Becoming Lailah: Married to my Twin Sister's Billionaire Husband-Chapter 102: The Dance

THE AIR INSIDE THE MANOR was thick with perfume and power.

Mailah swore she could taste it—cloying, like honey laced with something metallic.

She leaned closer into Grayson’s side, not because she wanted to, but because she couldn’t stop herself. His presence anchored her when everything else felt like a dream that could turn nightmare at any moment.

A string quartet struck up again somewhere in the ballroom ahead.

Laughter rose, brittle, sharp, as if the very walls demanded merriment. Servers glided past, silver trays floating at wrist height without ever being touched, each glass glittering with amber or ruby liquid that pulsed faintly, alive.

She whispered, "This doesn’t feel like a party. It feels like a test."

Grayson’s lips curved at the edge, his voice brushing her ear. "That’s because it is."

Her stomach dropped.

Before she could ask more, Vivienne swept to the center of the hall, silver skirts catching the lantern-light like spun moonlight. She raised one hand, and silence rippled outward, polite but tense.

"Tonight," Vivienne said, her tone silk-wrapped steel, "marks the three hundred and fifth anniversary of Ashford Manor standing unbroken. Through wars, fire, betrayal—this manor has endured, as has the family it shelters."

A chorus of applause rose, though Mailah noted the stiffness of some claps, the over-bright smiles. A performance.

Vivienne’s eyes flicked toward Grayson. "And tonight, an Ashford brother joins us once more."

The applause shifted—louder, sharper, tinged with disbelief and something close to hunger.

Mailah’s pulse stuttered. Every eye dragged across her as though she were a specimen pinned beneath glass.

"And he has brought a guest," Vivienne continued smoothly. "A reminder, perhaps, that even in shadows, new bonds can be forged."

Mailah’s cheeks burned. She wanted to sink into the polished floor, vanish into its mirrored marble. But Grayson’s hand pressed lightly at the small of her back, a grounding weight.

"Raise your glasses," Vivienne declared. "To the Ashfords. To endurance."

"To endurance," the hall echoed.

Crystal chimed like rain. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Mailah lifted her glass—though she hadn’t seen when it had appeared in her hand. The liquid inside shimmered faintly, amber in some lights, crimson in others.

Her stomach lurched. Oh God. It’s blood, isn’t it? They expect me to drink blood.

She angled the glass under the chandelier. Yep. Definitely blood. Or wine. Or... blood pretending to be wine.

Before she could stop herself, she made a face like someone who had just sniffed spoiled milk.

All around her, guests tipped their heads back and downed their glasses with polished grace, some even licking the rim as if savoring it.

Mailah whispered under her breath, "Oh, that’s definitely blood. I’m about to be the only idiot who gags at the family toast."

Grayson’s lips brushed near her ear, his voice pitched low, velvet amused. "It’s not blood."

Her head snapped toward him, eyes wide. "Are you sure? Because that man just swirled it in his mouth like he was checking its vintage."

Grayson’s mouth curved faintly. "It’s enchanted cider. Strong enough to blur the edges of truth but not enough to kill you. Unless, of course, you insist on that expression. Then you might die of shame."

Heat shot to her cheeks.

Grayson tilted his glass but didn’t drink. She hastily followed his lead, lowering hers, heart thudding when she caught Lucson’s hawk-eyed gaze across the hall. He had drunk deeply. So had Mason.

Carson only twirled his glass idly, smirk firmly in place. Ravenson—dark-haired, silver-eyed—watched her instead, unreadable, as though amused by her horror.

The music surged back. Conversation resumed. The crowd scattered into glittering clusters like constellations reforming after eclipse.

Grayson leaned down again, his tone softer now, a command disguised as care. "Stay close."

She nodded. She would, even if she hated herself for how much she wanted to.

The quartet shifted into a waltz, the strings aching with sweetness. Couples flowed to the center, gowns blooming like midnight flowers.

Mailah stiffened when Grayson turned to her, hand outstretched.

"No," she whispered. "I’ll trip. Or faint. Or both."

His smile was wolfish, his tone low. "Then I’ll catch you. Either way, it will be memorable."

"Grayson—"

But he didn’t wait. His hand closed around hers, his other settling at her waist, and suddenly she was moving.

The world blurred.

She didn’t stumble—not because she’d miraculously learned, but because he guided her with effortless precision. Every step was command, every turn inevitable. She wasn’t dancing; she was being danced.

And yet—her pulse raced not only with nerves but something hotter, sharper.

The closeness of him. The brush of his breath at her temple. The strength of his body molded to hers.

Around them, murmurs swelled. Whispers like currents she couldn’t quite catch:

"Who is she—?"

"Not human, surely—"

"He claims her—see the way he—"

Her cheeks burned, but her lips curved despite herself.

"Smile," he murmured again.

She did. And the whispers rose higher, scandalized.

The music crested, the dance twirled faster, and she let herself fall into it—into him. For a moment, she forgot fear.

When the final note hung trembling in the air, Grayson dipped her low, his eyes locked on hers.

The world held its breath.

He didn’t kiss her.

But the possibility of it—the devastating nearness—was worse. Her heart thundered like it would shatter her ribs.

Applause exploded. They straightened, and Grayson’s faint smile told her he knew exactly what he’d done.

Mailah hated him for it. And she wanted him all the more.

Then—

"Mind if I cut in?"

Mailah froze. Her stomach dropped to the floor as another hand—cool, confident, unmistakably smug—slipped into view.

Mason. The second Ashford brother.

Her smile turned brittle. "Oh, no. Absolutely not."

Grayson’s eyes narrowed faintly at his brother, but Mason only grinned, bowing with exaggerated politeness.

"Relax," Mason drawled, gaze flicking between them. "I only want a dance. No nightmares. Not tonight."

Mailah’s breath hitched, memories of his threat resurfacing: If you don’t start feeding properly, I might find myself compelled to pay her a visit in my own realm.

Her wide eyes shot to Grayson—pleading, warning, don’t you dare leave me.

But Grayson... smirked. The traitor.

"You’ll survive," he murmured against her ear, lips brushing too close to be decent. "Besides, he’s not all teeth. Try to enjoy it."

And then he abandoned her.

Abandoned.

Just like that, strolling off with maddening composure.

"Grayson!" she hissed, but he was already gone.

She turned to Mason, every inch of her body screaming protest.

He extended his hand.

Mailah stared at it like it was a snake. "If you mark me—"

He chuckled, low and amused. "Not my style on the dance floor."

Reluctantly, she placed her hand in his.

The music swelled again, and she found herself gliding forward, stiff as a board.

"You’re tense," Mason remarked. "Anyone would think I’d threatened to drain you in your sleep."

Her glare could have scorched stone. "You did."

"Ah." His smile sharpened. "True. Not my most charming introduction. But understand—when my brother’s life is on the line, I don’t play nice."

"You call that not playing nice? You practically traumatized me."

"And yet," he said smoothly, twirling her with ease, "here you are. Dancing with me. Breathing. Upright. Untraumatized enough to bite back."

To her horror, she laughed—a startled, unwilling sound.

"See?" Mason tilted his head, smug satisfaction flickering across his face. "Not so bad."

"Don’t push it."

But still—her steps grew easier, less jagged.

He moved differently than Grayson, less consuming, more playful. Where Grayson commanded, Mason teased, nudging her until her body followed without realizing it.

"You terrify me," she admitted before she could stop herself.

"Good," he said. Then, softer: "Means I did my job. We protect each other, my brothers and I. Sometimes with extreme measures. Sometimes with threats. But always with reason."

The sincerity caught her off guard.

She stumbled—this time because of her own distraction, not his lead.

He steadied her quickly, grip firm but not unkind.

And suddenly, she didn’t feel quite as afraid.

Mailah exhaled through her nose, trying to remember she was supposed to be furious. And terrified. And not... oddly comfortable.

Because Mason, for all his threats and sharp edges, was good. Infuriatingly good.

He guided her like water, each step smooth, each turn precise, almost coaxing her into believing she could dance.

"This doesn’t mean I like you," she muttered, glaring at his collarbone rather than his eyes.

"Of course not," Mason said lightly, smirking down at her. "That would be unthinkable. You’ve already pledged your undying adoration to Grayson. And believe me, no one is foolish enough to compete with him for attention. He’s like a thunderstorm in human form—loud, destructive, and hard to ignore."

Mailah startled into a snort. She clapped a hand over her mouth. "Don’t make me laugh. I’m supposed to hate you."

"Then you’re failing spectacularly."

Her cheeks warmed, and she forced her gaze upward—only to see Grayson standing across the ballroom, one hand shoved into his pocket, his head slightly tilted. Watching them. Watching her.

Mailah’s stomach swooped. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes... they glowed faintly, the way they did when he was amused but pretending otherwise.

Mason leaned down conspiratorially. "He’s pretending not to be jealous. I assure you, he’s terrible at it."

"He’s not jealous," Mailah whispered back.

"He’s practically drilling holes in my skull with his stare. Jealousy. One hundred percent."

She made the mistake of glancing at Grayson again.

He lifted his glass ever so slightly, like a toast. Then he smirked.

Heat shot through her veins, irritation sparking right alongside something far more dangerous.

"You’re both impossible," she muttered.

"True." Mason spun her again, his hand firm on her back. "But admit it—you’re not terrified anymore."

Mailah froze mid-step.

He was right. Somewhere between the threats and the teasing, her fear had bled away, replaced with reluctant ease.

"You’re still an ass," she said quickly, because she couldn’t let him have the satisfaction.

"And you’re still glaring," he replied, utterly unbothered. "But you’re not shaking. Progress."

She hated that he was right. She hated even more that she felt... safe. With him.

The music softened toward its close.

Mason dipped her—nothing as daring as Grayson’s earlier, but steady, almost respectful. He brought her upright and released her slowly, his smirk fading to something quieter.

"For what it’s worth," he said, voice low so only she could hear, "I threatened you because I care about my brother. I’d do worse for him. But I’d also protect you, if it meant protecting him. Remember that."

Mailah blinked, thrown off balance—not by the dance this time, but by his honesty.

Before she could answer, the final notes rang out and applause scattered across the hall.

Mason bowed with flourish, then leaned close enough for her to catch the faintest ghost of a smile.

"Relax, little dreamer. I didn’t bite."

And with that, he released her hand and walked off, leaving her gaping.

She turned immediately to find Grayson, ready to demand why he’d abandoned her—but his slow, infuriating smile told her he’d enjoyed every second of her torment.

Her eyes narrowed. Oh, he was going to pay for this.