Becoming Lailah: Married to my Twin Sister's Billionaire Husband-Chapter 83: The Night Walk

"HOW MANY?" Mailah asked quietly.

Grayson flinched at the bluntness of her question, a flicker of raw pain crossing his features before it was quickly masked.

He had expected revulsion, fear, but not this calm demand for the awful, unvarnished truth.

He turned back towards her, his expression a carefully constructed mask of neutrality, though his eyes gave him away.

They were ancient, wounded.

"Too many to count," he said, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly timbre that vibrated with a lifetime of buried guilt.

He didn’t look at her, instead focusing on a distant, invisible point in the park. "It wasn’t... a thing you tracked. Not like numbers on a ledger."

He ran a hand over his face, as if trying to wipe away the memories.

His gaze darted away, to the calm surface of the river. "It’s not a story for a quiet evening walk, Mailah. It’s not a fairy tale."

He shook his head, a wry smile touching his lips. "Believe me, no one wants to live in the kind of ’once upon a time’ I came from."

"What’s so bad?" she pressed gently. "Whatever it is, you’re not that person anymore."

"How do you know?" His voice sharpened, a defensive edge returning.

"You’ve only seen the polite, Earth-exile version of me. The version that hasn’t killed anyone in... a long time." The last few words were spoken with a deliberate pause, as though counting the years in his head.

"You also didn’t kill me back there," she shot back, a playful-yet-serious tone in her voice, nodding toward the restaurant. "And I was awfully close. You could have snapped Evelyn’s neck, but you chose to listen to me."

"Don’t give me too much credit," Grayson said, a shadow of his old swagger flickering across his face. "I was heavily incentivized by the threat of having to buy you new shoes if I got blood on yours."

The levity was a welcome breath of fresh air.

Mailah laughed, a bright sound. "Shoes are not an incentive! They are a non-negotiable expense."

She squeezed his hand playfully. "So, you can choose not to be dangerous. That’s what you just proved."

He went quiet, and the darkness settled around them, a heavy cloak of silence.

"There are... things I’ve done," he began, his voice barely a murmur. "In the infernal planes, there are no choices. There is only purpose. Our purpose was... acquisition."

"Acquisition of what?" she asked, her curiosity piqued, but also a knot of apprehension forming in her stomach.

His expression grim, he turned to her. "Souls. Power. Pleasure. The more you take, the stronger you become. And there was a... competition." The last word was steeped in irony.

"To be the best. The most powerful."

"And you were good at it?" she asked carefully, already knowing the answer.

He met her gaze, and she saw the truth reflected in his eyes—a flicker of the ancient, terrible power that had once been his whole identity.

"I was very good at it."

Mailah felt a chill that had nothing to do with the autumn air. This was the monster, the one she had only seen in flashes. But she also saw the shame, the regret, the vulnerability.

He wasn’t boasting; he was confessing.

She pulled him toward a nearby bench. They sat, their shoulders brushing, and the subtle warmth of his supernatural energy seeped into her.

"How did you stop?" she asked, her voice softer now.

He sighed. "My brothers and I... we were powerful. Too powerful, according to some. The Exiled, they called us. It wasn’t a choice to be thrown down here. But being here... it’s different. The rules are different. The... incentives are different."

He glanced at her, and a hint of a smile touched his lips. "Being a reformed incubus on Earth is an exercise in restraint."

Mailah giggled, a tiny bubble of lightness in the dark conversation.

"I can imagine. No wonder you’re so cranky all the time."

Grayson’s expression softened into a genuine smile, a breathtaking sight. "It takes a lot of energy to contain it all. It’s a constant battle, a constant suppression of what I am. Who I am. What I was born to do."

He gestured vaguely toward her. "And then you come along, and it’s... not a battle anymore. It’s just... a want."

"A want to be gentle?" she whispered.

He nodded, his gaze dropping to their clasped hands.

"A want to learn how. To not... just take."

Tenderness washed over Mailah, so strong it took her breath away.

She saw him not as a powerful demon, but a wounded soul, lost and exiled and desperate to find a new way to be.

"So, what was it like?" she asked, her voice low and intimate. "The infernal planes?"

He took another deep breath, and she could feel his reluctance, his internal struggle. "It was... loud," he said finally. "The sounds of souls, the screams, the laughter. The taste of power, the smell of fear. The colors... nothing like this."

He gestured to the familiar park, the gentle lamplight. "It was all fire and shadow and... hunger."

Mailah shivered, pulling her jacket tighter. "It sounds awful."

"It was what I knew," Grayson said simply. "What I was. What I did."

"So... you didn’t see them as people?"

Mailah’s voice was soft, not accusatory, but he still bristled at the question, the shame of it like a raw wound.

"No," he confessed, the word a rasp. "Not at first. They were... vessels. Sources of energy. Like a human doesn’t see a cow as a family pet before it’s slaughtered for food. It’s just a resource."

He paused, a muscle in his jaw clenching. "Until it wasn’t."

She saw his Adam’s apple bob, a purely human movement, and the sight of it made her heart clench with a desperate, painful sort of affection.

"What changed?" she whispered, her voice barely a breath.

"The more you feed, the stronger you become. And the more you’re... able to see things," he explained, staring at the intertwined roots of an ancient oak tree.

He fell silent, and Mailah could almost feel the weight of his memories pressing down on them both.

She saw the phantom mothers and the children’s drawings in the space between them.

The air grew still, and the park seemed to fall into a hushed reverence around his confession.

"There was one," he said quietly. "She was a weaver. So full of life and light. Her energy was like nothing he had ever tasted. He went back to her. Again and again. He didn’t mean to take so much. But the hunger got the better of him."

A shadow passed over his features. "One night, he woke up, and she wasn’t there. But there was a tapestry she had been working on. A tapestry of her family. And there was an empty space in the fabric where her own likeness should have been. A blank space. Like she had just... disappeared. The next day, he saw her family searching for her. Crying. And he realized... he had made that empty space. He had undone a part of their world."

A tear slipped down his cheek. She reached out and brushed it away.

"That’s when it changed," he continued, his voice thick with emotion. "When I saw the human cost. The human lives. It was no longer just a transaction of power. It was... murder."

"And the guilt followed you here?" she asked, her heart aching for him.

"Guilt is a purely human emotion," he corrected, a sad smile touching his lips. "It’s not something we are designed for. But when you spend centuries watching, learning... You start to feel the resonance of it. The echo of every act. It’s like a brand on your soul. And no matter how many times you pretend it’s not there, it still burns."

He took her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers, the familiar touch now imbued with the weight of his revelation. "And that’s the truth of my darkness, Mailah. The reason I’m so afraid. Not because I’ll hurt you. But because of what I’ll do if I stop fighting to be someone I’m not. What if the hunger returns and I don’t stop? What if I take too much?"

"You won’t," she said, her voice firm. "Because I’m not afraid of you. And because I won’t let you."

He looked at her, and the raw emotion in his eyes was almost too much for her to bear.

He didn’t want to be a monster. He just didn’t know how not to be.

He was a creature of a million instincts, and every single one of them was wrong. But with her, he was learning a new one. A conscious, deliberate, beautiful new one. The instinct to be gentle. The instinct to choose love over power.

She reached up and cupped his jaw.

His eyes widened as she leaned in.

She didn’t want him to be a monster. She wanted him to be the man he was trying so hard to become.

"Show me," she whispered, her voice a promise. "Show me what you’re learning."

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to her lips, then back to her eyes. There was a moment of choice. The predator or the man. The darkness or the light. He chose.

With infinite slowness, he lowered his head, his lips brushing against hers.

It wasn’t a kiss of instinct, but one of pure yearning.

It was soft, tentative, full of questions and apologies. It was a kiss of healing, a quiet promise of a future where he could choose something other than what his nature dictated.

The kiss deepened, and with it, his supernatural energy swelled around them, not in a predatory way, but in a gentle embrace.