soft, demanding sound. It wasn’t the roar of a demon or the hiss of a ghost. It was unmistakably a cat.

Mailah blinked, her heart doing a strange little flip-flop.

She leaned in closer, her ear pressed to the dark oak of the door. "Shadow?" she whispered, her voice barely a breath as she recognized the cat’s sound.

Another meow followed, louder this time, tinged with an impatient tone that suggested the creature on the other side was tired of waiting.

Mailah turned the knob slowly.

She opened the door just a crack, ready to slam it shut if a monster was playing a very clever trick.

Instead, a small, inky-black shape darted through the gap before the door was even halfway open.

The cat moved like a spill of living shadow, tail held high and proud.

It circled Mailah’s ankles once, twice, its fur feeling like cool silk against her bare skin.

"Shadow!" Mailah gasped, closing the door and dropping to her knees.

She scooped the cat into her arms, buried her face in the familiar, herb-scented fur. "What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be with Oliver. You’re supposed to be safe."

The last time she had seen Shadow was in Tuscany.

The black cat had been passed down from an old hedge witch to her grandson, and during that brief, golden stretch in Italy, Shadow had chosen Mailah.

When Grayson’s brothers had sent the cat away with Oliver—the witch’s grandson—to start a new life somewhere safe, Mailah had felt a pang of loss she hadn’t expected.

Shadow let out a loud, vibrating purr that felt like a tiny engine. The cat’s eyes weren’t green or yellow; they were a deep, shifting amber that seemed to hold more intelligence than most of the men downstairs.

"Where is he? Where’s Oliver?" Mailah asked, pulling back to look at the cat.

Shadow didn’t speak—she was a familiar, not a cartoon character—but she tilted her head. That was when Mailah noticed the small, silver tube dangling from a leather cord around the cat’s neck.

With trembling fingers, Mailah unscrewed the cap. Inside was a tiny scroll of parchment. The handwriting was neat but hurried.

Mailah,

I tried to keep her. I really did. We were halfway to the safe house when Shadow decided the car was no longer heading in the right direction. She didn’t just meow; she literally redirected the GPS with a flick of her tail. She’s stubborn, but you know that. She insisted that you need her more than I do right now. Stay safe. She’ll come back to me when she’s ready.

— O.

Mailah sat back on her heels, the letter fluttering to the rug. "She sensed it?" she whispered, looking at the cat. "You knew I was alone?"

Shadow bumped her head against Mailah’s chin, a firm, grounding gesture.

In the supernatural world, a familiar was more than a pet; it was a mirror to the soul. If Shadow was here, it meant Mailah’s soul was in trouble.

"It’s Grayson," Mailah confessed, her voice cracking.

She sat on the edge of her bed, and Shadow immediately leaped up to sit beside her, looking like a tiny, furry judge. "He’s... he’s not him, Shadow. He’s the Prince again. He’s cold. He’s hungry. He looks at people like they’re just... juice boxes."

She thought about the "catering" arriving downstairs. The fancy cars. The humans who would walk out with a "dream" they couldn’t remember. It made her stomach churn.

"He told me I didn’t know him," she said, her eyes stinging. "And the worst part is, I think he’s right. The Grayson I loved—the one who wanted to marry me in Tuscany—he’s buried under three hundred years of pride and hunger. Should I even try, Shadow? Should I go down there and stop him? Or am I just being the ’emotional human’ he thinks I am?"

Shadow didn’t meow.

Instead, the cat stood up and walked over to the nightstand. With a deliberate, cat-like swat, she knocked over a small, framed photo Mailah had kept there.

Mailah picked it up. It was a candid shot from Tuscany—one Elin had taken when they weren’t looking.

In the photo, Grayson was laughing. It wasn’t the polite, guarded laugh of a Prince. It was a real, messy, human laugh.

He was looking at Mailah as if she were the center of his entire universe.

"He’s still in there, isn’t he?" Mailah asked.

Shadow narrowed her eyes and let out a soft, encouraging chirp.

Then, the cat hopped off the bed and walked to the door, looking back at Mailah as if to say, Well? Are we doing this or not?

Mailah stood up. She smoothed out her clothes, which was still damp from the rain. She looked at her reflection in the mirror.

She didn’t look like a victim. She looked like a woman who had survived a museum heist and a supernatural executioner.

"Okay," Mailah said, her jaw tightening. "No more hiding. If he wants a celebration, I’ll give him one he won’t forget."

The grand staircase of the estate felt like a descent into another world.

As Mailah walked down, Shadow trailing behind her like a living inkblot, the music grew louder. It was a waltz now, graceful and dangerous.

The foyer was filled with a strange, shimmering light. The "guests" had arrived.

Mailah stopped at the base of the stairs, her breath catching.

There were six of them—three men and three women. They were dressed in evening wear, looking like they were heading to the most exclusive gala in the city.

But their eyes were slightly glazed, their movements fluid and dream-like. They weren’t being hurt; they were being charmed.

And there were the brothers.

Lucson was leaning against the piano, a glass of dark liquid in his hand, talking smoothly to a woman who looked like she was hearing the voice of a god.

Mason and Ravenson were by the fireplace, their presence looming but strangely inviting.

And Grayson.

He was standing in the center of the ballroom, his linen shirt still unbuttoned at the collar.

He looked powerful. He looked like a king among subjects. A young man was standing in front of him, looking up at Grayson with an expression of pure, blissful awe.

Grayson’s hand was on the man’s shoulder as he began the "draw."

"Grayson!"

The name cut through the music like a blade.

The music didn’t stop, but the atmosphere shifted. The shimmer in the air faltered.

Grayson turned his head slowly, his eyes locking onto Mailah’s. He didn’t look angry; he looked interrupted.

"Mailah," he said, his voice a low, resonant hum. "I told you to stay in your room." 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

"I’m not very good at following orders," she said, walking into the room. Shadow padded beside her, her eyes glowing.

Carson, who was currently sharing a silk sofa with two "guests," let out a low whistle. "Is that... the hedge witch’s cat? How the hell did that cat get here?"

Grayson let go of the young man, who blinked and swayed as if he had just woken up from a very deep sleep.

Grayson stepped toward Mailah, his movements predatory and smooth. He stopped just inches from her, the scent of rain and musk radiating from him.

"You shouldn’t be here," he whispered, his voice dropping into a register that made her knees weak. "It’s not safe for your heart to see this."

"My heart is fine, Grayson," she lied, stepping closer until her chest almost brushed his. "It’s yours I’m worried about. You’re feeding on people because you’re ’hollow.’ But look at me. Tell me that this—this version of you—is who you want to be."

Grayson leaned down, his face inches from hers. The "Prince" was still there, cold and hard, but beneath the dark color of his eyes, Mailah saw a flicker of something else. A spark of the man from Tuscany. A spark of the man who had whispered don’t let go in the dark.

"I am a demon, Mailah," he hissed, his breath warm against her lips. "I take. That is what I do."

"Then take from me," she challenged, her voice steady.

The room went deathly silent. Even the music seemed to hold its breath. Carson actually dropped his biscuit.

Grayson’s eyes widened. His hand moved, his fingers grazing the skin of her neck. His touch was electric, a searing heat that made her heart race. "You have no idea what you’re asking. I would drain you dry as you already know."

"No, you wouldn’t," Mailah said, reaching up to rest her hand over his heart. She could feel it thumping—fast, jagged, and humanly terrified. "Because you’ve done it before. And even the ’Old Grayson’ knew that some things are more important than hunger."

For a long, agonizing second, he stared at her. The predatory hunger in his jaw softened. The darkness in his eyes wavered, turning into a deep, soulful grey.

He leaned in. "You are one very frustrating human," he murmured.

Shadow let out a loud, triumphant meow, breaking the tension.

Grayson pulled back. He looked around the room, at his brothers, at the charmed guests, and then back at Mailah.

"The party is over," Grayson announced, his voice regaining its authority, but without the bite. "Carson, get them into the cars. Wipe the memories. Send them home."