Becoming Lailah: Married to my Twin Sister's Billionaire Husband-Chapter 95: The Invitation

THE SUN ROOM seemed to hold its breath with Mailah.

Mailah’s lips parted, the yes or no trembling there, balanced on the edge of release. Grayson’s hand was still wrapped around her wrist, his thumb brushing the rapid pulse there like he could anchor her answer in place.

The moonlight slid across the carpet in a pale sweep, painting them into a portrait of something fragile and dangerous.

And then—

A sound shattered the moment.

The shrill vibration of Grayson’s phone broke through the air like a blade through silk.

Mailah startled, blinking, almost dropping back onto the sofa.

Grayson’s eyes narrowed, irritated at the intrusion, but he pulled the phone from his pocket anyway, his thumb hovering over the screen.

"Who is it?" Mailah asked, still breathless, as though words alone could wrestle the moment back.

Grayson’s jaw clenched. "Vivienne."

The name cut through her like a name out of some half-remembered fairytale.

He lifted the phone to his ear before she could ask, his tone flat, defensive.

"What?"

The voice on the other end was faint, muffled to Mailah, but whatever Vivienne said, it made Grayson stiffen.

"I’ve told you," he said, tone sharp. "I will not be attending. Not this year. Not any year."

Mailah tilted her head, curiosity sparking like flint. She couldn’t hear the voice on the other end, but she could see the way Grayson’s shoulders tensed, the way his free hand curled into a fist at his side.

Whatever Vivienne was saying, it wasn’t pleasant news.

"Yes, I know what today is," he snapped, pacing toward the window, his free hand raking through his hair.

The moonlight caught on the sharp planes of his cheekbones, turning him into something carved out of night itself. "You’ve dragged me into that charade once. I will not play along again."

Mailah sat frozen on the sofa, her wine forgotten, watching him move with the restless energy of a caged predator.

Vivienne’s voice rose faintly from the phone—feminine, stern, the cadence of someone accustomed to being obeyed.

"You speak of duty as though it binds me," Grayson cut in. "I cut myself free of that obligation long ago. Do not insult me by thinking sentiment will change my mind."

He turned then, catching Mailah’s gaze, but his eyes were somewhere else—back in halls older than stone, back in memories she could not touch.

"The family legacy," he repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. "How fascinating that you suddenly care about my participation in preserving something I’ve been actively avoiding for centuries." His laugh was cold, humorless. "And what makes you think I have any interest in displaying myself like a prize stallion for whatever collection of demons my brothers have assembled this year?"

A beat of silence stretched. Vivienne must have said something cutting, because Grayson’s lips curled into a humorless smile.

"No," he said softly, the kind of softness that cut sharper than steel. "Don’t bother expecting me. Find another way to demonstrate Ashford unity. I have more pressing concerns than playing family politics with beings I’ve spent centuries avoiding for good reason."

The woman’s voice rose, urgent and insistent.

Mailah caught fragments—something about appearances, about expectations, about responsibilities that couldn’t be ignored indefinitely.

Grayson’s jaw worked as he listened, his knuckles white where he gripped the phone.

"Don’t presume to lecture me about duty, Vivienne," he said finally, his voice soft and lethal. "I’ve fulfilled my obligations to this family in ways you couldn’t possibly understand. I won’t be attending your little gathering, and I won’t be pretending that centuries of deliberate distance can be bridged by a single evening of forced civility."

And then he ended the call with a decisive flick of his thumb.

The silence afterward was thunderous.

Mailah swallowed. "What... was that?"

Grayson stared at the dark screen for a long moment before lowering it to the table, his shoulders tense. "Nothing worth your concern."

"Clearly it was something," she countered, her voice careful but insistent. "You looked like you were ready to put your fist through the glass."

His expression shuttered, the way it always did when he didn’t want her to see.

But tonight, his guard slipped just enough for her to catch the truth glittering underneath.

"Vivienne," he said finally. His tone sounded both alien and distasteful. "She was reminding me of the Ashford anniversary."

Mailah frowned. "Anniversary?"

Grayson exhaled, sinking back against the sofa like the admission itself weighed him down.

"Every year, my brothers gather with Vivienne. A celebration of sorts. They call it the Ashford anniversary—an excuse to flaunt our name, our alliances, to gather demons and their mates from every corner of influence. It’s a performance more than a reunion."

Mailah blinked, processing.

Demons and their mates. A gathering so old it was a tradition even Grayson couldn’t erase.

"You didn’t sound like you wanted to go," she said softly.

His laugh came out flat, stripped of any real humor. "I haven’t gone in centuries. What’s the point of sitting in a gilded hall pretending at brotherhood? They chose their path. I chose mine."

Mailah tilted her head. "But Vivienne seems to think this year matters."

"Vivienne always thinks something matters." He pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated. "She’s our guardian. She thinks that gives her authority."

"And it doesn’t?"

His eyes flicked to hers, sharp, like she’d struck a nerve. "Authority is not given, Mailah. It’s taken. And I have no interest in theirs."

The air between them thrummed again, the tension from before reshaping itself into something more volatile.

Mailah tucked her legs beneath her, watching him with growing curiosity.

The Ashford anniversary.

A family he refused to see.

Demons and their human mates, gathering under one roof.

The edges of her heart prickled with something dangerous: temptation.

Because if this was his world—the world she might say yes to, if she ever found the courage—then wasn’t this her chance to glimpse it?

Her chance to decide whether she truly wanted to step all the way in?

She chewed her lip, ignoring the way Grayson’s eyes followed the motion like a hawk.

"What exactly happens at this anniversary?" she asked finally.

He hesitated, then shrugged, his expression deliberately detached. "Speeches. Displays of power. A parade of alliances. Humans attend if they’ve bound themselves to demons—mates, lovers, those desperate enough to play consort for a taste of influence."

Mailah’s pulse quickened.

Humans did attend.

She imagined walking into that hall on Grayson’s arm, the eyes of ancient demons turning toward them, whispers weaving through the crowd.

The idea both thrilled and terrified her.

Her gaze flicked back to Grayson. He was watching her with that predator stillness, like he could sense exactly where her thoughts were spiraling.

"You’re not thinking..." he started, suspicion sharpening his tone.

Mailah swallowed, heat crawling into her cheeks. She sat a little straighter, her voice deceptively light. "Maybe I am."

His eyes narrowed. "Mailah."

She smiled, though her heart pounded. "Maybe this anniversary is exactly where I’ll get my answer."

His breath stilled, and for the first time in centuries, Grayson Ashford had no words.

The silence stretched, thick with tension, with unspoken challenge, with the faintest shimmer of possibility.

"It’s dangerous," Grayson said flatly finally. "These aren’t beings you want to draw attention from. Some of them have been alive longer than human civilization. They have no love for mortals, and even less patience for mortals who’ve managed to capture the interest of one of their own."

"But I wouldn’t be just any mortal," Mailah pointed out, her heart racing at her own boldness. "I’d be there with you. As your... what would I be, exactly?"

"My wife," Grayson said quietly, the word carrying weight that hadn’t been there during his earlier, fumbling proposal. "If you were to attend as my wife, it would be a declaration to the entire supernatural community that you’re under my protection. That harming you would mean answering to me."

"And that would keep me safe?"

"It would make harming you politically inadvisable," he corrected. "But it would also make you a target for anyone who wanted to get to me. And trust me, after centuries of deliberate isolation, I’ve made my share of enemies."

Mailah digested this, her practical mind warring with the part of her that was genuinely curious about this hidden world she’d stumbled into.

The rational choice would be to stay away, to keep living in the protective bubble Grayson had created around their domestic life.

But something about the way he’d described the gathering—the politics, the danger, the complex web of relationships and rivalries—fascinated her in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

"Your brothers will be there," she said finally.

"Unfortunately."

"All of them? Even the ones I’ve met?"

Grayson’s expression darkened at the reminder of her previous encounters with Mason, Carson, and Lucson. "Yes. Though I suspect their interest in you attending would be... less than benevolent."

"Because they don’t approve of your relationship with a human?"

"Because they don’t approve of anything I want," Grayson said bluntly. "They’ve spent decades trying to undermine my resolve about feeding, and now that they’ve finally succeeded in getting me to embrace my nature, they want to ensure I don’t develop any... inconvenient attachments that might interfere with their plans."

"What plans?"

"That’s complicated." Grayson moved to pour himself another glass of wine, his movements sharp with residual tension from the phone call. "My brothers have certain... ambitions... regarding our place in both the supernatural and human worlds. My participation has always been assumed rather than requested."

Mailah watched him, noting the way his jaw tightened when he mentioned his brothers’ ambitions. "But you’re not interested in their plans."

"I’ve spent centuries avoiding their plans," he confirmed. "Which is why attending this gathering would send a very different message than the one I’ve been carefully crafting all these years."

"What message would it send?"

"Once we cross that line, there’s no going back to the quiet life we’ve been building here. It would thrust us both into the center of supernatural politics whether we want to be there or not."

Mailah looked around the beautiful sun room, thinking about the peaceful routine they’d established, the careful domesticity that had allowed them both to pretend their relationship existed in a vacuum.

Then she thought about the evening they’d just shared—the way Grayson had opened up to his employees, the genuine human connections he’d made, the clumsy but heartfelt proposal that had revealed depths of vulnerability she’d never suspected.

"Maybe it’s time," she said quietly.

"Time for what?"

She turned to face him fully, her heart pounding with the audacity of what she was about to suggest.

The moonlight streaming through the windows seemed to illuminate the moment, casting everything in sharp relief.

"Time to stop hiding from your world, Grayson. Time to stop pretending that we can build something real while keeping it completely separate from everything else you are." She took a breath, steadying herself. "Time to find out if what we have is strong enough to survive in the light."

Grayson stared at her, something like amazement flickering across his features. "You’re suggesting we attend the Anniversary. Together. As a married couple."

"I’m suggesting," Mailah said, her voice growing stronger with each word, "that if you’re serious about wanting me as a permanent part of your life, then maybe it’s time I met your whole family."

The hush that fell between them thrummed with both peril and possibility.

Grayson lowered his glass with slow, deliberate care, his eyes fixed on her.

Mailah leaned in, her voice low, steady, impossible to mistake.

"What if I convinced you to attend this year—with me?"